Homeland Farm

Homeland Farm

Friday, November 28, 2014

Hello Santa, it's me Carmen...

An early letter to Santa...

        Dear Santy...

               Well, it is a bit early for a letter I know, but I have had a little "incident", and it made it very clear what I should ask for this Christmas. As you are probably aware, I have bad knees, and while it would be really cool if you could give me two good knee joints, I know that isn't an option. Since the last three days have been pretty darn busy with Thanksgiving and all it's work, followed by a rousing dialysis session in which they tried desperately to suck off 2 bottles of champagne, I have been pretty much riding on my Rascal scooter all afternoon. That is how "the incident" occurred.
              After my post dialysis nap, I hopped onto my scooter and cruised to the kitchen, granny nightie and all, trying to figure out a simple supper that did not involve turkey. (or champagne.) I rode here and there, mulled over a tuna fish sandwich...maybe eggs...nope. What I wanted was a nice slab of prime rib since someone mentioned those two words someplace earlier in my day, but alas. No prime rib. If only I felt like the leftover 12 pounds of turkey in the fridge...but no.
            Cereal seemed blah. I felt (as I often do after dialysis) like something salty, so I decided on a toasted cheese and a bowl of ramen. Cam and Cliff were wandering around, also mulling over their choices, but as it turned out, both had left the room during "the incident."
             I boiled up my ramen, and as it cooked, I slapped together my sandwich. I took the ramen off, and set it on a pot holder on the table, and then set the fry pan on the burner to cook my toasted cheese. I whizzed here and there while it was cooking, getting my spoon..a plate..a glass. I zipped back to the stove...when it happened.
             I took the sandwich off the burner, and dumped it on my plate. Then I set the plate on the table, the fry pan on a cold burner, then reached over to turn off the stove. I clicked it to off, and started to roll back to the table, when I saw smoke. From my sleeve. Yep, I was on fire.
            Now, I am fine, and typing two handed so all is well of course. But my, it was truly exciting for a few seconds. I think I said some sort of expletive..and started slapping my granny with the spatula I still held in my hand. Now, it is funny how much can crash through your mind in a split second or two. I swear..I thought of all these things as I was putting out the fire..

A...Dang it! There goes one of my best nighties
B...Riding on a scooter while on fire gives new meaning to "stop, drop and roll.."
C...Why does this smell better then my supper..
and last but not least...great..now I am an old person tv commercial...(DOES YOUR MOTHER CATCH HER GRANNY NIGHTIE ON FIRE WHILE COOKING?? GET HER AN EMERGENCY BEEPER!)
              So, after I threw the spatula, and just started slapping with my hand, the fire was out in a few seconds, and I was no worse for wear. I do have a nicely burnt 6 inch hole in my sleeve, and a story for the grandchildren some day, if I am ever allowed to take care of them after this...
         
              So dear Santa, if you have room on your sleigh, could you please slip in a new granny nightie for me? Any color will do..I'm not fussy. (Except after today, maybe not fire engine red..I might have a flashback.) Thanks Santa..Your a pal!

            I promise to leave you a whole plate of cookies! No bake, of course. Thanks again.

                                       Love, Carmen

PS..Cliffy says please drop him off a fire extinguisher, 'cause he has a hot one on his hands.
This would be the nightie..and sleeve in question

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