'House I' by Roy Lichtenstein
It wasn't intentional... I didn't mean to burn down our house or break someone's heart.
I never gave it much thought, the place where I lived on Flower Lane in East Meadow, with idyllic sounding names well suited for a children's book of fairytales. Until at a teen dance, when I was swept away by a James Dean look-alike who asked me out on a date and for my address and phone number.
'IV3-6802'... was the number I gave him.
I could've been more precise and said, 'Ivanhoe' 3-6802, when 'exchanges' came with names and little explanation, but we weren't Saxons living in medieval times or related to Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest. In fact, our newly constructed home, built on barren soil, was previously potato farmlands with just one or two trees... hardly a forest.
Besides, I liked the ring of the shortened alphanumeric version... the way it involuntarily rolled off my tongue when recited.
Only no one I know would answer "Hello" if I dialed that number today; we left the suburbs of New York, Long Island, a lifetime ago.
And how could I have known that my address, sounding of 'flowers in a meadow', would be taken by 'J.D.' as a fabrication of an actual place to avoid seeing him again.
"If you didn't want to go out with me, why didn't you just say so in the first place?"... his words not mine.
Photo of James Dean
But I was interested, very interested, in going out with him, and managed to convince him of this and that Flower Lane in East Meadow was honestly, and truly, the place where I lived.
The crazy stuff our brains hold on to leaving little room for anything else... no wonder as adults, we have trouble, at times, remembering what we ate for breakfast.
But it was lunch, not breakfast, at the age of eleven or twelve, years before 'J.D.', when my troubles started... home, alone, craving a burger and fries with McDonalds miles away.
Fortunately, I found a box of crinkle-cut fries in the freezer.
Unfortunately, I knew nothing about cooking.
So I phoned a friend, my best friend, who lived down the block and across the street. Amy was a year older and had kitchen skills. Once she made us a chocolate milkshake in a blender, all by herself, and added an egg. Curious, I never questioned her about the egg; the drink tasted too good. And I wasn't questioning her now on how best to cook French fries... just called to chat while I poured oil in a pan and waited for it to boil.
It's true what they say... that a watched pot never boils.
Thirty minutes later, still on the phone, with no action in the pan, I tossed in a fry to test out the oil.
Unaware of the subtleties in cooking terminology between boiling and heating, I now know, water gets boiled while oil gets heated. There is a difference.
A SWOOSH AND ROAR DIFFERENCE!
' Fallen Blossoms' by Cai Guo Qiang
FLASH FIRE IN A PAN!... WITH FLAMES NEARING THE CEILING!
I DROPPED the phone, SCREAMED for neighbors, and did the next stupidest thing...
PLUNGED the fiery pan of oil with one blackened French fry into a sink-full of soapy water and dirty dishes.
Mom always soaked her glassware, plates, and silverware. I never understood the concept, but likened it to..."I've got more important things to do, let them wash themselves."
Honestly, I'm not joking and neither were the flames of hot oil that instantly shot above the dishwater.
NOT the result I was expecting, but the Gods were with me. Instead of the fire RAGING, ESCAPING, and BURNING DOWN OUR HOUSE, as Chemistry 101 would have predicted, that oil and water don't mix, the fire 'floated' among the dishes and miraculously put itself out!
'Smoke Bombs' by Olaf Breuning
Extinguished too, were the sparks ignited after one night out with James, whose real name I still can't recall. It was an objection from my parents over our different religions that broke our hearts when they told us our first date would also be our last. Last, but not forgotten.
Since James there have been numerous 'Flames', but thankfully no 'Flaming Fries'. My husband and I prefer our French fries extra crispy, without salt, cooked by chefs in restaurants, who know not to wait for their oil to boil.
'OLD FLAMES' and 'FLAMING FRIES' - I survived both.
What memories do you have of an 'Old Flame' or a first kiss?
Any unusual surprises in the kitchen while cooking?
Here are a few links you might find interesting:
"Old Flames Reunited Make The Most Lasting Marriages" here.
Olaf Breuning's "Smoke" performance here.
Cai Guo Qiang's "Fallen Blossoms" performed outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art here and his "Painting With Gunpowder" here.
If your house was burning, what would you take with you? Photos here.
Scroll down to view telephone 'exchange' names here.
Scroll down to "bonus facts" on French fries here.
"Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames."
~ Rumi
XOX... Dyan
