BBQ Chicken
May. 10th, 2011 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
captain_slinkyIt's always nice to discover that your child isn't an emotionless sociopath.
Tonight we were all having a good time, enjoying our one day of sunshine (we've been averaging one gorgeous day per week so far this year, accompanied by 6 days of standard Seattle doldrums). Mowed the lawn, rode bikes, BBQ'ed some chicken... it was a very fulfilling suburban day :)
When we finally came inside for the night, I checked my e-mail and found the following cryptic message from my sister (who lives with my parents):
Big fire. Three trucks. No more chicks.
Of course I had to call and figure out wtf that meant!
The *how* of what happened is still a mystery, but the WHAT is simple; my Dad's shop, the room attached to the garage where he kept everything he owned that wasn't his bed, burned to the ground at about 3:30 this afternoon. His antique desk, his vintage fishing rods, his old west crank telephone, his wine making supplies, hundreds of bottles of home made wine, 3 giant Snap-On Tools toll chests full of tools, personal journals... GONE.
Also in the shop was a small wooden box with six baby chicks in it that we had gotten over the week after Easter. Molly had named two of them ("Michael Jackson" and "Smooth Criminal"), and she loved them in that super-intense way that only a 5-year-old girl can love a baby animal.
When I told her about the fire, all she could ask was how are the baby chickens, and I had to tell her that they were all dead. She cried :(
This was her first experience with death that wasn't a fly or a slug or a snail or a bug. It hit her HARD, poor little thing :(
However, she did make it almost impossible to keep from laughing during this... the entire time she was crying, she was eating a piece of BBQ chicken.
"WHAAAAAAA MY POOR BABY CHICKEN *munch, munch* WHAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
She won't appreciate the irony yet, so I'll save this till she's 14 and going through her "Meat Is Murder" phase :)
Tonight we were all having a good time, enjoying our one day of sunshine (we've been averaging one gorgeous day per week so far this year, accompanied by 6 days of standard Seattle doldrums). Mowed the lawn, rode bikes, BBQ'ed some chicken... it was a very fulfilling suburban day :)
When we finally came inside for the night, I checked my e-mail and found the following cryptic message from my sister (who lives with my parents):
Big fire. Three trucks. No more chicks.
Of course I had to call and figure out wtf that meant!
The *how* of what happened is still a mystery, but the WHAT is simple; my Dad's shop, the room attached to the garage where he kept everything he owned that wasn't his bed, burned to the ground at about 3:30 this afternoon. His antique desk, his vintage fishing rods, his old west crank telephone, his wine making supplies, hundreds of bottles of home made wine, 3 giant Snap-On Tools toll chests full of tools, personal journals... GONE.
Also in the shop was a small wooden box with six baby chicks in it that we had gotten over the week after Easter. Molly had named two of them ("Michael Jackson" and "Smooth Criminal"), and she loved them in that super-intense way that only a 5-year-old girl can love a baby animal.
When I told her about the fire, all she could ask was how are the baby chickens, and I had to tell her that they were all dead. She cried :(
This was her first experience with death that wasn't a fly or a slug or a snail or a bug. It hit her HARD, poor little thing :(
However, she did make it almost impossible to keep from laughing during this... the entire time she was crying, she was eating a piece of BBQ chicken.
"WHAAAAAAA MY POOR BABY CHICKEN *munch, munch* WHAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
She won't appreciate the irony yet, so I'll save this till she's 14 and going through her "Meat Is Murder" phase :)
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no subject
Date: 2011-05-11 11:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-11 12:42 pm (UTC)