Playing With Fire

I have been getting questions lately as to when my husband's caveman instinct to discover fire first manifested itself.  His family was visiting his grandparent's house when the opportunity availed itself in the form of a pack of matches left unattended on a table.

My husband, always the Curious George, took that book of matches and snuck outside with them before anyone could discover them missing.  He found a place on the edge of the yard between his grandparent's house and the neighbor's, where no one could see what he was doing.

He figured out how to open the flap and then fiddled around with the matches until he figured out how to pull each match out of the packet.  He immediately set about trying to strike the matches with enough force to get one to light, just as he'd seen his parents and grandparents do.  After multiple failed attempts, he got a little frustrated with it and gave it some extra muscle as he slid the match along the strike strip.  Instantly the match lit.  Like a cave dweller, he marveled over the first fire he was able to create.

As he gazed at the fire, the match burned closer and closer to his fingers.  Not knowing what to do with the match as the flame was now starting to burn so close to his fingers that it was becoming painful to hold the match (I guess blowing out the flame didn't cross his mind), my husband dropped the lit match........ on a dry yard.

The grass started smoking instantaneously.  As he sat and watched in horror, the fire grew.  Not knowing what to do but knowing he would be in deep trouble if he was caught, he high-tailed it to his grandparent's back patio and acted like he had been playing there for hours.  Neighbors noticed the fire as it grew and the fire department was called out, arriving with sirens blaring.  While all this commotion was going on, my husband continued to sit on the patio as if he was completely oblivious to it all and innocent of any wrongdoing.

His parents knew something was up when he hadn't come running outside at the first sound of the fire engine arriving.  When they found him on the back patio, he acted like he was completely unaware of the smoke which had almost completely enveloped him at that point.  The jig was up when they asked him if he knew anything about the fire and, while coughing from the smoke, he said he didn't know anything about any fire.

The neighbor's prized front lawn was completely burnt up but thankfully the house didn't sustain any damage.  My husband's punishment?  Well, let's just say his parents taught him a very valuable lesson in the dangers of playing with fire.  Of course, I learned about this after we were married and after the incident with the fire ants........

by:  Christie Bielss

Oven Fire!!!

Last night my oven caught on fire.  I'm not talking about a little red glow here, I'm talking flames shooting up and causing my entire kitchen to glow with the eerie reddish-yellow glow of a house on fire.  From what I have learned since last night, a quick 10-15 second inspection prior to using the oven could have prevented this fire. 

Here's the story of what transpired.  We decided to make homemade pizzas last night.  I turned the oven on to preheat while my son and I worked together to make a specialty pizza for each member of our family.  It's always lots of fun but last night's will definitely be the most memorable.

In the past couple of days, I have noticed a little black bubble form on my oven's bottom heating element.  It looked exactly like what happens when a casserole spills over and burns onto the element.  Despite my best efforts, spills happen every now and again so I didn't think much of it.  The only thing that was "odd" about it this time was there was no spill in the bottom of the oven from a casserole overflowing, just a black bubble on the element.

I put the pizzas in the oven to cook and walked out of the kitchen to another part of the house.  Remembering I'd left my drink in the kitchen, I returned to retrieve it and noticed an odd reddish-yellow glow coming from the direction of my oven which was lighting up my entire kitchen.  Thinking my son had turned on the oven light when I wasn't looking, I pushed the button to turn the oven light off.  It didn't work, so I pushed it again and again.

Completely perplexed, I opened the oven door (big mistake) and got a face full of searing heat and a flame of fire which flashed up due to the oxygen that came in and fed it.  I jumped back and inadvertently slammed the door shut.  I checked my face with my hands and yep, I had both eyebrows and eyelashes..... and skin.  I must have screamed because my husband and son came at a full run.

I immediately turned off the oven while my husband ran out to the breaker box and shut off the power to it.  My son grabbed the phone and was ready to dial 9-1-1 (he's used to this drill given his father's penchant for inadvertantly setting things ablaze).  Because we shut off the power to the oven, the fuel for the fire (electricity) was cut off and the fire died almost immediately.

Last night as I was googling to see if the oven was able to be repaired or a total loss, I discovered exploding heating elements are a very common problem.  If I had not gone back into the kitchen and noticed the glow from the oven and stopped the fire right when it happened, our entire house could have caught on fire.  Since we were in other parts of the house, this could have become a very dangerous and life-threatening situation.

So, in an effort to prevent others from experiencing this very scary and very dangerous problem, I'm going to ask you to go check your oven's heating elements (top and bottom) right now, before your heating element ever has the chance to explode like mine did.  The heating element will almost always get a place on it which looks (to me) like something had dripped just on the element and created a kind of black blob or bubble.  I thought that spot was just chicken grease, or maybe a casserole that overflowed just right and hit the element but not the bottom of the oven.  Nope, that black bubble was the element going bad. 

If your element has one of these bubbles, DO NOT USE THE OVEN.  Either call a service repair person or, if you're handy (thankfully my husband is), you can replace it rather quickly and easily yourself (it's only 2 monkey wrenchs out of 5 on the DIY scale of difficulty) after turning off the breaker and watching one of the How-To videos on YouTube.

If you should experience one of these explosions, KEEP THE OVEN DOOR CLOSED, TURN OFF THE OVEN IMMEDIATELY AND SHUT OFF THE BREAKER TO THE OVEN.  Do not mess with throwing flour on the fire.  Because the electricity is the fuel for the fire, it's imperative to get the power shut off.  As the power current shuts off, the fire will go out on its own. 

Because this could have burned our house down (with us in it), I now realize the danger this little inocuous looking bubble poses, and would like to suggest that you check your oven's heating elements every single time you go to turn your oven on.  It takes maybe 5-10 seconds.  Please pass this information along to your friends and family (or a link to this blog posting), so they too can be proactive in checking their ovens.  Keeping friends, family, and loved ones safe is worth the few extra seconds it takes to check the oven element on a regular basis.

by:  Christie Bielss

What the *#@*?!!!

It was a quiet Sunday morning nearly 2 weeks ago when I sat down to turn on my computer for a quick peek at my emails.  The kids were eating breakfast and my husband was watching one of his favorite shows on restoring classic cars, which I found to be about as intriguing as watching a documentary on the mating habits of centipedes.  While my family was occupied, I quietly slipped away for a few minutes of quiet time and pushed the little button to power up my computer when it happened........

30 or so years ago my Dad brought home our family's first "computer".  We were so excited!  Who wouldn't be excited over getting the latest and greatest electronic device.  A device that we were told was going to revolutionize the world as we knew it.  My Dad plugged it in and turned it on.  With baited breath we waited to see the miracles this new device was going to bestow upon us.

After a few seconds, a bunch of letters and characters started scrolling past our eyes so fast we were afraid to blink for fear we'd miss something.  The speed at which this contraption moved was beyond our comprehension.  And then the scrolling stopped, the computer made a little beeping sound, and up popped a flashing cursor.  We ooh'd and aah'd over the bright white cursor locating itself at the top of the screen, and my oh my, how black the background was against that bright little cursor.

Like a star in a pitch black sky, it kept winking at us.  We stood there transfixed by the beauty before us, and we stared........... and we stared............. and we stared, until I realized this blinking light wasn't doing anything.  Finally I asked "Ummmm........... yeah..... hmmm....... is this all it does?".  My Dad replied excitedly "Why no, you also enter in special codes and you can do all sorts of things including playing games.".

When I saw the amount of coding required to get the computer to do something other than blink, my love affair stopped before the hard drive ever heated up.  My relationship with the computer hasn't changed much over the course of 35 years.  It's still a love-hate relationship. 

In 2000 I purchased a home computer and had to have the hard drive replaced 3 times............ in the first 6 months.  My next computer was a laptop and it crashed instantly when I powered it on for the first time.  My current computer wouldn't even power on when I pulled it straight out of the box.  This kind of thing might give a lesser person a complex, but I think it's just that my powerful and electric personality melted their hard drives.

So on that Sunday morning nearly 2 weeks ago, I powered up my computer and it turned on......... and then it turned itself off, then on, then off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off........... thinking it was about to blow up, I unplugged it for about 2-3 minutes and then plugged it back in.  As soon as the plug went in the power strip, it started doing the same on/off glitch.  Once again, my electric personality must have fried another hard drive or caused some kind of electrical storm within the computer's tower.

All I really wanted to do was scream, curse, and beat the ever loving tar out of that mechanical pile of junk with a sledgehammer.  Thinking that probably wouldn't set the best example for my kids, I gave it an ever so gentle foot-wedge.  Within a few minutes, it was up and running.  Thinking I had scored a great victory over this hunk of scrap metal, off I went to church........... without ever having had time to read my emails.

Upon returning home, we awakened the computer (it went to "sleep" while we were at church) so my son could complete his online homework, and again, it starts with the off/on thing.  I gave it the foot-wedge......... and it still clicked on/off, so I gave it a bit harder foot-wedge.  It kind of sputtered and then went back to dancing its own little on/off tango. 

Realizing that the computer is either about to totally crash or has crashed, I restrained the urge to grab the hammer and decided to let the computer blow itself up with the way it was shocking itself.  Heck, I was kind of hoping it would catch on fire......... and we all know how much my husband would love that.  I contemplated the best way to move it to the middle of my kitchen when it did catch on fire, so it would look like an accident and in addition to a new computer, I'd get a new renovated kitchen out of it.  We do have to have our dreams, now don't we??

As I delighted over the scenario and my husband was rubbing his hands in glee over the prospect of man making fire *insert caveman grunt and knuckle dragging here*, that dadgum computer obviously sensed our glee and finally booted up.  My kitchen renovation plans fizzled out, my son's glee over not having to do his homework was squelched, and my husband's devastation over the lack of fire........... well, let's just say, we're going to need a new gas can...................

by: Christie Bielss

Oh Mercy! He's Got the Gas Can!!

This summer we had to have an extremely large Bradford pear tree cut down.  Over the past year, portions of the tree had split off and crashed to the ground until only a quarter of the tree was left standing.  With even the lightest breath of wind, the foreboding and alarming sound of the tree trunk cracking alerted us that it was getting ready to separate yet again.

We contracted a tree company who safely brought down what was left of the tree.  In order to save money, we had them cut the stump down to the ground level instead of having the stump ground up.  Once the job was complete, the Arborist gave my husband 2 ways to kill the tree's roots.  One was for us to use a pre-packaged root rot solution which not only kills the tree's roots, but causes them to disintegrate.  The other was to douse the tree in gasoline and set it ablaze.

If you haven't read about my husband's previous experience with gasoline and fire, you'll want to read about that escapade here.  Given my husband's history and the fact that our current house doesn't have a concrete culvert behind it which can handle an exploding gas can, I immediately drove (as fast as I dared) to our local home improvement store and purchased the Arborist's recommended poison for my husband to apply on the tree's roots. 

The next evening my husband went to work drilling holes into what was left of the tree stump and any roots that were above ground, just as he'd been advised.  While he was busy drilling holes, I left to take our kids to my parent's house to swim in their pool.  Something inside of me said I shouldn't leave until he had finished drilling those holes and applied the poison, but with 2 kids whining incessantly about wanting to go swimming and my parents already expecting us, I had to go.

Upon my return several hours later, my husband was sitting in the garage waiting with the "Ummm...... honey?" half-hearted smile on his face.  Before I could so much as groan, both kids saw his face and said in unison "Oh geez! What's Dad done now?!".

Well, after my husband drilled all the holes in the tree stump and roots, he read the directions on the package of tree root poison.  The directions stated that you can pour the poison in the drilled holes and let it sit and over the course of 6 months to a year, it would slowly kill all of the roots; OR for a quicker method, you can pour the poison in the drilled holes, douse the top of the stump with the poison and then set it on fire.  Oh.Dear.Lord.!!!  I should have read the instructions before purchasing the solution!

If there is any chance to play with fire (my husband is drawn like a moth to the flame) he's going to take that chance.  He poured the solution into all of the holes he'd drilled and poured it over the top of the tree stump to ensure the perfect ignition. He located our lighter from where I'd hidden it (Why yes!  Yes, I hid it!  But I obviously need to work on that skill a bit more.) and lit the solution on fire.

Within a few minutes, the fire extinguished itself without having deteriorated the tree's stump or roots one tiny bit.  My husband said it went out so fast, he didn't even have time to get excited about it being lit........ which probably means he didn't get to do some man-dance around the stump.  Well, that was deflating and entirely no fun, so my husband made the executive decision the solution needed a stronger accelerant.  What's the best and strongest accelerant we have at our house?  The gasoline for the lawnmower.

Out he trots with the (new) gas can which he'd just filled with gasoline.  It took a few minutes to fill all of the holes and douse the top of the tree stump with the gasoline.  Remembering his last escapade with the gas can, he was extra cautious not to leave a trail of gas from the tree stump to the can, and even went so far as to move the can far, far away from the stump.

He did have a passing thought that our wrought iron fence sits right next to the tree stump and it could melt if the fire got too hot.  But, throwing caution to the wind, he went ahead and executed his plan.  With a giant "WOOSH" the gasoline ignited.  That tree stump and roots burned for a good 30 minutes.  He was having so much fun with it that he got some marshmellows and roasted a few over the fire.  Much quicker than expected, the fire died down and burned itself out.  Once the fire started dying down, it went out so quickly he hadn't had enough time make an ooey-gooey s'more.

When we arrived home he was so downtrodden, he looked like somebody had just shot his dog. Apparently, because the tree had just been cut down the day before, the stump and roots were still so full of moisture it kept extinguishing the fire.  So despite my husband's best efforts to kill something using fire, the mound still stands and he didn't get to do a man-dance around the fire, he only got 2 roasted marshmellows, and his s'more idea was thwarted.  And, as with the fire ant mound, the tree stump is flourishing since being set ablaze.  Unfortunately, since "Plan A" was an epic fail, stayed tuned because "Plan B" is now in the works.......... I'm hoping his need to make fire like a caveman is now a distant memory........ but I doubt it.

by: Christie Bielss

An Independence Day Remembered

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.” - Erma Bombeck

Every year in celebration of America's independence, my family always pauses to  thank those who came before us and sacrificed life, limb, and even their own family's safety, in order for us to live freely and to pursue our own dreams.

This celebration almost always consists of bbq, my grandmother's potato salad and deviled egg recipes, baked beans, corn on the cob, and watermelon.  And to finish off the food-fest is homemade ice cream, apple pie, and Texas sheet cake.

As part of our celebration, we always have sparklers to play with.  What would July 4th be without handing our children a 3,000°F fire on the end of the stick and telling them to be careful and not burn themselves after having just taught them not to play with matches or fire.

After the sparklers comes the grown-up's turn to play.  Over the years we've had a few minor mishaps with fireworks which have resulted in us making sure we have a garden hose close by.  We've misjudged how far the firework will shoot and have had to chase a few down.  We've also had to hose down our roof from where our neighbors have misjudged their firework's shooting distance.

But the ultimate year of firework madness came just a few years ago.  A neighbor had travelled to a bordering state and picked up some real fireworks while my husband picked up the kid-friendly ones.  All of the neighbors were standing outside ready for the show we were going to put on.  The neighbor and my husband had made some great finds!  Some shot way up in the air and exploded in a blaze of colorful glory.  Others whirled and zipped around so fast your eyes couldn't make out where the actual firework was.  They had others that sent out little spinning shooters across the ground in every direction and turned different colors.  And the kids loved the firecrackers that exploded when they threw them down on the concrete.

But like any grand finale, they saved the best for last.  They had picked up some rockets.  I moved my children and our neighbor's children into our garage thinking it would be the perfect place to protect everyone but still have a bird's eye view of the show.  My car was in the garage, so if the kids got scared, they could hop in it and look through the windows.  Another Mom decided that was a good, safe place to stand, so the 2 of us stood in the garage with the kids.

The men had to figure out which end was the shooting end of the rocket since it didn't have an arrow pointing "this end up".  They positioned it on our driveway so the fireworks weren't going toward anyone's house and would shoot directly into the center of the street.  With excitement that positively crackled in the air, they lit the rocket launcher's wick. 

The first rocket exploded out of the launcher's canon with lightning speed ........... and went straight into our garage.  "Oh cr*p!" my neighbor said, "those idiots turned the rocket launcher the wrong way!".  The rocket was launching fire balls in rapid succession at all of us in the garage!  We were having to jump as high as we could in the air to avoid getting hit in the legs and shins!

The kids in the garage were standing there screaming as we grabbed them by the arms and flung them bodily out of the garage while hopping over rockets.  My husband and the neighbor had to time grabbing the launcher perfectly in order to flip it around and not have one of the rockets launch directly into themselves, or any of the neighbor's windows, or, heaven forbid, the groups of people standing around. 

Luckily, nothing caught on fire from the fireballs exploding in the garage and no one was injured during the incident.  I can't say that 2 men didn't get a verbal beating when the rocket finally quit firing and we were able to regain our breath. 

Every time I hear our national anthem played and they get to "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air", it reminds me of having to jump the rockets.  We decided after this experience that we should invite the local fire department to our party every year.  We could feed them some bbq and play some yard games........... before they have to rescue us or put out whatever fire we inevitably start.

by: Christie Bielss

Invasion of the Fire Ants

Courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art

Back in the early days of our marriage, Mike and I were in our first house and had decided instead of having children, we would try out our parenting skills on a puppy.  We figured that if we messed up with a dog he's either retrainable or we'd only have to put up with our "bad parenting" for a finite number of years.  We were trying to potty train our tiny little fur-baby but every time he'd go outside, he'd  get bitten by fire ants.  This was severely thwarting our efforts.  And, because we would go outside with him, we would also become the unlucky recipients of those nasty little bites.

For those of you who've never been introduced to fire ants, they are mean, nasty little ants who are intent upon killing every living thing  and taking over Planet Earth with their giant ant colonies.  Hollywood could make a good scary movie casting these ants as the villains, although the cast and crew would need extra hazard pay because getting a single bite from one will create a scratching, burning frenzy of pain.

Determined to be good "parents" to our fur-baby, we tried every chemical in the home improvement stores to eradicate the dastardly little villains.  We were having no luck.  All they would do is move their mound 3 feet over.  Finally, after our yard had so many mounds it was looking like a low-income housing project, we tried treating the whole yard at once.  Victory!  The ants moved on.......but only next door to the neighbor's house, where they made new friends, hung out and partied together and created an even larger colony.

When the chemicals in our yard lost some of their effectiveness, those partying ants moved back into our yard and brought all of their new mooching friends with them.  There were so many ants going every which way in our yard it was like the toga party scene from the movie "Animal House".

Mike talked with some of his buddies about the best way to rid our yard of these invaders and, using their advice, he decided on a plan of action.  He didn't say much to me about what the plan was except that he found a new "chemical" mixture he was going to try.

One day while I was busy inside the house, Mike implemented his plan, which consisted of thoroughly dousing the biggest mound with gas.  He took great care to get the gas spread all the way to the edge of the mound and then set the gas can a couple of feet away from the mound.  Ever so carefully, he lit the mound on fire.

Through the living room window, the giant flash of the gas igniting caught my eye.  Within seconds the mound was engulfed in flames.  I watched as my husband chortled in glee and danced a little victory jig as the ant mound sparkled like fireworks.  As he celebrated, the fire grew larger, engulfing the entire mound .......... and then he noticed a problem.  When he'd set the gas can down, he'd inadvertently left a trail of gas from the mound to the can.  His chortling and dancing turned to a loud exclamation of fear and a dance of panic as he watched the fire move quickly from the fire ant mound, down the path of gas and hop right into the gas can. 

Without even stopping to think, he picked up the can and flung it with all of his strength toward the concrete culvert behind our house.  As the gas can was flying over the fence and through the air, it exploded in a giant fireball over the culvert.  Thankfully it hadn't exploded when he'd picked it up and nothing caught on fire.  The explosion did bring out all the neighborhood kids as they excitedly asked one another who had the matches.  Mike quickly ducked down before they could see him and turned back to our yard as though nothing had happened.

I stepped into the backyard as Mike grabbed the garden hose to put out the fire that was quickly spreading to the surrounding grass. Trying to think of the right way to ask what he was thinking, which didn't involve the use of words like "idiot", "moron", and "hair-brained", I peered down at the mound.  Hundreds of worker ants were already crawling out of the mound and rebuilding the damage that had been done to their home.  Mike looked up at me and said with a tone of defeat, "Well..... that didn't exactly go as planned.".   I said "Ummm, yeah.....I think you're gonna need a new gas can........ and better pest control advice.".

 

by: Christie Bielss

The Grill Incident

It was late Spring in 1998 and my husband had gone to play golf with his buddy.  I had a rare day off work and decided to surprise him when he got home by having watered the whole yard.  For those who don't know my husband, he's a bit psycho about our yard.  He mows several days a week, picks or sprays weeds with great glee, and checks every shrub or flowering plant almost daily for disease, bugs, and whatnot. 

Things were going along great and, while I was at the grocery store, I came across some really beautiful steaks on sale. In addition to surprising him with a fully watered yard, I decided I would also surprise him with his favorite meal - a slab of cow. 

As the afternoon turned to evening, my husband called to say his golf game was over and he was on his way home. As I hung up the phone, I got the absolutely BRILLIANT idea that I would go ahead and grill his steak and have it ready the minute he walked in the door.  

I quickly went out to the patio and tried to light the grill with the "ignite" button.  No matter how many times I pushed that button, nothing happened.  With lots of propane gas floating in the air, I realized I needed to get this grill lit quickly.

I ran in the house, grabbed the lighter and one of those very long fireplace matches. Like a grilling master, I lit the match and stuck it in the little hole on the side of the grill. All of the burners came alive with a great big "SWOOSH".  I quickly checked to make sure I hadn't burnt an eyebrow off. 

Following what I had witnessed my husband do I many occasions, I tossed the still lit match into the bottom of the grill and closed the lid. We grill masters know you have to give the grill a few minutes heat up to the right temperature in order to get the perfect sear on the steak.  

I checked my watch and noticed it was time to move the water sprinkler out front one last time. I hurried through the house and out the front door. With moves that would rival a ninja, I was able to avoid getting sprayed by the sprinkler.  While moving the water, I noticed a funny smell but continued dealing with the sprinkler. 

Once I was sure the sprinkler was watering the correct spots, I turned back toward the house..... and saw tons of smoke coming up from the backyard.  I thought "Oops!  Need to go turn down the grill.".

I quickly headed back to the front door and expertly avoided the sprinkler spray again (Woot!). As I rounded the corner of the entry way into the family room where the big bay window overlooked the backyard all I saw were flames.  

Flames everywhere! "FIRE!" my brain screamed. I ran out the back door and immediately spied the sprinkler I had left running out back. 

The flames were so close to the house, I was afraid the house was going to catch on fire. I quickly leapt off the patio, somehow managing to jump past the flames, grabbed the sprinkler and started spraying down the fire.

Within a few minutes, I was able to knock down the fire. As I continued to douse the still smoldering areas, I surveyed the damaged.  The entire front half of the backyard was burnt to a crisp.  I mean totally.  Nothing left but dirt. And oh good heavens, it stunk.

My husband's prized grass St. Augustine grass was G.O.N.E.. "Well," I said to myself, "the best thing I can do at this point is cook my last supper before I am executed.". 

I dreaded my husband's reaction and took great care to grill those steaks to perfection. Just as I pulled the steaks off the grill, he was walking in the front door.  "Hey!" he said, "it smells like somebody's house in the neighborhood caught on fire.". 

"Ummm....... SURPRISE! I made steaks for dinner!".  His face lit up with a big smile. As he walked over to the plate of steaks I held, and in front of that darned old bay window overlooking the entire backyard, his mouth dropped open.  "You sure did," he said, "You know, you didn't need to use the grass in order to cook them over an open flame.". 

After having eaten the perfectly grilled steaks, he surveyed the damage. As he walked around he discovered the source of the fire......... that darned wooden match I threw into the grill. Apparently it had fallen out of a rusted out crack that had opened up in the bottom of the grill, which neither of us had known about. 

Every time it rained for the next year, the smell of smoldering ashes was thick in the air - and was a harsh reminder that I had been permanently banned from using the grill. 

The next summer, the grass came back greener and thicker than it ever had been and I was taken off the list of dangerous threats to the yard. I am, however, still permanently banned from using the grill. After having to put out that grass fire, I'm good with being banned from grilling.


Christie Bielss