Our church secretary, Vicki, called me today and asked if I was having a good day. Vicki never calls me, especially to ask if I'm having a good day. 'This is not a good sign,' I thought with an uneasy feeling, but I remained calm. "As a matter of fact, I'm having a wonderful day," I said very chipper-like. "How about you?" "Well," Vicki said, "I have something to tell you." This was beginning to sound more ominous by the minute.
As the bereavement group minister at our church, I meet with a group of folks, once a month, who are trying to heal from their loss. At the last two meetings our group decided to dim the lights in the conference room and light candles in memory of their loved ones. We discovered that the candlelight meetings are more relaxing, peaceful, and spiritually uplifting. There was only one problem.
When the parish bookeeper came into the church office the following the morning she smelled smoke in the conference room. I forgot to blow out one of the candles, which was left burning all night. All I could say was, "Thank God the church didn't burn down! Oh yeah, and I'm really sorry, Vicki." To which she replied, "From now on no more candles. We are further advised to lock up all matches, scissors, or any pointy objects when you are around." To which I replied, "Are you sure your bookeeper didn't smell sulphur this morning?"
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
In the Corner
It has been noted by several people that, when given the choice, I always choose a corner seat in a room. Someone asked me, "Why do you do that?" I replied, "It's probably because I spent most of my time in the corner as a kid."
Then I remember doing some pretty...uh...adventuresome things growing up.
Things like:
1. Setting my rag doll on fire and throwing it into my mother's upright baby grand piano.
2. Calling my father an S.O.B. at age 3 and having no clue what it meant. Mom said I must have heard the words S.O.B from one of the construction workers outside.
3. Blowing up a paint can and singeing my eyebrows.
4. Lighting a candle under the covers (I couldn't find a flashlight) so I could read when I was really supposed to be sleeping, which accidently set the sheets on fire.
5. Putting snakes in the bathtub.
6. Sneaking a pair of hamsters into the house which ended up being 30 hamsters. I had them well-hidden for a while.
...and the list goes on. Now you all know why I choose a corner chair. It's the safest place for me to be.
Then I remember doing some pretty...uh...adventuresome things growing up.
Things like:
1. Setting my rag doll on fire and throwing it into my mother's upright baby grand piano.
2. Calling my father an S.O.B. at age 3 and having no clue what it meant. Mom said I must have heard the words S.O.B from one of the construction workers outside.
3. Blowing up a paint can and singeing my eyebrows.
4. Lighting a candle under the covers (I couldn't find a flashlight) so I could read when I was really supposed to be sleeping, which accidently set the sheets on fire.
5. Putting snakes in the bathtub.
6. Sneaking a pair of hamsters into the house which ended up being 30 hamsters. I had them well-hidden for a while.
...and the list goes on. Now you all know why I choose a corner chair. It's the safest place for me to be.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Fried Eyebrows
It's amazing I'm still alive and still live in this country. I did a lot of really dumb things as a kid. You know, the kinds of things that are totally dangerous, and that made my parents want to ship me off to Siberia.
There were four of us who used to hang out together; Vi, Irene, my brother, and me. We played sand lot baseball, picked berries, weeded the vegetable garden, and were, all in all, pretty good kids, except when we decided to do something that, in our minds, was fun and cool, but was really hazardous to our well being. We had no clue about cause and effect.
One summer day we decided to build a campfire in the vacant lot next to a construction site. I ran home and found matches in the kitchen drawer, while my brother picked up some old newspapers. Vi and Irene grabbed a bag of marshmallows from their kitchen cupboard, then we all worked together to gather long sticks for the roast. I tell you, it was a well orchestrated group worthy of CEO status.
We were having a great time toasting marshmallows when an old paint can from the construction site caught my eye. I jogged over to the site, picked up the paint can, and brought it back to the fire. It was my idea to try and open the paint can so we could paint some weathered spots on our house. I tried as hard as I could to pry open the paint can lid, but it wouldn't come off. I did the next most logical thing a ten year old would do...I held it over the fire to melt the dried paint so the lid would come off.
To make a long story short, the lid blew off the can. All four of us were covered from head to toe with splatters of white paint. I fried my eyebrows and singed my hair. We were all in a heap of trouble, expecially me.
I went home, threw my clothes away and took a shower. My bangs were nothing but stubs sticking straight up from my forehead, and I didn't have much left of my eyebrows. At the dinner table that night my Dad said, "What happened to your hair?!" "Nothin'" "Whatdyamean, nothing?!" I was coerced into telling Dad what happened. He said, "Do you realize you could have been killed?!" And I said, "Yeah, but I wasn't, and it's no big deal anyway."
I got sent to my room for a very long time...which is where I learned to read and write and draw pretty pictures. I'll always be thankful I didn't get sent to Siberia.
There were four of us who used to hang out together; Vi, Irene, my brother, and me. We played sand lot baseball, picked berries, weeded the vegetable garden, and were, all in all, pretty good kids, except when we decided to do something that, in our minds, was fun and cool, but was really hazardous to our well being. We had no clue about cause and effect.
One summer day we decided to build a campfire in the vacant lot next to a construction site. I ran home and found matches in the kitchen drawer, while my brother picked up some old newspapers. Vi and Irene grabbed a bag of marshmallows from their kitchen cupboard, then we all worked together to gather long sticks for the roast. I tell you, it was a well orchestrated group worthy of CEO status.
We were having a great time toasting marshmallows when an old paint can from the construction site caught my eye. I jogged over to the site, picked up the paint can, and brought it back to the fire. It was my idea to try and open the paint can so we could paint some weathered spots on our house. I tried as hard as I could to pry open the paint can lid, but it wouldn't come off. I did the next most logical thing a ten year old would do...I held it over the fire to melt the dried paint so the lid would come off.
To make a long story short, the lid blew off the can. All four of us were covered from head to toe with splatters of white paint. I fried my eyebrows and singed my hair. We were all in a heap of trouble, expecially me.
I went home, threw my clothes away and took a shower. My bangs were nothing but stubs sticking straight up from my forehead, and I didn't have much left of my eyebrows. At the dinner table that night my Dad said, "What happened to your hair?!" "Nothin'" "Whatdyamean, nothing?!" I was coerced into telling Dad what happened. He said, "Do you realize you could have been killed?!" And I said, "Yeah, but I wasn't, and it's no big deal anyway."
I got sent to my room for a very long time...which is where I learned to read and write and draw pretty pictures. I'll always be thankful I didn't get sent to Siberia.
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