Where There's Smoke?

 When we first moved into our 400 square foot mansion on the mountain we discovered that cooking would be a challenge. Not just the tiny kitchen and lack of counter space. I had cooked many a meal with less space in the RV. It wasn't the boxes of the unlabeled variety or the path to navigate through.

No, it was the smoke alarm. The first time it blared out I yelled that dinner was ready. Ha ha. We made light of it, then launched a search to find the device. Should have been relatively easy. How hard is it to search 400 square feet with very few walls and lots of windows? We walked around with our hands over our ears, acompanied by the four canines howling their own distress.

Finally located both the smoke alarm and fire detector in the hallway. The crowded hall that housed the fridge, washer dryer stacked next to it and a closet housing a dishwasher and pocket doors to the bedroom and bathroom. The ceiling is vaulted and the center is 10'. The inner wall is situated at the center point and the detectors were on that wall out of reach. Same color as the wall nicely camoflaging their exixtance.

As I recall, HeWho employed a box to stand on to reach the offending squawker and disable it. He put it back and we ate our cooling dinner, all the while pondering why the thing went off. There was no smoke and no fire that we could identify. Oh, well, must just be a quirky thing, we decided.

Forgot all about it for the next few days. Then it happened again. Once again, no smoke, no fire. It kept happening over the next week or so and became quite tiresome. So, we removed the smoke alarm from it's perch on the wall, deciding the only thing that it could be was the heat involved with cooking. Hot air rises and maybe there could have been miniscule articles of smoke. The solution? Move the detector to a lower level.

Eventually I moved it to the closet and forgot about it. Until today. I saw a recipe for a soup that required roasted tomatoes. I have tomatoes from my dwindling garden that need to be used. I sliced them and doused them with olive oil, a little kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper and popped them in the oven at 425. I set the pinto beans on to boil and walked outside with Eddie at my heels to put my scraps in the compost bin.

We came back in and I flipped the tomato slices and returned the pan to the oven, turned off the beans and went about the business of transferring laundry from the washer to the dryer. Suddenly the shrill noise of the smoke detector filled the air. All the dogs stood up and looked at me as if to say, "DO SOMETHING!!"

I grabbed the step ladder from the closet and climbed up to the carbon monoxide detector. It was flashing red. I hit the button to shut it off and opened windows and turned on ceiling fans. But the smoke alarm was still shrilling and, like it always happens, HeWho was out on an errand. I checked the oven and the tomatoes were not on fire and I saw no smoke. 

I could not remember exactly where the smoke alarm was. I mean, I knew it was somewhere in my crowded pantry closet, but I couldn't seem to locate it. I was running my hands over the walls and moving items out of the way. All three dogs were trying to get in the closet with me when I stumbled upon it and finally turned it off. Blessed silence ensued and the tomatoes were done perfectly. I can still hear the ringing in my ears.

All was well upon the return of HeWho was bearing pizza from my favorite Italian restaraunt. We were all traumatized and sitting on the couch, so HeWho served me a slice where I sat. Toni Loise immediately went to beg food from her master while Eddie sat looking at me with his begging brown eyes. Mr. BoJangles was perched on my left shoulder snarling at Eddie in an effort to make me think he was protecting me. I knew it was the pizza he was protecting, though. The detectors may have fooled me temporarily, but I am wise to Mr. BoJangles and his antics.