All Blogged Up: A Moof’s Tale

A Comedy of Errors

Well - another Christmas is behind us … and it’s going to take until at least next Christmas to be ready for another one … 0.o

If you remember, in “Ka-BOOM!“, I mentioned that after all of the things which had just happened, I was “half afraid to turn the oven on” … well! Let me pick up the tale from that point … ;-)

As it turned out, the car, computer, and MP3 player were, indeed, joined by the oven. I must be a prophet! We did all of our Christmas baking in an oven that vacillated between the set temperature, and and an extra 125 degrees. Poor old baby’s seen better days anyway. It’s almost as old as I am … *cough*

Our guests were supposed to begin arriving at about 7 PM. With four of us dashing madly about as we tried to fill all of the dishes and food trays (and #5 positioning himself perfectly in the dead center of the activity like a lightpole minus its bulb ;-) … we knew we could never hope to have it all set up before the first few knocks at the door.

7:10 PM - Racing against time, we crowded around the stove like little piggies around a slop trough. Dougie (my chef) was manning the gravy for the Swedish Meatballs, and his signature Cream of Mushroom Soup … I had just stirred the Seafood Chowder, and was walking (scooting!) away to tend to something else.

Dougie exclaimed, “Oh no! Something just jumped into the chowder. I have no idea what it was!” The stove and environs were covered by splooshed chowder … and my salt shaker had vanished! Dougie set down a plastic container on the stove, and proceeded to help me dig out the shaker.

I was relieved to the point of tears when, with the now slimy/slippery salt shaker in hand, I realized that the salt on the inside was still dry - that meant the chowder hadn’t been ruined. However, my relief was short lived …

… I watched in horrified fascination as Dougie picked up that plastic bucket he had just set down in order to help me dig the shaker out of the chowder. He raised it up from the back right burner, and I saw filaments of plastic follow the departing bucket … like hot mozzarella on a heavy cheese pizza. Before I could react, the flour began to pour from the bucket onto the rug - making “PLOOF!” sounds as most of 5 pounds of all-purpose hit the floor, covering that entire corner of the kitchen in a coat of white. Bemused, I watched what looked like wisps of smoke rise from the irregular shaped heaps on the rug.

Realizing that we were already on borrowed time … I took in the scene: big white splotches of goop hanging and dripping from every surface in a 5 foot radius from the chowder bucket … plastic still bubbling and burning on the burner … flour - !!! - all over the rug, and dusting the front and side of the stove, the inside of the kitchen door, a cupboard door, my diswasher, the counter … the sink … by the way, did I mention that the kitchen door was the one everyone was supposed to arrive through?

An hour late, we finally put on all of the finishing touches. My very understanding brother Gil, and his wife Vivi, took in the last part of the ongoing drama … but we were again our unflappable selves once the real crowd hit.

I spent all of Christmas day in the classic “icepack on the head” position in the bedroom! Some may say that it was brought on by the Grateful Deads I kept mixing the night before … but I know better - it was due to inhaling a toxic mixture of flour dust, burned plastic and chowder! *blink!*

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