CJ called and asked if I’d go to Savannah with him. How sweet is that! He chose him MOM to go to the Party Town of the East Coast, instead of one of his goober friends! So of course I went.
As we were leaving the house, I said the phrase I ALWAYS say when leaving, “Don’t blow anything up while I’m gone!” and was given the standard answer, “We’ll try not to!”
We went to the Bass Pro Shop and looked at guns, including a .357 mag revolver with a 7 inch barrel. He called it ridiculous. Then we looked at a .500 Desert Eagle. He hooted and said “Yeeah Maw, I’ma git me one-a them and then I’ma go git in mah Hummer with the 36in rims an’ go home and feel sad about mah little bitty pecker.”
Then we went to the tobacco shop and looked at knives, where he noticed a great big (14 inch long and 4 inch wide blade) knife with a hand tooled sheath and asked me why anyone would wear something like that on their belt, and I replied that it was meant to balance the Desert Eagle in the holster on the other side. “Ah” he said. “That makes sense. There sure are a lot of people compensating in the world, aren’t there.” Yes son, there are. Of course, being 20, he still tends to have Penis on the Brain.
After the Mall we went to River Street (Savannah’s Tourist Spot) and apparently there was a Cheer Competition because there were quite a few early-mid teen girls wearing very sparkly makeup and humongous glittery bows in their hair wandering around looking perky. We ate, wandered a bit in and out of store. The art store had a lot of really nice prints, including a section of movie stuff (“Mom, why would someone pay $150 for a Twilight poster?”) and a section of nudes (“Look Mom! Boobies!”). Then we came home.
As I pulled on to our street I saw a collection of firetrucks in someone’s driveway. “Oh no, ” I thought. “They’re in Mr. R’s driveway. Poor man, he’s had enough trouble this year without that, too.” Then I thought “No, they’re in George’s driveway. He doesn’t need that aggravation.” Then I realized OH SHIT THEY’RE IN MY DRIVEWAY…HOLY MOLEY WHAT DID THEYDOITOLDTHEMNOTTOBLOWUPTHEHOUSECJWAKEUPTHERE’SAFIRETRUCKINMYDRIVEWAYOHSHITIHOPENOONEISHURTOHNOOHNOOHNO and I pulled up in the yard (so as not to block the firetrucks).
David came running to the car grinning like a cheese eater and said “It’s ok Mom, no one is hurt and the house is fine.”
I gathered my wits (Thank You,God, that no one is hurt) and David filled me in a little more. “Dad had the propane heater on in his Cave, and the gas line ruptured right at the valve. He kicked it out into the yard and yelled at #4 to call 911, then used the water hose to cool the tank so it didn’t explode. Then #4 remembered the fire extinguisher in the kitchen and got that, and put out the fire. By the time the fire chief (who lives right up the road and heard the call on his radio) got here, then the fire truck was here about 5 minutes later, the fire was out, but since they were all in their suits and made the call, they decided to stay and make sure.”
I walked into the backyard, and there was a patch of burned grass about the size of a large dining table, with a blackened small propane tank in the middle of it, surrounded by 6 firemen in full fire uniform suit, and the fire chief (in a tshirt and jeans, it was his day off) and Terry, standing in a circle with one of the firemen holding a garden hose, squirting water on the tank. It was a funny sight and I wish I’d had the forethought to take a picture.
Terry told me later what had happened. Apparently the line from the heater to the tank was dry-rotted and ruptured,and the gas caught fire, shooting a flame out right at the valve. He kicked the tank into the yard (because the cave was full of sawdust and a cabinet full of fine bourbon) and used the water hose, not to put out the fire because that would not have worked, but to keep the tank cool so it didn’t explode. The firechief complimented him on his quick thinking, then wandered into the cave and saw The Cabinet…the one with the 50in flat screen, refrigerator, microwave and bourbon, the rocking chairs and coffee table…and said “Wow. Nice Setup.” Eventually the other firemen wandered in and were also impressed. Terry apologized to them for calling them out on something so small, but they were all “well, this is the most excitement we’ve had all day, so it’s fine.”
I TOLD them not to blow anything up!
And I am REALLY proud of #4 for making the 911 call and remembering the fire extinguisher!
Poor Terry was so rattled by the adrenaline rush he had to take a Xanax.
But all is well, we had a bit of excitement, and something to talk about for a few days.
Terry is pretty sure I am going to write a post making massive fun of him for it, but I am not. Instead I am going to brag on his presence of mind and cool head in a crisis.