losing my cool made for a hot, smokey night

I poured cream in my orange juice Tuesday morning. It doesn’t seem like a big deal.

It might even taste good.

But I was trying to put the cream in my coffee.

It was a reminder of the night before when I almost burned my house down with a similar absent-minded move. Now I’m short a kitchen towel and need to clean my stove.

Now that I’ve settled into my new job, I’m trying to find that same rhythm for the rest of my life. Coaching, exercising, spending time with the dog, finding a social outlet, etc.

It’s occupying the extra space in my mind. I heard on the radio that when someone gets busy, they forget to do important things.

Thus far it’s consisted of me forgetting my cell phone at home.

I made dinner Monday night. Pasta with ground turkey and vegetables in a white wine sauce. I was excited to eat. I worked out hard for the fourth day in a row and only ate vegetables and meat the week and a half before that, so starch was calling to my stomach.

I turned the stove off.

I thought.

I put a metal lid down on the stove. After I drained the pasta, I put the towel I held the pot with down on the stove as well. I sat down to another Netflixed episode of “Bones,” my favorite thing to do at the moment. I have watched almost all six seasons since I started working at the Eagle in December.

My dog kept bothering me to throw his ball and I started eating. I would say 20 minutes into “Bones” I looked up because I smelled burning. What I saw was my kitchen ceiling filling up with smoke. I immediately knew that I left the stove on.

I shook my head.

My smoke alarm is definitely not working.

In fact, I don’t even know where it is.

I don’t have a fan, so all I can do is open the windows. The towel on the metal lid was smoldering, it’s embered and browned edges glowed orange. The towel was laughing at me for making such a mistake.

Stupid towel.

Stupid stove.

I had to get a down blanket off my bed to keep from freezing because the windows were open. I continued to eat my pasta, but wasn’t happy anymore. And I felt like a piece of beef in a smoker, like jerky. Only not hickory flavored. I was cotton and polyester flavored.

It’s not the first time I’ve performed stove-tricks.

When I first moved to Missoula for school, I almost burned my friends house down because I wanted to impress her by making popcorn on the stove.

I am an expert now. You put the oil in the pan, then the popcorn, put the lid on it and then put it on the stove.

Back then, I put the oil in the pan, put it on the stove and went into the other room to watch a movie. I swear, for someone who thinks she has brains, I can be such a space cadet sometimes.

Needless to say the oil got hot, started to smoke and actually caught on fire.

FIRE.

All I could do was have the presence of mind to stare at the FIRE. No thoughts as to a plan of action, just stare. Lucky for my friend, she’s quick on the uptake.

She grabbed the fire extinguisher. (I don’t even think I own one, but maybe I should invest with the history I have)

She sprayed and put the fire out. I cleaned up the mess. I couldn’t believe myself.

I still can’t believe myself. At least the other night I had the wherewithal to do more than just stare at the smoldering towl.again—at least for a while.