THE DAY I SET THE HOUSE ON FIRE

I was only just a little thing, having not yet started school.
My eyes and ears didn’t miss a thing, and I do believe
I was usually a very good girl (I think), and
was full of curiosity, watching everything that was
going on around me, taking it all in so to speak.
When my mother baked, there I was right in the
middle of the floury mess begging for a piece of raw dough.
Mother got top marks for patience I can tell you.
Oh the odours that drifted out of that old wood burning,
antiquated stove.
We would start to salivate just from the smell, and when
the first pan of cookies came out we had to have a sample right away.
It is hard to choose from all the things my mother cooked so well,
which was our favourite. At first thought, I’d choose her bread
that was as light as air, and the flavour indescribable.
When she buttered the top of the loaf, the crust would snap
and crackle, inviting you to sample its heavenly texture.
Then there was her turkey dinners, and light and fluffy pancakes,
etc., etc., etc.,
Ah but I’m getting off the topic (do I hear fire engines)?
Just kidding!
We all have habits that stick with us, and my father had one
particular one that got me into trouble.
He was a smoker, and he would take a sliver of wood
from the wood box, put it through the grate and touch the hot coals
to light his cigarette or pipe, never thinking someone might be
looking on (guess who)? Well this was the day for lessons,
and I was about to learn one, pronto.
The flame fascinated me until on putting my sliver into the stove
like my dad, it ignited quickly and flared up sending me into
a panic. What do I do, what do I do? Get rid of it, get rid of it.
So I did, I threw it into the wood box, only to see everything
get worse because there were papers and chips in there to help
start a fire in the morning.
It started to really burn and I stood there frozen in time.
My mother was outside hanging laundry, so I ran to her
yelling at the top of my lungs, Fire, Fire!
Did she move, I didn’t know she had it in her.
What saved the day and my bottom was the fact that
the laundry water was still there in the kitchen so she doused the
fire with that. She was so relieved that I had run and told her,
that she never punished me at all. The result of all this was that
I couldn’t light a match for years, and I have a deep respect for fire.
Curiosity nearly killed this cat.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Apr. 19, 2007