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Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Kitchen Adventures

Yesterday I finally made some progress on chapter one. This version--maybe--might just be sticking. I've got my fingers crossed tightly.

However, I hit another setback. I don't think the name I'm using for the heroine is the right one. Anyone who's read this blog regularly knows I spent weeks trying to figure out her darn name--and that's not an exaggeration. I've decided to keep moving forward with this name, but the problem is that I keep slipping and thinking of her by another heroine's name. Good grief. Anyway, if she wants to use another name, she better speak up soon or forever be known as Chaya. :-) I'm not wasting any more time on that.

Okay, I have an adventure to share. Last night, I went over to my parents' house for a steak dinner. My mom put the meat on and asked me to watch it while she did something else. When it was time to turn it, the timer dinged and it was clear we'd had it in the broiler too long. I mentally readjusted the time my mom said we'd use for each side, flipped the meat, and set the timer again.

In a moment of true serendipity, I decided to wash my hands and grabbed the kitchen towel that was hanging on a handle above the oven we were broiling in. Instead of putting it back, I draped it over the back of a chair and then sat down to read the paper.

I hear a noise. It sounds like wind racing down a tunnel. I glance over and see flames shooting out of the oven. "Fire!" I yell.

I'm trying to decide what the hell to do. My parents' fire extinguisher is way out of date and probably worthless. And keep in mind that I freeze up in a crisis, so I'm probably the worst possible person to be left with this problem. "Fire!" I yell again more loudly.

Somehow I get the idea to close the oven door. I was working on the theory that fire needs oxygen and there wouldn't be much inside the oven. I open it again to check and see how that worked. The flames had died down, but when I opened the door, they whooshed back up. I shut it again.

Finally, my dad arrives. By then, the fire was mostly out. All I could think was thank God I'd moved that towel. As dangerous a spot as that is, we've always hung the kitchen towel on the handle of the upper oven (it's a double unit). It scares the hell out of me to think of the towel igniting and how fast that blaze could have spread. Talk about needing to say a few thank yous to the universe. Whew!

And to think, my original story was going to be about how I watched the Airbus A380 take off from the airport on Tuesday. I thought that was exciting, guess I learned differently.