Calculated Risks The Deck's On Fire
I’ve mentioned only one of a multitude of risks we face, but it’s a common one for many of us. We run a greater risk of dying in a car accident than dying in an airplane crash or being struck by lightning, but we consider the latter ones more risky than the former one when boarding a flight or getting caught outside in a thunderstorm. For the past few years, I’ve used my charcoal grill more often than the gas grill. I didn’t appreciate the propane company jacking up the price of gas when natural gas prices soared two or three years ago, and they never came back off the inflated price when the market returned to near normal. I doubt charcoal is cheaper than propane, but I actually prefer the taste of foods charcoal-grilled as opposed to gas-grilled. It’s reported that charcoal-grilled foods have carcinogens, but like a lot of other health risks, that’s a risk I am willing to take. Last Sunday Barbara and I visited Aunt Jo, who was in the hospital in Tupelo with a touch of pneumonia. We were there from before noon until mid-afternoon. We returned to Pontotoc and ate a snack before stopping to check on her mom, who is in a nursing home. Afterwards, we attended a caregivers meeting at First Baptist Church, arriving home around six-thirty. Supper wasn’t a high priority, as we had snacked earlier, but I fired up the charcoal grill and began to prepare a couple of T-bone steaks. Jason told me he had band practice Sunday night but would be home around 8:30 p.m. I reserved a T-bone for Jason and covered it in his favorite marinade. I removed the bone from the other steak, separated the filet from the strip and then split each lengthwise, making the size of the servings more modest. Sarah joined Barbara and me for supper around seven-thirty, after she finished her daily, afternoon nap. I usually close the upper air-supply of the Webber grill when I finish grilling, but because I thought Jason might appreciate a hot-off-the-grill steak, I left the air vents open and waited until eight o’clock to start his steak. Because a light rain had started when I was grilling the first round of steaks for the evening, I moved the grill under the shelter of the lanai, but not completely off the deck. And, after grilling Jason’s steak, I left the grill in its place and closed the top air vents. I’m not sure why I didn’t close the lower air vents, except to note that as often as not I leave them open. At nine-thirty, Jason had not come home. I left him a message on his cell phone that I had placed his steak, baked potato, and roll in the still-warm oven. Barbara and I locked up the house and were in bed by ten o’clock. At one o’clock the next morning, Jason knocked on our bedroom door and called out, "Daddy." I responded with, "What?" thinking he couldn’t find his steak or else had something to ask about his supper. "The deck’s on fire," he replied as soon as he opened the bedroom door. "The deck’s on fire?" I repeated, still half asleep. "Get some water on it!" A part of me was wondering why Jason was describing a condition that needed attention rather than a proclamation. "There’s a water hose already hooked up out back," I relayed to him as my feet hit the floor and visions of a deck in flames raced through my brain. Barbara had actually sprung out of bed before me and was on Jason’s heels while I was locating my shoes, pants, and glasses. I figured if I had to fight a fire, I wanted to be able to see it and not burn my bare feet. By the time I got to the back door (off the kitchen), Barbara had doused the fire with a pitcher of water and Jason had the water hose directed on it. Though the lanai was engulfed in smoke at the time of my arrival, there were no flames. Instead, I saw a gaping hole, something less than three feet long in one of the planks of the deck. Carelessly, I left the door open and the air-conditioner system pulled a lot of smoke into the house. It was obvious to me that the three of us could handle the situation, though Barbara wanted to call the fire department. She feared that the fire might have spread to parts under the deck that we could not see. "They have a chemical they can put on it," she insisted. I saw no need to bother the firemen, but I really needed a small axe and a pry bar to rip up a few planks to put my wife’s fears to rest. The best tool I could come up with was a large butcher knife to chip away at the charred lumber, which Jason had soaked. Somewhat apologetically, Jason said, "I didn’t want to startle y’all, but I wanted to let y’all know what was going on," as he drug the water hose off the deck. "I thought it might scare you worse if you heard someone banging around outside." "He didn’t want to startle us?" I queried Barbara. "What part of ‘the deck’s on fire’ did he think wouldn’t startle us?" I’ve had one heart attack, and I often suppose if I die without having another one, my family will be disappointed. I know they have my welfare in mind, but it’s as though I’m a marked man and that any physical exertion or stressful situation will bring on another heart attack. Thus, it was not unexpected for me to hear Barbara ask, once things had settled down, "Are you okay? Your chest isn’t hurting is it?" For all practical purposes the fire was out when I arrived on the scene, but the smoking and steaming timbers below the deck had Barbara worried the fire could restart if we left the situation unattended. Two hours after Jason had "jump-started" us, we were back in bed, largely because I promised to check on things based on the supposition I would awaken in the next two or three hours. With regard to using a grill on a wooden deck, one might rightly conclude I’m guilty of taking a calculated risk. I had prior warnings of danger, having noticed several burns caused by bits of hot charcoal falling through the bottom of the grill and onto the deck, but since those incidents never amounted to more than a scar on the wood, I counted the risks as insignificant. And, I dare say there would have been no fire this time had I not moved the grill so that it was positioned directly above the most resinous pine plank on the whole deck, the one that rosin has seeped from as long as we’ve lived in the house. Needless to say, the next time I use my charcoal grill I intend to reduce the risk of a fire by closing the lower air vents when I’ve finished with the grill. As for Jason’s startling statement, could he have captured the moment without using the word "fire" in the middle of the night? Readers have one week to submit a response. The best will be published. Meanwhile, Jason is granted hero status for saving the deck, if not the house in part or the whole of it. According to Brett Brown, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility to consider his actions as having saved his parent’s lives.
Aunt Jo - Update Because You Asked With respect to the siblings of my parents, I’m down to one aunt and one uncle, both of whom are in their eighties. My dad’s younger brother, Lamar, calls New York home and is content to live out his days there. Mom’s younger sister, Jo Collins, is a resident of Sunshine Health Care, a nursing home, in Pontotoc. Aunt Jo was in poor health when the decision was made to place her in an environment where twenty-four hour care was available. She was admitted to the facility in December, 2003 and over the course of the year, slowly improved. After months of being bedridden, a physical therapist worked with her until she could take short walks using a walker and an assistant. However, she never got to the point where she could walk on her own or get up or down without assistance. From time to time, I’m asked by those who know her, "How’s Jo doing?" Seldom am I able to share any good news, and a typical reply might be, "She’s about the same, and she claims to hurt all the time." For more than a year, Aunt Jo has had sharp chest pains in the area of her left breast. Numerous exams and tests have turned up nothing. Her regular physician has explained the pain as after-effects of shingles. According to Aunt Jo, the pain pills she takes don’t do her any good. "I wish I could be easy for just five minutes," she’s often told us when we saw her on Sunday afternoons. Oh, that such a miracle could occur! I’ve told her they could give her something to knock her out, so to speak, but that’s not the same as being awake and free of pain. About a month ago pain patches were ordered, in addition to her regular medication. The result has been to induce a state of semi-consciousness. The first time we visited her, after the patches were started, we couldn’t keep her awake to talk to us. Additionally, the extra medication seemed to trigger involuntary muscle spasms that shook her whole body every ten to fifteen seconds and she couldn’t keep food on a utensil in order to feed herself She also had her few remaining teeth extracted a few weeks ago and hasn’t been herself since. Her condition reinforces the claim that "once they put you to sleep for surgery, you’re never the same again." More recently, Aunt Jo was hospitalized with a strain of pneumonia that’s resistant to many of the usual antibiotics. However, after a few days in the hospital and treatment using a powerful antibiotic, she was returned to the nursing home. The physician who treated her in Tupelo was concerned about her mental condition and the fact that she wouldn’t eat. When I last visited her, she was alert and responsive to my questions regarding her well-being. She was in bed but stated the nurses aides were to get her into a wheelchair, shortly. Aunt Jo told me she’s still not eating and complained that her liquids, including water, were being thickened. While I understand the reason is to prevent accidental aspiration, I don’t blame her for not wanting to drink thickened water, tea, or other beverages. I’m told she is now on Hospice, though I’m not clear as to why this step was taken or who initiated it. Hospice is a wonderful program of support and assistance for the terminally ill and the families of the terminally ill. We, who comprise Aunt Jo’s family, would appreciate your prayer support for her.
Bodock Beau New Take On An Old Sketch
Bob Jackson was kind enough to submit the following tale: If Bud Abbott and
Lou Costello were alive today, their infamous sketch, "Who's on First?" might
have turned out something like this:
ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?
ABBOTT: Mac?
ABBOTT: Your computer?
ABBOTT: Mac?
ABBOTT: What about Windows?
ABBOTT: Do you want a computer with Windows?
ABBOTT: Wallpaper.
ABBOTT: Software for Windows?
ABBOTT: Office.
ABBOTT: I just did.
ABBOTT: Recommend something.
ABBOTT: Yes.
ABBOTT: Yes.
ABBOTT: Office.
ABBOTT: I recommend Office with Windows.
ABBOTT: Word.
ABBOTT: Word in Office.
ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.
ABBOTT: The Word you get when you click the blue "W".
ABBOTT: Money.
ABBOTT: Money.
ABBOTT: It comes bundled with your computer.
ABBOTT: Money.
ABBOTT: Yes. No extra charge.
ABBOTT: One copy.
ABBOTT: Microsoft gave us a license to copy Money.
ABBOTT: Why not? THEY OWN IT!
Shared by Bob Jackson - Colorado Copyright © 2000 - 2007 RRN Online.
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Life involves a certain amount of
risk, without which our existence might be rather dull. Every time I get
into a car to drive somewhere, I literally take my life in my own hands.
Even the most careful driver is subject to being struck by a careless motorist.
In this regard, driving a car is a calculated risk, and the calculations
show that driving can be deadly but such dire consequences are most often
not the case. Driving is a risk most of us take with little thought of the
present trip being our last, or that we might be involved in an automobile
accident.
