Bertram's Blog

A few weeks ago, I burned a pan. It was the whole circus — smoke everywhere, screaming smoke alarms, me running around pulling the pan off the stove, opening windows, turning on fans. So fun! Well, no. I’m being facetious. It was the opposite of fun. One of the worst things for me is that because of Colorado laws regulating placements of smoke alarms, I have four within a few feet of each other — one outside the kitchen, one in the hall, one in each bedroom. All those alarms would make sense if my house was bigger but considering that all the rooms open into a very short hallway, it makes no sense at all. Especially since my overly sensitive nose detected the smoke before the alarms. But sheesh! The noise that all four of those alarms make at the same time is enough to deafen any post that wasn’t already deaf.

I had to toss the pan. There was just no way to clean it. I blamed myself for the mess, of course, because there’s no one here but me, but I didn’t think I was that negligent. That made the situation worse — thinking that perhaps I was losing it, whatever “it” is. My mind? My focus? My reactions?

Anyway, I bought a replacement pan, the same brand because I liked that pan. And what do you know — the first time I used it, the same thing happened. Smoke. Alarms. Running around opening windows and turning on fans. And again, I had to toss the pan. So, when it came time to buy a new one, I got a different brand. I don’t like the pan as well, but at least, I wasn’t burning it, though it did seem to heat up mighty fast and cook quickly, so I had to stand over it to make sure everything was okay.

A couple days ago, I briefly heated the pan with a touch of butter, poured in beaten eggs, and those eggs cooked immediately. I mean, ready to eat in seconds.

Then it finally dawned on me: the problem wasn’t the pans. Nor was the problem me. The problem was the stove. The element heated up and kept heating up, and I realized then that it had lost its ability to regulate the temperature.

I called my appliance insurance people. I didn’t expect anything because the last time I called them about an appliance, they told me they didn’t cover that sort of appliance anymore. I’d argued, mentioning that my insurance was up to date and that I’d never got a notification of any cancellation, but to no avail. As it turned out, they’d discontinued it just the week before. Yeah, typical.

So I was surprised when they came out the very next day, agreed with me that the rheostat was shot, said they’d order one and would be back the next day. And they were. Yay! Now I have to get used to the stove all over again because it heats up a lot slower than it had been.

I’m sure I paid way more in insurance than the bill would have been, but I got the insurance for someone to call, sort of like having someone on a retainer. The closest repair people are in the next town over, and they’ve never returned any of my calls — hence the insurance.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this or why I’m chronicling this episode. There’s certainly no moral to be gleaned, no real point to the story, but it is part of the “day in the life of” series of posts I used to do before I got sidetracked into paying attention to what’s going on in the world.

Luckily, my stove story had a happy ending. It’s the sort of thing that could have ended with a burning house and me out cold from smoke inhalation. I’m grateful that it wasn’t my mind giving up on me that caused the problem. Grateful to know my response time is still good. Grateful to know that my insurance wasn’t cancelled the week before. Grateful for a lot of things. Which, perhaps, is the point of this essay after all.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One