Back when we were dating, M lived in a 20 story building overlooking the downtown skyline. We had three children between us, his charming 12 year old son, my imaginative 10 year old son and adorable 8 year old daughter, and we often had "family dates" at my suburban place or at his hi-rise apartment.
One weekend evening I was making blackened salmon for dinner, and I warned that the apartment would get smokey. M went out for a walk with the kids while I turned up the heat to sear the fish.
As was expected, the smoke alarm went off, so I opened the windows. I knew it take only a couple minutes until the smoke cleared out of the apartment and the smoke detector would stop. But it didn't stop.
Then I heard the sirens. Looking out the window, 19 floors down,I saw the hook and ladder truck pull up to the building. Several firemen loaded with gear made their way through the crowd of 40 or so people out standing on the lawn looking up toward the open apartment window. Our apartment smoke alarm had triggered a building-wide fire alarm that also automatically called the fire department. Before long came a knock on the door. The firemen couldn't reset the alarm or let the apartment residents back in until they saw the source of the smoke: my dinner.
The firemen clomped into the kitchen with their heavy boots and gear as I opened the lid on the pan to show off my pitiful little blackened salmon fillet. It looked like the firemen's eyes would pop out of their heads as they struggled to choke back their laughter.
M and the children made no such effort after they and our neighbors were allowed back in.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Forecast Calls for Rain
Heading out for work, I obediently checked the weather forecast, which called for a chance of rain. It didn't look much like rain, but I was proud of myself for thinking ahead, and dutifully carried the umbrella up to my high rise office in downtown Minneapolis.
Heading home a few hours later, I felt especially bright for having remembered to check the weather earlier. It was pouring. Just outside the big glass doors, under the protective awning above the sidewalk, I popped up my umbrella.
People were walking along the sidewalk across the street from me, but oddly, none had umbrellas. No one was huddled over or rushing along as you would expect of people who were out in the pouring rain.
Then I realized, it wasn't even raining on the other side of the street! I looked with disbelief through the heavy downpour and observed pedestrians standing at the bus stop not twenty feet away, but there was no rain! Ever felt like you were caught in a Twilight Zone episode?
As I cautiously held my open umbrella overhead to protect me from the rain pouring all around the entrance of my office building, and stepped out from under the awning into the pouring rain. I walked with a creepy sense of unease toward the bus stop. The pounding raindrops on my umbrella slowed into a patter, then stopped, as I approached the bus stop. I lowered my umbrella and tapped it on the dry sidewalk to shake off the water.
I looked up. The rain was pouring down at the entrance of my office tower. Looking up, several stories above the entrance were the window washers, spraying the upper windows clean with a hose.
Heading home a few hours later, I felt especially bright for having remembered to check the weather earlier. It was pouring. Just outside the big glass doors, under the protective awning above the sidewalk, I popped up my umbrella.
People were walking along the sidewalk across the street from me, but oddly, none had umbrellas. No one was huddled over or rushing along as you would expect of people who were out in the pouring rain.
Then I realized, it wasn't even raining on the other side of the street! I looked with disbelief through the heavy downpour and observed pedestrians standing at the bus stop not twenty feet away, but there was no rain! Ever felt like you were caught in a Twilight Zone episode?
As I cautiously held my open umbrella overhead to protect me from the rain pouring all around the entrance of my office building, and stepped out from under the awning into the pouring rain. I walked with a creepy sense of unease toward the bus stop. The pounding raindrops on my umbrella slowed into a patter, then stopped, as I approached the bus stop. I lowered my umbrella and tapped it on the dry sidewalk to shake off the water.
I looked up. The rain was pouring down at the entrance of my office tower. Looking up, several stories above the entrance were the window washers, spraying the upper windows clean with a hose.
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