I smell gas

Life has rushed through another week, though more eventful than most. I met my youngest nephew and he left as sweetly as he arrived. Visits are never long enough and there is always the impending doom of the ending. I guess I shouldn't be so melodramatic about it, but that's how I feel. I wish distance was easier, but I think of my ancestors and I shouldn't complain.

I learned an important lesson today in church. I am not able to make several batches of cookies with junior high students in the time allotted for Sunday School. In my defense, it wasn't my idea. I was the substitute and this was my simple task. Perhaps the elders walking through the kitchen slowed me down with their bits of advice. Maybe it was that the convection oven was too technologically advanced. I missed service because the cookies were finally pulled out of the oven just as I had to tell the kids to get. So I spent church time waiting for cookies to cool, doing dishes, throwing away the burned ones and cleaning up. It was completed with a long note to Megan (the usual instructor) about the sad state of the cookies I was leaving her to deliver to the transient shelter house. The best part of Sunday School was when the man tried to show me how to use the convection oven and I pointed out the overwhelming smell of gas. He reached up and turned on the fan...