The Story of the Fire behind the Stove

This is a difficult story to write because it is a funny story but with a very different type of ending, one that is not funny. This is a story with effects that stretch over the years like faint whispers on the wind.

It was the summer of ’67. I had just graduated from college with a degree in Registered Nursing. I was employed at my home town hospital with an appointment date to take the State’s Finals for licensing. I enjoyed working at the hospital, and in a way it was like school because I was learning the practical side of my profession as well as helping people. It was also a time of decision as well. My future husband was still in the Army and stationed in Oklahoma. We had not decided if marriage was what we truly wanted, so the final decision would be made when he was mustarded out of the army in a few months. It was a time when the fashion of skirt and dress lengths had gotten very short. The popular dress apparel for young women was mini skirts and mini dresses. The hem or bottom of the skirt was approximately 10 inches below the waist. This meant that when you sat down, you would be sitting on the bare chair and not the material of the skirt or dress. It also meant that your arm extended down would be below the skirt line. I had brought a mini dress but I was afraid to wear it. It was really too short to make me feel comfortable and for heavens sake’s, don’t ever bend over!!

On this particular Sunday, I came home from working at the hospital and Mom was still working at the restaurant. My sisters were off somewhere with my father, so I had the house to myself. As a mentioned in my earlier stories, having the house to me was an event of greatest remembrance. Since I was hungry, I selected a TV dinner from the freezer and placed it in the oven. (This is before microwave ovens.) The dinner would take about 25 minutes to heat, so I changed out of my uniform into the mini dress. I decided to wear it in order to determine if I could get comfortable in this outfit, and besides no one was home to see me. It was a great solution? Right – wrong!!

The timer went off; I removed the dinner from the oven and began to eat. Just was I finished the meal, I noticed a strange odor. Something was burning. I walked towards the kitchen and immediately saw smoke coming from the back of the stove. I tried to move the stove from the wall in order to see what was burning and hopefully put out the fire. I couldn’t move the stove, so I got a pan of water and poured it between the wall and stove. I repeat this for a few times. The smoke was still coming out from behind the stove. I called the fire department, grabbed the parakeet that was around the corner and exited the house to wait for the fire department. I stood on the front porch and watched for the trucks.

Soon the fire department truck could be seen coming down the road, but they didn’t slow down. They actually passed the house. As I started jumping and yelling for the trucks to return, they did turned around and came back. The firemen entered the house, pulled the stove from the wall and examined the damage. In reality, I really did put the fire out, but the fireman were quick to note that if it had been a electrical fire, throwing water on the flames would have been the worst thing to do. The first action should have been was to identify what is causing the fire. Therefore I was very lucky. So what did cause the fire?

The fire was caused by the years in the habit of throwing the pot holders to the area next to the stove. Mom kept the pot holders close to the stove for easy accessibility. When we were finished with the pot holder, instead of walking the few steps to return the item, we simply threw the pot holder to its home location. Unfortunately, some times the throw was not accurate and the pot holder fell behind the stove. After years of heating the oven, the temperature had gotten to be too much and the pot holders started to burn. That had been the fire – the pot holders. Now I was relieved but now I had to clean the mess behind the stove, since the firemen did not return the stove to its normal position.

As I escorted the firemen to the door, there were 10-12 men at the door looking in. I went to the second door, and again 10-12 different men at the door. The same was at all the doors and windows. Here I am in a mini dress and it seemed like 100 pair of eyes were staring at me. These men came from the “rifle range” a mile from the house. When they saw the fire truck go by, they had decided to follow in case they could have been of assistance with the fire. That was why there were so many men at the doors. Now I was scared. Not from any fire, but from all the men located at the parameter of the house. I was 19 years old and pretty, (if I do say so myself), and I am wearing a mini dress. To be honest, I was afraid of rape. In this time, society did not view a rape victim as a victim. She was asking for the crime to be committed against her. With this mini dress, I felt that I would be viewed by these men as a woman asking for sex and therefore becoming a victim of rape.

I was really, really scared. Even with the men gone, I was afraid that even one man would return. I started calling for help, but I couldn’t find anyone. I finally started calling friends of my parents. One friend came over. He had been friends with my parents for years. If fact he was a player in my experiences at the time of JFK’s assassination, but that is another story. I will call him OC in this story as I do not want to use names.

OC arrived shortly after I called. I explained the events surrounding the fire, and the men from the rifle range, and why I was scared. By the time he got there, I had cleaned the area behind the stove where the fire had been. OC helped me move the stove back into place. I thank him, and offered him a cup of coffee. I was sure that when he had finished his coffee, enough time would have gone by to ensure that I would have no unwelcome visitors from the rifle range.

He drank the cup of coffee, and started asking me personal questions, too personal for me to answer. He also had a strange look in his eyes and he was now someone to fear. How could I get him out of the house? I did ask him in and he was my parent’s close friend. He asked me to sit by him on the couch. I move to the far end, but soon he was sitting next to me, and touching my knee. His hand traveled up and down my leg and I was too nervous to scream. He sensed my fear and backed off slightly. Then he changed his strategy.

He said I looked tense and he would massage my neck. My neck was sore, so he preceded to massages my neck but he didn’t stop there. He now started to massage my back. Next thing I know, I am laying on my stomach, on the couch. OC was massaging my back over my clothing, and I was holding on to the hem of my skirt for dear life. As he massaged, he tried to get the dress to rise up revealing more skin, but I held the skirt down. He kept trying to get me to release the hold of my dress, but no way was that going to happen. It was my only active defense. My other defense is that he was a friend of my parents.

He finally left and I felt shaken. I never felt comfortable when he visited after this event. It happened that about 6 months later, he did try to rape me again. My mother, not realizing my feelings, forced me into a situation where I would be alone with OC again. He took this opportunity to force himself on me. I really don’t know how I defended myself, but at some point my knee hit in his private area with enough force to allow me to escape. I told him that I was had every intention to tell my parents, he replied “It was a good thing that I came to my senses”. I told my parents of his attempts to rape me, and his remake. He was never welcomed into their home again, and I never saw him again.

The morale is:
1) If you have a fire, of any kind, call the fire department. Don’t try to put the fire out yourself. You could make a bad situation worse.
2) Don’t wear anything that you don’t feel comfortable in. If you are comfortable in a mini dress or skirt, I am happy for you. If you are uncomfortable in any dress style, don’t wear it.
3) In the crime of rape, the victim is never asking to be a victim. If you are a victim, you did not cause this violence, the mind set of the abuser is at fault. Just remember the victim is just that, a victim.

The Story of Snowballs in July

Living in New York State, winter is guaranteed to deliver snow. One year in the late winter we had a snow fall that can never be forgotten. It is not because it paralyzed the function of daily life for the masses, but for what it meant for my family.

My sisters and I woke to find fresh and white snow on the ground. We couldn’t wait to go out and play in it. We got our coats, warm leggings, boots, hats and mittens on and headed for the back door. We opened the door and we were greeted by a white surprise. Between the wind and the snow fall, the door was complete blocked. The snow covered the entire doorway and we just couldn’t get out of the house. This had never happened before and you couldn’t believe the surprise and frustration we felt. What could we do? We wanted to play in the beautiful white stuff, but we were stuck. It was at this time that Mom came up with a brilliant and wonderful solution.

Every fall my mother would buy meat for the freezer, enough for the whole winter. This was a cost saving measure for the family, and therefore as the winter went on, the supply of the meat decreased in the freezer. Luckily for us, there was plenty of room in the freezer for mother’s idea. She got a cardboard box and suggested that we make snow balls, place them in the box, and she would put the box in the freezer for storage. So that is what we did. We opened the door and made a box full of snowballs that we would use sometime in the future. As time went by the snowballs were forgotten.

Now winter was over and it is the middle of July. We were hot and complaining that we wanted to go swimming, but the lake was miles away and Mom had work in the house to do. Our boredom was slightly relieved when some friends came to play, but before long we were all bored again, not to mention how hot we were. Mom came to the rescue again!! She reminded us of the snowballs that had been stored in the freezer.

Out came the snowballs and we proceeded to had a snow ball fight. It was refreshing to have a snowball hit you or even has some snow down your back. When I look back, we must have been a sight; having a snowball fight in July. But the most wonderful moment was yet to come.

We were down to just a few snowballs and they were melting fast. One of the friends, a boy, took the few remaining snowballs and climbed the tree that stood close to the road. One of the branches actually hung over the shoulder of the road; therefore it was a great vantage point. As we all hid around the corner of the house and we waited for a victim that is a car coming down the road.

As a car started down the hill towards the house, the boy in the tree got ready. Just as the car was passing his vantage point, he threw the snowball. The snowball landed in the middle of the car’s windshield. Since the snow was melting, it was therefore soft and mashed against the glass. Suddenly he slammed on his brakes and stopped his car. He didn’t see us around the corner of the house and he didn’t see the boy in the tree. He got out of his car, examined the windshield and picked up what was left of the snow. He looked at the windshield, scratched his head, and continues to examine the remainder of the snow. Meanwhile, we were all trying very hard not to make a sound, which was quite difficult. Finally he got into his car and drove away very slowly.

We broke down in laugher and even had to sit down because we were laughing so hard. All we could think about was how this man was going to report snow hitting his car when he got home. Would his family even believe him or would they think that he had been drinking?

The morale is simple: A simple act, in this case the storing of the snowballs, can provide the greatest enjoyment at some later time. If you take what you have, and apply some imagination a wonderful memory that be created. There could be another lesson, from a mother’s standpoint, a way to keep the children from under foot.

The Story of Grandma and the Lightning

This is a short story but one that will leave the reader wondering if this is possible or if it really happened. Believe me it did!

Our home can be best described as a box, or my mother was often quoted as saying, it was a “cracker box”. On a summer day, when all the windows and curtains are open to let the fresh breeze in, a person could look in the front window and see the back yard out of the back window. Or a person could look into the kitchen window on the right side of the house and see the yard on the left side of the house. This was proven on one particular summer day.

Although it looks like it might rain, Mom continued to wash the clothes and hang them on the clothes line. Grandma was sitting in her favorite rocking chair that was by the front side window. Grandma would sit and watch the cars go by on the road, bask in the sun light coming though the window, or just nod off into a little nap. My sister and I were playing near the center of the house in the area of the living and dining rooms.

All of a sudden there was not one lightning strike but two. What was really strange was one bolt of lightning came through the front window, where Gram was sitting, and traveled through the house and out the back window. The second bolt of lightning came through the kitchen window and went out the window on the left side of the house. In other words they cross each other. My sister and I drove under the diving room table. When I say drove, I mean drove. We stayed under that table in a start of wonder, confusion, and just plain scared. We didn’t dare say a word. Grandmother continue to sit in the rocking chair, napping.

Mom came into the house and immediately noted that we were under the table. She told us to get out and we told her no. When she asked why, we told her that we didn’t want to get hit by lightning. Of course this surprised her and we continue to tell her how two lightning bolts came through the house. Of course she was skeptable. She told us that it couldn’t have happen, there was no damage to the house and it was just our imagination. We told her that it didn’t hit anything, just when in and out of the windows. She doubted our story, so we get upset and started crying because we were not lying and we couldn’t seem to make mother believe us, until….

Grandmother woke up and was stating that she felt hot and that her feet felt like they were burning. Mom went to her to check her and to see if she was all right. Grandma had been wearing sneakers with rubber souls, and the sneakers were smoking.


The morale is this. If your child is truthful in nature and does not tend to make up tales, then it is your responsibility to believe your child even then the incident he/she is relating is unusual. Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.

The Story of Jigger the Crow

In my previous story, I mentioned among the household pets a crow. It seems like this is a good place to tell his story. Since we lived in the country, they were plenty of space of imagination, role playing games and animals. I really can’t remember how we got Jigger, but we did.

Jigger was a typical black crow that somehow had been tamed. His original owner couldn’t keep him and somehow Mom allowed him to join the family. There was an old chicken coop in the back of the yard that had not been used by this family. I asked Mom why we did not have chickens since we had a chicken coop and she replied that they were too dirty, so the run-down building remained vacant and unused, that is until Jigger arrived. The building became Jigger’s home. Jigger was kept in the chicken coop and every day we fed him.

We asked me why Jigger couldn’t be let out of the chicken coop and she said that he had to get used to us first. After many days, Jigger was released. We thought he would fly away, but he didn’t. It was great having an outside bird that would land on your shoulder and that we could feed from our hands. It was fun watching him soar and we even interacted by him. It was like some great movie where the English Lord would have a hawk or falcon sitting on his arm. He was a great bird until Mom put the wash out on the clothes line for the first time.

As soon as Mom finished putting the clothes on the line and attaching the clothes pins to the clothes, the fun would begin. Jigger would sloop down and pulls the pins off the line. Of course when Mom returned with the next load of laundry to dry on the line, the previous load would be on the ground. Laundry day become a battle of the wits between Mom and Jigger. I am not sure now how the battle ended, but it was fun seeing Mom yelling at someone other than us children.

I remember one time when we were playing badminton. We would hit the plastic birdie across the net, or at least try to. One day we really did hit the birdie, but it wasn’t plastic, it was Jigger. As time went on, the neighboring children got to know Jigger as well. I guess they were jealous and started to find ways to get Jigger to come to their home. They would entice him with food and pretty soon he had two places he could go to get fed. But of course, a bird’s nature is to poop after eating. We had a messy porch where we fed Jigger, but we expected as such and that was part of our daily care of the bird. In other words, Mom cleaned the porch. But the neighbors did not like the down side of have a free flying bird on their hands. They start complaining that the bird was messing up their porch. Mom told them to stop feeding the crow and he would leave. But the neighboring children would not stop feeding the crow and the complaints continued but one day. The police were called and we were forced to get rid of the crow, Jigger. It wasn’t the bird’s fault, or ours but it did not matter.

Mom found a home for Jigger, but they did not keep the birds confirmed for a while like we did. Jigger escaped into the wild. Mom informed us of the sad news. She said that since Jigger had been tamed, the wild crows would see Jigger as a threat and probably kill him. We were so angry at the neighboring children in making us get rid of Jigger and blamed them for his death that we were sure to occur. After a while, life continued and Jigger became a happy memory for us. The funny thing is that soon we realized that Mom loved that crazy bird more that us.

For years, every time a flock of crows was spotted, Mom would call out “Jigger” as load as she could. If we were in the car, she would stop the car, get out of the car, and start calling for the crow. To this day, I think that every time Mom hangs laundry on the line to dry, she remembers Jigger.

The morale is that animals and birds can find a special part in your heart and live there forever. It is when you recognize a special animal or bird, they some how became a person, friend, family. They do hold a special place in our Father’s plan.

The Story of the Bird and Hurricane Hazel

This is a story of responsibility and the effects that it has on others, especially on those you least expect.

In my growing years, we had several pets. A dog named King, too many cats to count, a crow (that’s another story), and several parakeets. While the dog and cats were outside animals, the parakeet would be the only official inside pet. We loved to hear the bird’s sounds and we all consider the parakeet as Mom’s official pet.

Mom would clean the cage every other week because great care was needed for the bird and in the cleaning of the cage. The best part of cleaning the cage was that it was the only time that the bird could fly around the house. When the cleaning was in progress all the doors and windows had to be closed and all of us, girls, had to stay in the house. No one was allowed to go outside until the bird was safely backed into the cage. We love to see the bird fly and it was a contest on who could get the bird to land on our outstretched finger.

One day it was decided that the cage needed cleaning, but Mom was not home. Since we had watched Mom cleaned the cage so often, we figured that we could do the job carefully and correctly. We really didn’t want to clean the cage, we just wanted to watch the bird fly, but I had forgotten one of the rules, one of the sisters was outside playing.

With all the windows and doors closed, the bird was set free. During this process, the cage was cleaned very slowly. We were too busy watching the flight of the little parakeet. Then the unthinkable happened. The one sister left outside came into the house and the bird got his ultimate freedom of the great outdoors.

I was so upset. I yelled at the sister who let the bird out and ran to find my little feather friend. Of course it wasn’t my sister’s fault, it was mine. I had forgotten the only rule that had been set to protect the parakeet. I called and looked in all the trees for hours. Mom joined into the search. She reminded me that the bird was probably close by since he would be scared of the new environment. Then the wind started picking up. Mom led me inside because a storm was coming.

That storm was Hurricane Hazel. The wind was so strong that it felt like the top of the house would blow off. When the tree branches hit the house, I thought the windows would break. It was my first hurricane that I could remember and it was very frightening for this little girl. I was frightened of the storm, but I also was frightened for the pet parakeet. I could just image that the wind just blowing him away. The parakeet was never seen again and to this day I wondered what happen to that little bird.

The morale is that rules are made to protect us and everyone around us. To break the rules or even bending the rules can have lasting effects for your entire life.