friedeggs

“FRIED” EGGS

As mentioned in previous stories, I was definitely a certified (but not registered) pyromaniac! I think most, if not all, kids are at some point in their childhood. At least I certainly was! When I had to take out the trash, i.e. “Burn the papers”, at the “Fire Burner” as we called it. I used that occasion for another opportunity to “play with fire.” (Later on in life the definition of the term, “Play with fire,” would be changed by a Navy Chaplain, and was defined as staying away from “Loose Women,” whom I stayed far away from anyway. Heck, I even stayed away from “tight” women too!). Please excuse the “tangents” I go off on while in the middle of a story, but that’s just the way my mind works. One time, after school when Tim wasn’t around, I got stuck again going to “The Fire Burner” to “Burn the papers.” As usual, I started to “play with fire.” This was in the late spring, as I recall, and my latest thing was to throw a lighted match in the tall, dead grass in the area around our old unused chicken coop. The tall dead grass would start to crackle and pop as the flames quickly started to overtake it. I would then stomp the fire out before it spread out of control. Well, THIS day I “pushed my luck” and good judgment a little too far and allowed the “fire spot” to get too big in diameter which quickly resulted in a “wild fire”! I stomped and stomped while trying to funnel my now surging adrenalin for stomping energy rather than wasting it on panic energy. The out of control raging tall grass fire quickly reached the old chicken coop and before I knew it, it was engulfed in flames! It didn’t help any at all that the inner roof lining consisted of old bales of straw! I then shifted all the adrenalin from fighting the now hopeless fire to yelling, “Aunt Lou, Aunt Lou…” In the distance, I saw Tim walking home from Berlin Hts. on the road next to the far edge of one of our fields, about ¼ mile away. He was walking at a slow saunter, and then when he finally saw the towering flames, I remember he took off at full speed toward the burning scene. Getting no response to my now panicked yells, I ran up to the house and told Aunt Lou in not so subtle tones, “The chicken coop’s on fire”!!!!! I remember her calmly calling our volunteer fire dept. and slowly, quietly, and calmly saying, “Our little chicken house is on fire…” Meanwhile, I was bouncing off the walls, running in and out, and saying, “AAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGHHH LOOK LOOK IT’S ALL ON FIRE”!!! I didn’t bother to “Stay on the scene” before and during the fire department’s and Tim’s arrival. I ran up to the attic and watched the ugly horrifying scene unfold from an attic window! While up there, I did think of a good “excuse” to use on our poor, trusting, old Aunt Lou. “I was burning papers and the wind blew a flaming piece of newspaper into the tall dead grass, and I tried and tried to get it out before it spread to the chicken coop…” She “bought it”, but Tim sure didn’t! He knew me all too well!!! Ironically, my horse stable sits on just about the exact spot the chicken coop did years earlier. I still get “a little nervous” when Tim “burns the papers”! My “fire burner” is about 300 feet away from his and when I “burn papers”; I’m very cautious; because now the tall grass behind my humble abode is the hay field!



	“FRIED” EGGS “FRIED” EGGS As mentioned in previous stories, I was definitely a certified (but not registered) pyromaniac! I think most, if not all, kids are at some point in their childhood. At least I certainly was! When I had to take out the trash, i.e. “Burn the papers”, at the “Fire Burner” as we called it. I used that occasion for another opportunity to “play with fire.” (Later on in life the definition of the term, “Play with fire,” would be changed by a Navy Chaplain, and was defined as staying away from “Loose Women,” whom I stayed far away from anyway. Heck, I even stayed away from “tight” women too!). Please excuse the “tangents” I go off on while in the middle of a story, but that’s just the way my mind works. One time, after school when Tim wasn’t around, I got stuck again going to “The Fire Burner” to “Burn the papers.” As usual, I started to “play with fire.” This was in the late spring, as I recall, and my latest thing was to throw a lighted match in the tall, dead grass in the area around our old unused chicken coop. The tall dead grass would start to crackle and pop as the flames quickly started to overtake it. I would then stomp the fire out before it spread out of control. Well, THIS day I “pushed my luck” and good judgment a little too far and allowed the “fire spot” to get too big in diameter which quickly resulted in a “wild fire”! I stomped and stomped while trying to funnel my now surging adrenalin for stomping energy rather than wasting it on panic energy. The out of control raging tall grass fire quickly reached the old chicken coop and before I knew it, it was engulfed in flames! It didn’t help any at all that the inner roof lining consisted of old bales of straw! I then shifted all the adrenalin from fighting the now hopeless fire to yelling, “Aunt Lou, Aunt Lou…” In the distance, I saw Tim walking home from Berlin Hts. on the road next to the far edge of one of our fields, about ¼ mile away. He was walking at a slow saunter, and then when he finally saw the towering flames, I remember he took off at full speed toward the burning scene. Getting no response to my now panicked yells, I ran up to the house and told Aunt Lou in not so subtle tones, “The chicken coop’s on fire”!!!!! I remember her calmly calling our volunteer fire dept. and slowly, quietly, and calmly saying, “Our little chicken house is on fire…” Meanwhile, I was bouncing off the walls, running in and out, and saying, “AAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGHHH LOOK LOOK IT’S ALL ON FIRE”!!! I didn’t bother to “Stay on the scene” before and during the fire department’s and Tim’s arrival. I ran up to the attic and watched the ugly horrifying scene unfold from an attic window! While up there, I did think of a good “excuse” to use on our poor, trusting, old Aunt Lou. “I was burning papers and the wind blew a flaming piece of newspaper into the tall dead grass, and I tried and tried to get it out before it spread to the chicken coop…” She “bought it”, but Tim sure didn’t! He knew me all too well!!! Ironically, my horse stable sits on just about the exact spot the chicken coop did years earlier. I still get “a little nervous” when Tim “burns the papers”! My “fire burner” is about 300 feet away from his and when I “burn papers”; I’m very cautious; because now the tall grass behind my humble abode is the hay field!