Fire

Today is my mom's birthday. I thought about writing a flowery post describing how much she means to me, but what would be the fun in that?

I'm going to share a little story instead.

For the background, my mom is a very very organized and efficient person. She has a schedule and a plan for everything. Her OCD is a bit legendary actually. It took me till high school to realize that not everyone in the world washes their sheets every Thursday, dusts only (and immediately) after they vacuum, and uses the same mug every day for breakfast for years.

She's also from Scottish stock, so while she is not prim, she certainly is proper.

For example, if one should pass gas, one should quickly deodorize, so to speak. Mom's favorite method of doing this was to light a match. She believed the smoke would quickly neutralize all unpleasantness. There were always matches in every washroom in our house and she carried a book of matches in her purse for this purpose as well.

One Easter we were at a family reunion. We all attended an Easter Cantata together, because really, nothing says good times like a re-enactment of the crucifixion. All the cousins were gathered in a clump waiting for the action to start when we could smell something.

Smoke. There was a brief discussion and yes, we confirmed we could definitely smell smoke. In a packed church. Just as the panic was starting to set in, we happened to glance down the row.

Sure enough, there sat my mom, quietly shaking the match to put it out.

Problem solved. Properly.

Happy Birthday Mom.

I love you!