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Today's poem or short story prompt is the word " fire".
HEAT
ReplyDeleteburning
dripping
consuming
bright
hot
money
fat
passion
embarrassment
cleansing
does the light draw you?
or the heat?
metaphorically:
god
idea
ambition
desire
god
bright and hot
it pulls you closer
you get burned
does it burn away what you don't need
or does it burn away
everything
you don't care
you keep inching closer
to the burning bush
----
they wait in rows
ten people deep
- Mike Fedel
May, 2013
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ReplyDeleteThe Welsh Rarebit Fires
ReplyDeleteFire and Welsh Rarebit shall always be linked in my mind. My brother was enamored with both.
Welsh Rarebit for the uninformed (and why should you be informed of an eighteeth-centrury tavern dish) is composised primarily of melted cheddar cheese mixed with ale, mustard, paprika and Worcestershire sauce). However, this dish was never created at our house, instead my mother bought frozen boxes of the dish from Stouffer's. To serve this dish, one simply melted the cheese mixture in the oven and then place bread in the toaster until it's lightly browned. Since my family appearently could not get enough of Worcestershire sauce, this sauce was again added to the dish before it came to the table.
I don't know why my brother could not get enough of this dish. Perhaps, it was the sophistication of the name, the several steps above a grilled cheese, but still a cousin, a close relative. It didn't scare a twelve-year old with vegetable remnants nor ask that twelve-year old to follow a complicated recipe just to get a meal into his stomach. Plus, with the addition of the latest small appliance that came into our house, the toaster oven, he could set the dial to 350 degrees, set the frozen tray on the toaster pan, and then wait a mere 15 minutes for dinner.
The thing was my brother, who was never diagnosed with ADD, and who I doubt has that condition, would then get wrapped up in TV at his friend Ronnie's house. Or if it wasn't TV next door it was street hockey--two streets over.
Now, no one could blame a six year old for lighting matches. I mean kids do that all the time. Lighting matches, lighting fire to guest towels, taking the stuffing out of pillow and laying the stuffing on the floor and setting it on fire. You can't blame a six-year old with the fascination that comes from igniting things in the physical world.
Hey, you can't even be suspicious if a woodpile mysteriously appears in your back yard and it sets itself on fire. Or if the grassy strip next to the garage suddenly alights as someone thought it a swell idea to kill the weeds with gasoline. This can be classified under the category: Shit Happens.
Yet after the 3rd Welsh Rarebit fire, even the most tuned-out, in-denial, bingo-addled mom has to acknowledge that her boy might have a problem. You'd think. But, no. The fires continued. Only the rising cost of replacing multiple toaster ovens stopped the madness. That and our city's fire department warning my mother they were not coming out for any more toaster fires. Their straightforward advice: Quit using toaster ovens or stop your son from cooking Welsh Rarebit.
I don't know what stopped my brother. He had no fear of firemen or the prospect of our house burning to the ground. Perhaps, cars or stereos or girls took over as his focus of attention. Or maybe it had something to do with starting smoking at age 13.