The gas stove ticked while it was off.
The kids ran outside.
They listened.
I turned off the gas.
Small electrical fire grew from a spark.
With the knob turned back to ON, the fire went out.
I went out.
Called 911.
We’re alive.
I ran out when the Fire Capt. turned the knob back to ON.
The kitchen didn’t blow up.
The stove knob caught fire again.
They told me everything is okay.
I laughed at myself for running out afraid while five fire firefighters were in my kitchen.
The house is undamaged.
We’re unharmed.
The stove died.
We ate.
We had no stove, no oven, and no kitchen for six days.
We still ate.
I still had coffee.
While I fussed in my head about not cooking for five nights, I remembered right before I fell asleep that night…
I don’t cook well.
I remembered Grandma.
She told me that after the old farmhouse burnt down when dad was small….
…things just didn’t matter to her anymore.
Her kids were alive.
Her husband was alive.
They were unharmed.
The neighbors helped rebuild.
We ate out the morning of the sixth day.
We’re alive.
On the 7th day, we had a new stove.
I cooked well that night.
Joy is Free 