A Memorable Death

We were on the first round of sangria during the 19th Annual Cookie bake when my mother commented, "The oven is locked."

Checking the oven display, I saw it had gone into self-cleaning mode, and the door wasn't going to open.

"My cookies are going to burn," she said.

I pressed buttons, and then combinations of buttons, but the oven did not turn off. Nor did it unlock. It just got hotter and hotter.

The convection/traditional double oven is built into a cabinet, so there is no easy way to unplug it. Flipping the breaker switch and cutting power was the only solution.

But, even with the power off, the oven refused to open.

My mother suggested I look at the owner's manual.

I opted for a Google search and discovered articles that suggested I hit the "cancel" button. My oven is 18 years old and built before engineers thought a "cancel" button might come in handy.

Another article suggested letting the oven cool.With no power to it, the oven was no longer heating, but, with no fan operating, it wasn't cooling quickly either.

I grabbed a fan.

"You can't use that until you clean the dog hair out of it," my mother said. Rather than look for a screwdriver to take apart the fan, I found another fan.

And then we waited, and I sipped more sangria.

When the oven cooled, I flipped the power back on, waited and listened as the oven lock disengaged. Looking inside, I found no cookies.

Crisis averted, I pre-heated both ovens. After placing a tray of cookies in the bottom oven, I set the timer. My mother put her cookies in the top oven.

We chatted. We sipped sangria. I looked at the oven and discovered it had once again locked and gone into self-cleaning, super-high temperature mode.

I flipped the breaker.

With no fan to vent it, smoke rolled out of the oven and into the kitchen. I could keep the smoke at bay if I turned the oven's power back on, but the cookies and parchment paper would continue burning.

With the oven in death throes and the house filling with smoke, we decided to cut the cookie bake short.

When the oven finally cooled and the oven lock disengaged, I took the only photo from this year's cookie bake.

A Christmas Request

The phone call came six days before Christmas.

A friend of a friend of a friend was looking for a lamb for a live nativity scene during Christmas Eve services.

"Do you  have any lambs?"

I've sold all of this year's lambs except one. She is 9 months old and a good 100 pounds. I'm pretty sure she'd object to leaving her flock and playing the part of meek and mild during church services.

The lamb is the one in the center. Like how the spotted-nose ewe on the left obliged to my "down in front" command.

Sheep are flock animals and they don't like to be separated.

"Do you think you can get any lamb to be still during services?" I ask.

"Maybe if it's a day old," she said. "Know of anyone that lambs at this time of year?"

"Not on purpose," I said.

We discussed other animals that could stand in for lambs. A kid goat? Again,  no one has young kids at this time of year.

We settled on a Maltese dog. It is white, small and would sit quietly through church services.