09/19/03’s illustrious band:

Four-Alarm Puree

Brought to you by the workings of a child’s mind.

Once upon a time, when I was but a wee Sensation, I was at home with Mother Media one day when the electricity failed. Mother walked through the house flipping switches and testing appliances to determine whether the problem stemmed from a blown fuse or an actual power outage. Nothing worked, so we knew we’d have to wait until the magic electricity guys fixed it.

Unable to complete whatever she’d been doing, Mother decided we should go outside and enjoy the fine weather, which we did, although I don’t remember where. Then she dropped me off back at the house before leaving to run another errand.

I was at this time just barely old enough to be left at home by myself for short periods, so it was a Big Deal that I was going to get to be home alone for a few minutes -- exciting and a little scary. But when I stepped inside the house, the fun vanished. I could hear the smoke detector wailing at the top of its lungs, and I knew the family homestead was about to go up in smoke.

Terrified, I did as I’d been taught and ran next door to the neighbors’ house. Mrs. Neighbor let me in, listened to my ramblings and called the fire department. She probably also called my Dad at the drugstore he and Mother ran. Then we huddled at the front window to wait.

The fire truck arrived with admirable speed, and Mother Media wasn’t far behind. Although this was in the days before cell phones, we lived in a small town, and by the time she got where she was going (maybe to the drugstore), there was someone there who already knew what was happening at the house and sent her back.

So she was there when the fireman stomped back outside, looking stern. They spoke for a moment, and I knew he was telling her how bad it was. But then the fire truck pulled away and Mother came up the neighbor’s walk smiling. I was terribly confused.

Mother collected me and calmed me and told me everything was OK. I had done the right thing, she assured me, but there had been one small mistake: There was no fire. What I had thought was the smoke detector was actually the blender, which she had accidentally left turned on while testing switches. I had called in a false puree alarm.

Once I sorted through the terror, and the mortification at have been so vastly wrong about something so important, I decided to be simply relieved that the house hadn’t burned down with my Pooh Bear inside. We also had a family meeting to reacquaint ourselves with the true sound of the smoke detector. And we lived happily ever after.

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