Keeping My Mouth Shut

I'm not known for this. But there have been a couple times recently when judgement overcame impulse.

The first was during a shopping trip  to the local WalMart. The store was doing its periodic revamp, something that annoys the hell out of me. It's not just that everything's in a new place, making my chore take twice as long after years of shopping with painful feet, knees, or whatever. It's also that this is the time the store relishes in ceasing to stock a number of my favorite items. Forever. The combination tends to make me, yes me, somewhat bitchy.

You're shocked, I know.

This particular trip, I was hunting for supplies in the pharmacy area. I'm especially fussy about which exact products I use, and with most of them small items and harder to locate, I was not the happiest of campers. Add to that the need in virtually every aisle to dodge at least one store employee with a big rack of supplies, or at least wait for them to move, I was pretty ripe for trouble.

The store-wide PA system came on with somebody's complaint that there were no people (i.e., employees, I supposed, but not what the speaker said) in any of the aisles. Of course not. Pharmacy had three times the number of a  full store's compliment of employees in it. I found the complaint ludicrous: whoever made it should be so lucky! But then my mind made a left turn, banishing my bad mood. What I wanted to yell out, but refrained from doing, was, "Hey, it's the rapture, guys, and you weren't chosen! Deal with it!"

The second time was just last night. It just needs a little background. I grew up knowing how to build a sustainable bonfire. There is A WAY to do it. You start with teeny stuff on the center bottom, them build up a teepee shape of progressively larger pieces of wood until you have the really big ones on top. If you must burn damp or green wood, don't add it until there's a rip snorting fire going over a good bed of coals, and even then, add burnables with it and leave gaps for air to circulate. If you've done it right, a single match should start it and it will keep going without the dangerous assistance of lighter fluid or anything else that arson investigators would call accelerants.

Friends had a bonfire last night. It was a party and the fire was not just entertainment, it had the stated purpose of roasting marshmallows for s'mores. Here's how it went.

It had rained that morning. Nobody found time to clean out the 6 inches or so of wet ashes from the fire pit. The family had just moved into the house and had spent several busy weeks making it liveable. The kids started the fire while Daddy was still busy with other hosting duties. First they put in a stack of dry newspapers. You know, still stacked. Not crumpled, scattered, or anything else that would have let air in. At least they were dry. Other than a few discarded moving boxes, they were all that was dry.

As soon as a small flame was spotted, brush was piled on. This had been sitting outside for several days, being cut down as weeds after they showed the first signs of reacting to the weedkiller sprayed on them. Limp, yes. But still mostly green. Any parts that had dried to brown had happily soaked up the morning rain. Loaded on as they were in thick clumps, they did a great job of extinguishing whatever tiny flame had still been in existence.

Daddy now discovered he was needed. He shooed the kids back a bit, kept them from waving around any branches with flaming leaves, piled a few cardboard boxes on top of the stack, and squirted multiple doses of charcoal lighter on the boxes. For several seconds the flames reached nearly to the branches of the spruce tree overhanging the fire pit. Then, of course, the cardboard boxes had burned, so this had to be repeated several times. More brushy weeds were dumped on top of what now had a single tiny flame struggling to survive, followed by more fluid.

This would have provided just enough flames to burn a couple of marshmallows, but it was quickly discovered that the two cut roasting sticks had accidentally found their way into the fire, and more had to be cut. Of course, the source for these was more of the brushy weeds still dying from their dose of weed spray the week before.

Ultimately, each of the 4 boys achieved one s'more, with more help from lighter fluid providing just enough flame to light each marshmallow on fire to thoroughly char. The entire process killed a good hour. I kept my phone close in case 911 was needed, and other than contributing to the adult conversation as it ebbed and flowed, managed not to comment whatsoever on the progress of the bonfire.

I'm almost proud of myself. Not enough, however, to stop me from posting this.