Festival, Second Time Around

Posted on May 8, 2023 by Sheila Moss

I could have had a really good time at the Renaissance Festival this year, but I just couldn’t seem to get into the spirit. I’m not exactly sure why, but Barry Manilow was wrong about love being lovelier the second time around. Last year the festival was it was new and fresh, but this year it was just the same old, same old.

There were knights in shiny armor to sweep fair maidens away. Somehow the idea of being swept away by a knight seemed a bit silly for an adult, even for a fair maiden like myself. I tried to get into the mood by watching some of the shows, but somehow they all seemed more for the purpose of tips than for entertaining.

The Renaissance theme seemed to inspire people to try to talk like they were in a Shakespeare play, “Yes, me lady, ” was said with dramatic emphasis, loudly and often Some of the visitors got into the spirit, shouting Old English insults from the audience. Maybe it was because I can’t speak Old English, but I spent most of my time trying to figure out where my bottle of water had rolled under the bench.

The actors had correct dress for the period with tights and high boots for the men. I guess maybe I don’t go for guys in tights. The girdles, and long dresses that ladies wore wore looked really hot and uncomfortable. I never learned to sweat in a delicate way. There were so many weird people running around that it was hard to tell those just pretending to be weird from those who really were.

Of course, the real spoiler for me was the crafts. I had in mind a particular item similar to something I bought there last year. Alas, it was not to be. There were flashy crystals and zodiac jewelry, but not the pretty, but cheap, glass charms like the year before. I hope someone took note and will take care of this for next year.

I cornered my daughter and made her promise not to let my grandson buy another plastic sword. The good news is he didn’t get a plastic sword. The bad news is that he got a wooden one instead.

I could have had my fortune told in the psychic lady’s tent, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you five minutes later what was said. The strange bird lady was there again too telling how wonderful falcons and birds of prey are, but I thought of the buzzards I had seen in the road eating road kill. The knights rode horses and jousted. I wondered if it was for real or like professional wresting where they simply put on a show.

The tour of the castle was different. It seems that one person’s dream was to build a castle of his very own and he has worked a lifetime on the endeavor. A bit odd, to say the least, but it did give a nice anchoring point for the festival. After seeing actual castles in Europe, however, the homemade version was not too impressive. I don’t think I would like living in a castle unless it had central air and heating.

I could have bought a tall souvenir glass of beer like the other people who were wandering around, but what do you do with a foot high plastic glass when you get home? I could also have eaten a fried turkey leg, but I could find the stand and was overcome by hunger conveniently in front of the fish and chips vendor.

So, another merry month of May, another Renaissance Faire. The best thing I found about the faire was the kettle popcorn. But if it hadn’t been for Barry Manilow being so wrong, I could have had a really good time.

Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
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Trash in the Attic

Posted on April 24, 2023 by Sheila Moss

Remember all those television shows where someone finds a priceless antique in the attic? All I have in mine is junk. I have written before about all the junk in my attic. I’ve been working on cleaning out the stash of trash that sneaked up the stairs when I was either gone to work or too sick to care. Yes, I will admit it, some of it is my stuff too, but most belongs to other people.

I’ve always heard that the first step in de-cluttering is to get rid of the things that belong to other people. Easier said than done. I found it easier to get rid of my own junk. I know what is actually useful and what is unnecessary.

There are, however, a few things I can’t make a decision on and so they are still pending:

1. The iron pothook: It has sentimental value, the first thing bought for my home after moving to Nashville. Plus, I like it. It just happens that I have no place to hang it up since moving. My daughter took it once to use in an apartment, but she moved later and returned it. So… to the attic.

2. The Racasetti: I have a large sofa-size painting that I love called “Ships in Port” or something to that effect. Unfortunately, the ships are sinking and the painting became too shabby to hang. I wanted to replace it, but it seems Racasetti is an artist whose work is mostly found in thrift stores, garage sales, and junk piles. Great taste I have in art, huh? So… the picture is in the attic.

3. My wedding dress: How can you throw away your wedding dress? Even though my husband has been dead for almost 25 years, it is still in the attic, gathering dust and turning yellow with age. The trend now seems to be for brides to jump in a lake and destroy the dress after the wedding is over. Forget it. It is a size 9, way too small now.

Before you get too tough on me, be aware I bit the bullet and threw out a ton of stuff. If you want to get rid of things, you must be relentless in purging. I have it down to three plastic bins of stuff and one coffee table. And the bins are mostly quilts or afghans made by my mother. “You should be able to keep a few things,” my daughter says.

Throwing away Honey’s stuff is another matter entirely. He still has every single thing that he owned when he moved here, and more has been added since then. Some of it is easy. I know he values the set of white dishes, his trophies in various sports, and old photos. That’s a no brainer. But what about the tennis racquet he never uses, the bicycle helmet, the dozens of video tapes?

“Keep my baseball uniforms,” he says. See what I mean?

He has found excuses not to help so far, even though cleaning out the attic and turning it into space for people instead of junk was his idea. Do I just throw it all out? It is tempting, but I wouldn’t want someone throwing out my things without checking with me first.

So… I am spending half the day in the attic stomping silverfish with a bandana over my mouth and nose because I’m allergic to dust. If anyone saw me, they would call the guys in white jackets to take me away and turn me in to a TV program on hoarders.

“Did you say get rid of the waterbed?” I ask. That means I can give away the sheets too as we won’t need them. “What about the computers and cell phones that are obsolete and useless? I found a couple of places that will recycle old electronics.”

“Throw out the bicycling clothes, but save the helmet; save the baseball clothes, but throw away the shoes.”

I don’t dare ask about the mood lamp. I’m afraid he will want to keep it.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

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Memo from Frisky to All Cats

Posted on April 17, 2023 by Sheila Moss

MEMO

TO:  All Cats

FROM: Frisky, Feline Escape Artist, Extraordinaire

SUBJECT: Life on the Outside

It has come to my attention that many house cats are content with staying inside and do not know how to escape the constrictive nature of a life indoors. Therefore, as an experienced feline with many skills and years of practice, I feel it is my duty to share some of the techniques I have learned.

1.   THE CHARGE:  This method is relatively simple. You simply lurk in the vicinity of the door pretending to be totally uninterested in the outside world. Sooner or later, someone will open the door. This is your cue. Charge! Run out the door as fast as you can, around the human, between the humans legs, under the human’s feet, whatever is necessary to accomplish your goal.

2.    THE LURK:  This is similar to the charge, but more effective as humans may become wise to the charge and start watching for you whenever they go outside. With The Lurk, you stay near the window and bird watch. Actually, you are watching for the kids to come home from school, your human to come home from work, or the pizza guy to make a delivery. As soon as the door is open, you charge outside before they even see you.

3.   THE STOWAWAY:  This is an indirect way to get outside but the end result is the same. When the human goes out to the garage, sneak out quietly and hide in the garage. You must wait patiently until the garage door is opened for one reason or another. Then you simply walk out and you are free. Caution: Tuck in your tail and watch for cars backing out when garage door is open.

4.    THE PUSH: This involves taking advantage of random opportunity when a door is left cracked open or the latch does not catch. Simply push against it with the weight of your body until it opens enough for you to escape. This technique can also be used on window screens. Be sure to use it only for windows on the first floor or you may have an unpleasant surprise.

5.    THE PULL: This is used if the door opens inside into the room. Instead of a push, simply place your paw under the bottom of the door and pull it toward you until it opens enough for you to squeeze out. You must remain vigilant and watch for a push or pull opportunity. It does not come often, but when it does, it is a prime opportunity for an easy escape.

6.   THE TURN: Doors are opened by the doorknob. A clever cat can learn to jump and pull on the side of the knob until it turns and the door opens. Be sure not to do this when humans are watching. They will be totally baffled about how you got outside and think it was their own negligence. Be aware that it may be very difficult to turn the knob as cats do not have a thumb. If you are lucky enough to have a door with a handle instead of a knob, the task is much easier.

7.   THE SCREAM:  You must have strong vocal chords for this. Simply sit by the door and howl. Do not be distracted by attempts to pet you or calm you down. Continue to meow as loud as you can until you make the humans so crazy they will actually open the door and throw you outside. Use this method only as a last resort as humans may lock you in the basement instead to shut you up.

I hope these instructions will be helpful to you. If you have questions, email me and I will try to help with your individual situation. Good luck and enjoy your brief time outside before the humans catch you and drag you back inside.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Bouncy, Bouncy

Posted on April 11, 2023 by Sheila Moss

Life is one painful day after another, or actually one painful night after another. I am unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time and have to keep the head of the bed raised to sleep at all.

I am trying to do as much as possible for myself to avoid being a burden. I have mastered transferring to a wheelchair, which gives me mobility at home, at least. I still cannot reach things while seated, but manage by hanging on to the kitchen counter in the morning to make a cup of coffee.

I am able to get in our extra high SUV now using a little stool and hopping. This sounds small but it is huge as I have to be able to get in the car for doctor appointments. I am super cautious about everything as I could not get up if I fell.

It has not taken long for things to go south on the home front. My son is in charge of yard work that I normally do, like weeding the flowers. He did the backyard, but forgot the front.

I’ve been seeing a lot of doctors. First there were the paramedics, who don’t count even though they spent more time with me than anyone. Next in line was the trauma doctor who x-rayed me and said I had a broken shoulder. I could have told him that, but he had to diagnose me, I suppose, to justify the large fee they will charge me for the ER. Bouncy, bouncy.

He referred me to my GP who was too busy to see me unless I could wait 6 months — but I could see his intern. Bouncy, bouncy. The intern asked me tons of questions unrelated to my broken shoulder. Then my GP dropped in to say hi and tell me to see an orthopedic doctor. Bouncy, bouncy.

The ortho doctor wanted a copy of my x-rays — not a big deal unless you are in a wheelchair like me and have to go back to the hospital to get them.

The orthopedic doc (who fixed my previously broken wrist) was happy to see me again and told me how good I looked for my age, an expensive compliment. He told me that the bone that was broken was the humerus. It didn’t seem very humorous to me. He no longer does surgery on shoulders, he says, and I should see his colleague. Bouncy, bouncy.

So I went to the orthopedic shoulder surgeon, who said I had a broken shoulder. Is there an echo? I am pretty sure I have heard that before. I do not need surgery as it will heal well enough on its own. I might lose some functionality, but I am an old lady, not a baseball pitcher or violinist. Plus I need to go to physical therapy, Bouncy, bouncy.

One good thing about a broken shoulder is I don’t have to cook dinner or clean house. I do get a bit hungry for lunch, and even a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a major undertaking with one arm. I sometimes make a messes, like spilling Splenda when making coffee. Honey says the Splenda is what attracted ants. Ants like sugar substitute? I wondered why they were so skinny.

So, I’ve been watching a lot of TV and surfing Facebook and TicToc. Fortunately, it is possible to use a computer mouse left-handed, even when you can’t do much else.

I wanted a snack and asked Alexa to make me a sandwich. She said, “Okay, you’re a sandwich.” Smart alec AI. Seri said a sandwich was beyond her abilities at the moment.

Me too, Seri, me too.

C 2023 Sheila Moss

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Still sick, so what’s new?

Posted on April 6, 2023 by Sheila Moss

Still in recovery from a broken shoulder, I’ve been doing a bit better for the last few days. Right now I am still weak. I haven’t been eating much, mostly soup, so that may be part of it.

The house cleaners came on Monday and I was sick in bed, but I told them to go ahead and clean around me. They couldn’t change the sheets but cleaned the rest of the house. I called and changed my service to once a week as my guy doesn’t see that the house needs cleaning.

After a few days, I wasn’t as dizzy and I found out I could make it to the bathroom by myself by holding onto the dresser, the cat tree, the door frame and the sink until I got there, so that was a major accomplishment. No more potty chair.

Honey has been doing the best that he can. The windup clocks ran down which was fine because the cuckoo was getting on my nerves anyway. I asked him yesterday to water the plants and he did — including an artificial plant on the coffee table. “It looks real to me,” he said.

He warms frozen dinners or gets carry-out food for us to eat. One day he made a pot of chili with me giving instructions. The cat is sick, the kitchen has been invaded by ants and the dishwasher has broken. I called a repair service for the dishwasher, then decided we might as well get a new one. I wonder if you can buy dishwashers online?

I’ve been learning some new skills since I’ve been incapacitated. I found a lot of things Alexa can do that I didn’t know about, like turn off the television in the living room and call Honey on his iPhone or his Alexa app when I am in the bedroom.

I’ve also found out that I can dictate things like emails and texts with Seri and don’t have to type them. I already knew that I could do that, of course, but I just typed anyhow. Seri’s spelling is good, but her punctuation is non-existent, and she doesn’t always understand slurred speech when you are taking pain meds.

The paramedics had put monitors on me with little stickers. When they unplugged me, they left the stickers on my skin, so I’ve been finding stickers all over me for about a week. I finally got that shower I’ve been needing and Honey got the hairdryer and dried my hair. I told him I would recommend him for a job at a beauty shop. He declined.

He will be gone all day tomorrow at his club so I’m kind of worried about that, but maybe I can figure out how to get in and out of a wheelchair by myself. I am trying to be more independent and less of a burden. Even if I have to stay in bed, he needs time off. Caregiving is a hard job.

My son declared war on the kitchen ants with spray and ant traps. I think they have given up. I didn’t see a white flag, but I don’t see any more ants either.

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A Broken Bone

Posted on March 31, 2023 by Sheila Moss

I always thought the Amish were peaceful people, but apparently not because my Amish rocker, my beloved Amish rocker, turned over with me in the living room and body slammed me to the floor. My arm was broken.

I guess I can’t really blame the Amish, It was me that leaned over too far in the chair not realizing that it was slightly top-heavy and if you leaned too far and it slipped out from under you.

I was lying on the floor in so much pain I couldn’t move. Honey called 911. Pretty soon I had a front yard full of fire trucks and flashing lights and paramedics. I had about six first responders carrying me out to a stretcher. They took me to the closest trauma center, a hospital I don’t really like, but. I wasn’t in a position to argue about it.

When I got to the ER the doctor came and checked to see where I was broken. They took me to have a CT scan and made an x-ray. I asked if I could have something for pain. Instead of a shot, the nurse gave me two Tylenol.

She put my arm in a sling and told me to leave. She had to be kidding. There was no way. I can’t even walk when I’m not groggy and don’t have a broken arm. So, she asked me if I wanted a wheelchair and I agreed, hurting very badly by then.

Honey went to get the car and she wheeled me out into the cold. I don’t know why she didn’t wait inside. She asked where we parked and I said, “I don’t know where we’re parked — I came in an ambulance.”

When he came with the car, I couldn’t get in because my arm was broken. His car is really high, like a truck. Finally, I pulled myself up with my good arm and Honey lifted my other side by my bottom. When we got home, I told him to park close to the door because I couldn’t walk and my wheelchair was stored in the attic. It was too far to the door, but I thought, “Well, I’ll try.”

I was trying to walk holding onto Honey for support. I got about halfway there and I couldn’t make it any further. So, Honey had to drag a chair from the patio so I could sit down. After I rested for a while, I was able to make it to the door.

It was my right arm that was broken and, of course, I’m right handed. I’ve been pretty helpless since I got home, and I haven’t been able to do anything. Honey has been taking care of me because there is nobody else.

The first day I was home I felt faint every time I tried to set up. I knew broken bones are painful, but didn’t realize it made you sick. I had to stay in bed all of the time and my arm had to stay in the sling. It was really hard to sleep at night.

I’ve been staying in bed most of the time, but for the last few days I have been trying to get up and watch TV a little bit. I have to use a wheelchair because you can’t use a walker when you only have one hand. I’m going to try and figure something out.

If you wondered why my blog hasn’t been updated lately, this is it. Also, typing with only your left hand is pretty challenging.

Sheila Moss 2023

[Part 2 to follow later if my wheelchair doesn’t have a flat tire.]

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The Crud-That-Has-No-Name

Posted on March 4, 2023 by Sheila Moss

What is this stuff going around that is making people so sick? Whatever it is, it is very contagious. First my son was coughing, and then my honey started. I knew it was only a matter of time. I tried uselessly to avoid all the rest of the family who were barking like dogs.

My first symptom was the headache. I rationalized it away as a migraine and popped one of my migraine pills. Then it was sinus congestion. Probably my allergies, I reasoned, and took a decongestant. But what’s the point? No amount of hand washing, Lysol spray, social distancing and denial could prevent it. My throat began to burn and my lungs ached. I had it, whatever it is.

Soon I too was coughing my lungs out just like the rest of them.

I’ve already had Covid, but maybe I have it again. It sure felt the same. But my test was negative. I’ve had the Covid vaccine and boosters, five shots to be exact. I also had a seasonal flu shot. But viruses mutate and what works for one virus may not work for another. Whatever this no-name disease is, it is spreading like wildfire.

It seems that when you think you have Covid for sure, you have the flu. And when you think you have the flu, you have some other virus, and when you think it is a virus, it is a cold, and when you think it is a cold, it is the crud-that-has-no-name. If it had a name, would it be easier to treat?

Cough, cough, COUGH! Not a polite little cough that you can cover with a tissue, but gut-wrenching, flame-throwing, agonizing coughs from the pits of hell. The kind of coughing that makes your tonsils vibrate, fluid run from your nose and tears flow from your eyes. I should have gone to the doctor when it first started, but now I might as well ride it out. Nothing helps. Sudafed and cough drops do about as much good as anything.

I haven’t slept in two nights. Did you know you cannot both cough and sleep at the same time? Drink plenty of liquid, they say. So I did. I take mini-naps, wake up coughing and go to the bathroom. And in the unlikely event that I do fall asleep, I can count on honey to have a coughing spasm and wake me up anyhow.

Speaking of coughing spasms, at some point during the night I must have sucked sinus drainage down my throat which clogged my airway, and I narrowly escaped suffocation with a coughing fit worthy of the mucus Olympics. After that, I was afraid to go back to sleep, so I decided to get up and hoped my head would be less stuffy when I was setting up.

There is not much on TV after 3 A.M. except infomercials and crime shows, so I watched a couple people get murdered. By then I was so desensitized to death that I didn’t much care whether I lived or not.

Today I have accomplished nothing – nada – zero. I have no appetite, not even for the proverbial chicken soup. I forced myself to consume some spicy Mexican food as I figured the heat might help open my head. My nose was a waterfall after that. I dread the thought of another night. I suppose I will get over this granddaddy of all crud-that-has-no-name sooner or later.

I hope you were wearing a mask while you read this and stayed six feet away from your computer. Please wash your hands for 20 seconds if you touched your keyboard. As for me, I’m going to blow my nose and go to bed before I collapse.

Copyright 2023 Sheila Moss

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Message from the Car

Posted on February 28, 2023 by Sheila Moss

Dear Vehicle Owner:

I think it is about time that we get a few things clear, and I don’t mean my windshield. I am not satisfied with the way you are treating me.  First of all, you are driving me too fast. I am not a sports car. I thought for sure you were going to rear end that little Subaru in front of us the other day. It was so afraid it changed lanes. Please slow down! I do not want to end up in the junkyard before my life is half over.

Then there is the matter of hygiene. When is the last time you took me to the car wash? You can’t remember, can you? I am filthy. It is embarrassing. When I was parked next to the shiny new Ferrari in the parking garage, I could not even blink my lights at her as I knew her motor would be turned off by my appearance.

My interior is also a disgrace. I look like a motor home. What is all that stuff in my cargo area? I’ll tell you what it is: junk, pure junk — ice scrapers, sun shields, umbrellas, sunglasses, paper towels, CD’s, old receipts, broken tools, and empty paper cups. Stuff rolls around in my cargo area gathering dust and giving me an interior complex.

The gas you have been pumping in me gives me indigestion, always from the cheapest gas station you can find, always regular, never premium. Am I not worthy of a little special treatment once in a while? You just take it for granted that I will continue to be dependable regardless of whether you keep my tank full or my oil changed. One of the days I am going to break down and leave you stranded. That will serve you right. R

My tire treads are starting to get a bit worn. It is difficult to live life in the fast lane, never knowing whether I will have a blowout. Do you ever check my tires? Do you want to have to call the Emergency Road Service again to rescue us on the Interstate? All the other cars drive by honking at me and shaking their tailpipes. I feel like such a loser.

Have you even read my user’s manual? What if one of my dashboard warning lights came on? You would not have the faintest idea what to do and would just keep driving. I can’t tell you anything. You will not listen to warnings. When you burn up my engine maybe you will be satisfied.

All you do is play my radio. Do you ever consider that I might want to listen to another station? If I try to change the dial to something soft and soothing, you change it right back. You never listen to Car Talk or Bumper to Bumper. That is why I try to freeze you to death with my air conditioner. I am hoping you will get the message.

Life is a bore, spending every day in a parking garage, never going on a long road trip or seeing any sights. Other cars have been to California, Florida, or Yellowstone. I have nothing to brag about, no national parks, no trips to the beach or mountains, not even a getaway at the race track.

You are going to wear me out and then trade me in on a younger model. I know your plan. I give you the best years of my life and what do I get in return? Hoodwinked. I’m getting old in car years. But I might as well shut off my windshield wipers and blow my horn. I suppose there is nothing a car can do about feeling used.  

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

Posted in Automotive, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Casual Dining

Posted on February 21, 2023 by Sheila Moss

We’ve been invited to eat out tonight,” said Honey.

“Okay,” I replied, thinking of all the things I had planned to do when I got off work. Plus, it had been a stressful week of reports, deadlines, and demanding assignments. I was tired.

Maybe it will be a good thing, I thought; maybe it will help me unwind. “Where are we going,” I asked.

“Some place close.”

They have a lot of nice restaurants over near the new mall. Or maybe we can go to Bonefish Grill and use the gift card left from Christmas.  Visions of steak, soft music and immaculate waiters danced in my head.

When I got to the car, Honey pealed out into traffic and headed in the wrong direction.

“Where are you going? I thought we were going someplace close to home.”

“They want to go to Rivergate to Hooters.” I don’t know why Honey had the idea we were going to Murfreesboro. My enthusiasm was fading rapidly.  

Hooters is not the Bonefish Grill. It is a beer and wings kind of place. I’ve heard of it, but I can’t remember ever going there. Not that these places can’t be fun, but not tonight. But we were on the Interstate headed north in bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic.

We were not even sure how to get there. I turned on the GPS on my phone for directions. “Rivergate Wall is straight ahead, take exit 96,” said the phone.

Eventually we arrived in spite of the traffic and directions to Rivergate Wall instead of Rivergate Mall. We pulled into the parking lot and found the other couple sitting on a picnic bench on a patio with a fabulous view of the parking lot. I climbed over the picnic table bench and sat down. I guess this is what is called casual dining.

Our friend went inside to find a waitress dressed in orange shorts and a tank-top with Hooter across the front. Oh, boy!

“Do you want to eat,” she asked? Oh boy, again. Does she think we came to admire the view?

“Could we get some menus?”

“Sure,” she said and brought us three menus for four people. Most of the entrees were appetizers. I ordered fish & chips – big mistake – I should have ordered a burger, something grilled instead of soaked in grease.

Meanwhile, the smell of beer from the table next to us and the scent of gasoline and exhaust from the parking lot floated in the air. I didn’t need anything to drink as the fumes were making me high.

The waitress wandered around looking for the right table with every order that came out. Did you order cheese sticks? Who gets the tater tots? Apparently, Hooters is popular for reasons other than good service or food.

I gingerly tried a slice of fried dill pickle. They were as bad as they sound.

Across the street someone decided to mow a lawn and stir up the dust and insects. The sound of the mower whirred on and on, so loud we could hardly hear the people at the next table who were on the fourth or fifth round of beer.

Redneck ambiance.

The waitress finally found four forks and one knife, which we shared.

A guy at the table next to us climbed up on the patio rail and drank his beer. I don’t blame him. I felt like sitting on the rail with a beer myself, and I don’t even drink beer.

“We will call you next time we come,” said the couple, as we waved goodbye.

“Make an immediate U-turn,” said my phone, which I thought I had turned off. 

No thanks, I have had enough of Rivergate Mall, Hooters and anything else Rivergate.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

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How to Burn Down the House

Posted on February 17, 2023 by Sheila Moss

[Life is, shall we say, “interesting” at my house. In this little scenario, I am the mentioned mom. The narrator is almost anyone else in the house.]


Burning down the house seems to be more of a potential possibility at our place than it is elsewhere.  Here’s how it’s done.

Step 1: Bake a pizza.

You should bake pizza directly on the oven rack without a pan so the crust will be crispy. When it gets hot, cheese will drip on the bottom of the oven and burn.

Alternative method: If the house is still standing, put a pizza in the oven and then fall asleep watching TV while the pizza burns to a cinder.

Step 2: List to mom rant.

“It’s okay Mom, it was an accident. Nothing happened.”

“No nothing happened, but what if I had not smelled it burning? Is it asking too much for people to use a little common sense?”

Step 3: Cook frozen fish fillets.

This is what the large pizza pan is for, Naturally, as soon as the fish is hot, grease will drip on the bottom of the oven and burn.

Step 4: Go outside and do not watch the food cook.

When mom smells a strange smell like plastic melting, she will check the oven and take out the pan of fish fillets. It will not do much good as the smoke is coming from the grease on the bottom of the oven.

Step 5: Open windows.

Watch mom run around like crazy opening doors and windows to get rid of the smoke before the smoke alarm goes off. Our smoke alarm is connected to a home security system and if it goes off, fire trucks come.

Step 6: Listen to mom rant and rave.

Mom will go on and on about how stupid it is to try to cook fried food in a pan with holes in it.

Step 7: Clean the oven

Mom can clean the oven the next day when it cools. The house may smell like a greasy fish restaurant for several days, so try to stay away from home as much as possible.

Step 8: Fry some bacon.

Bacon grease is very flammable at a low temperature. Bacon has been banned for so long that we can’t even remember the last time it was cooked. Wait till mom is out of town and cook bacon every morning.

Step 9: When mom comes home, give her CPR.

Listen to mom’s lecture on cold cuts and salads for people who don’t know how to cook. (The potato chips are on top of the refrigerator and chocolate chip cookies are behind the microwave for emergencies.)

Step 10: Be sure the fire insurance is paid up.

Mom will take care of this. She is quite certain that one day she is going to come home and find a pile of ashes and a chimney where the house used to be.

Step 10: Throw pizza pan in trash.

“Don’t throw away the pizza pan, mom, I need it to cook pizza.”

“No you don’t, all pizza cooking is now banned.”

Step 11: Listen to the lecture on the virtues of being careful.

God knows what will be burned up next. God knows and mom knows. I am not allowed to use the toaster, the stove, the oven, the microwave, the gas grill, the crock pot or the hair dryer.

Step 12: Eat out.

We no longer cook at home because everything is banned, thrown away or locked up. 

“Can we order a carry-out pizza, mom?”

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

[I have now solved the problem. I sleep with a fire extinguisher.]

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