March 26, 2001
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An Oven Tale
When Saundra wrote this entry, it reminded me of something that happened a few years ago at my mother's house.
Mother was fixing supper one afternoon, and I was off in my room, on the phone with a friend. All of a sudden, Mother started shouting for me to come into the kitchen, so I did. As I approached, she was saying that the oven was on fire. I figured she meant something had ccooked over and was burning, but that wasn't the case.
She had opened the oven to retrieve dinner, when all of a sudden the lower element started shooting sparks. She immediately turned the oven off, but the oven was still sparking. The element was burning itself out.
My first thought was to get help. So I called the local emergency dispatchers, and asked the person who answered to please send the fire department, since we were having an oven fire.
The house is only a block from the fire station, and a couple of the volunteers were at the station when their pagers went off. And my hometown still utilizes the fire siren, which is a block away from Mother's house in a different direction. This siren, for the musical among you, plays an F arpeggio, and holds the high note a bit, comes back down, then starts over.
The influx of people soon began. First to arrive were two police officers. They had heard the dispatch, but the radio in their car had a static problem, so they thought they heard "structure fire," not "oven fire." They knew Mother was an older person, and thought she might need help getting out of the house, since they weren't sure if I was home or not. Close on their heels came the firefighters. There were six of them.
As the people got to the house, I thought to ask Mother to stay in the living room, since if things got worse in the kitchen it would be necessary to get out, and she couldn't walk as fast as might be necessary. She agreed this was wise, so that made one less person in the kitchen. I knew I could get me and the dog out, if need arose, and that the two police officers would escort Mother (translation: carry her if need be).
By this time a few minutes had passed, and the oven element had quit sparking. The six firefighters and two police officers and I were all in the kitchen, and the firefighters had pulled the stove out and unplugged it. We decided it was okay to leave it in the house (they made Mother and me promise not to plug it back in till we had a chance to have a repair made), and the crowd in the kitchen dispersed.
During all this excitement, the dog (Malcolm, a cocker mix) chose the wisest course of action he could---he stayed under the dining table, and didn't bark at anyone. He knew his people were being taken care of, so apparently didn't feel the need to comment.
We made do with the microwave and toaster oven for a couple of days till we could get a technician over to check the stove. He replaced the element, and all was well.
While Mother and I were both glad that the situation was easily remedied, we were both also enormously grateful for the response and the concern shown.