The Fire Post

I fear this will be anticlimactic because of the build up from yesterday's post. It's really not all that exciting or interesting, just a little out of the ordinary.
First, I think I need to provide you with a little bit of background.
I was raised in an economically depressed small (when I say small, I mean small) town in Minnesota. There is no drama like the drama in a very poor, small town. I've always hated the term 'white trash' because I feel it demeans the type of people I grew up with and loved. But, so that we are all on the same page, this is the term that I will have to apply.
My parents are not 'trashy', they are educated and not from the area I was raised in. There was no drama in my home (outside of the normal drama of 8 children), yet I was always surrounded by it on a regular basis. This drama could seriously rival the drama of that incredibly ridiculous and annoying soap opera Passions.
For some reason, I've always felt attracted to the drama that surrounded me in Crosby. I don't like drama in my own life, and I try to avoid creating it, but the saying, "you can take the girl out of the trailer park but you can't take the trailer park out of the girl", may apply here.
As a single girl, there was no lack of drama, everyday is a soap opera. After I was married, my husband and I moved to Holladay and the cal-de-sac we lived in was drama packed (my kind of entertainment). We then moved to Traverse Mountain and the drama came to a screeching halt. I love the people of Traverse Mountain, they are good, kind, generous, and gracious. Unfortunately, they have so much good karma going on, they attract no drama. I've found myself asking, "where's the crazy neighbor?". There rarely is much 'drama' excitement here. Although, there was the Sunday evening a few summers ago when as we drove up to our home we found our neighbor being thrown over the hood of the police car and handcuffed. And how could I forget the micro burst that hit us 4 days after we moved in and blew in our garage doors and all of the windows in Brad's xtera. It also emptied a porta-pot onto the next door neighbors lawn. See, not very exciting.
So, last week, after I put my kids down for a nap, I went into the office to get some things done. I was wrapped up in what I was doing when all of a sudden I heard sirens. Upon noticing the high pitched sound of the sirens, I noticed the smell of smoke. I walked out into my family room and it was filled with smoke. The fire alarm had not gone off because we removed it the other day because it wouldn't shut-up. I ran up the stairs and saw a fire truck, police car, and an ambulance pull up in front of my house. I also noticed half of my neighborhood standing in the street in front of my home. All I could think was, "shoot, my house is on fire and I didn't even notice, I'm a bad mom". A police man knocked on my door and asked me if I was the one who made the call. I told him I hadn't because I didn't even know what was going on. He pulled me outside to show me what had happened. This is when I noticed that all the L-town fireman, running down the city easement, had some wickedly awesome mustaches.






Apparently, the extraordinarily bright construction workers who were doing I-don't-know-what with the field behind my house tried to cut the chain link fence that runs parallel with my wrought iron fence. The fence cutting created a spark which set all the sage brush and my hill of sunflowers on fire.
As I watched the hysteria of the men in yellow and the men who ignited my hill, I was momentarily entertained by the tiny bit of excitement provided for me by Lehi's finest. Hey, I'll take drama where I can get it. Plus, I've always had a thing for police officers and firemen (sorry dad), and both visited my house all in one day. I guess Travers Mountain isn't that dull, is it?

I will have to do my six things tom. Laurie, I have some vacuuming to do.

Nate, where are you, are there no phones or computers in Moscow?