Smells of Christmas wafted through the chill air. Neighbors were cooking their annual Pasadena breakfast on the grill. Turkeys were sizzling in oil on propane fryers. And I was anticipating a roasted turkey slowly cooking in the oven.
On Christmas Eve, another neighbor while preparing dinner for twenty–five decided to clean her oven before she cooked her 25-pound bird. It was the self-cleaning kind. You turned the knob to clean, pushed the lever to lock, and all the work is done for you. As she set the table and scoured the bathroom, a smell reached her that was not just burnt food; it was a nasty smell. Running to the kitchen, she discovered flames leaping inside the oven and she realized that she had left a frying pan with a plastic handle inside. Grabbing the fire extinguisher, she tried to open the oven door, but, of course, it would not open because a self-cleaning oven stays locked until the temperature decreases. The temperature was definitely not decreasing but increasing steadily. Acrid smoke mixed with the smell of burning plastic. Her husband and son appeared with the alarming sound of the smoke detector. “Unplug the oven,” her husband yelled as he reached for the plug.
Orange flames continued to dance while black smoke spread its ugly self up the walls and over the counter. “We need to get the oven outside.” She watched as they struggled to carry the smoking oven outside and placed it on their driveway. Clothed in winter coats they stood in awe watching the plastic smolder, melt, and become one black gooey substance.
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“We need to purchase another oven before the stores close. I have to cook the turkey for Christmas or we will have a “Christmas Story” dinner – “Fa, ra,ra, ra ra ra...” Spurred by this thought the search began. Ovens could be found – Home Depot, Sears, Lowes–none could be delivered in time. But not despairing - this is Pasadena - they had willing neighbors with an oven to share.
