Why we don’t visit Uncle Ed’s anymore

By guest author Nolcha Fox

“That Ed, he’s a walking disaster,” Uncle Joe handed Aunt Maggie his crutches with one hand as he lowered himself into Uncle Ed’s overstuffed chair with the other. “Tried to move the ladder while I was still on it!”

“You’re lucky you only ended up with a broken leg,” I said.

“I was lucky it was a short ladder,” he said.

“That’s why Ed was moving it, you idiot,” Aunt Maggie said. “How did you expect to clean the leaves out of the second-story rain gutter using a ladder that barely reached the first-floor window?”

“I expected to use enthusiasm,” Uncle Joe muttered.

The smoke alarm went off.

Aunt Sharon ran into the kitchen to see if anything was burning on the stove. “Everything’s ok here. Can someone hit the off button on that stupid alarm?”

I grabbed one of Uncle Joe’s crutches and used the tip to hit the button. The house was filled with sweet silence.

Uncle Ed came in from the back door. “Say—what’s that funny smell?”

The smoke alarm went off again. Flames came out of the oven.

Uncle Ed shook his head, and grabbed one of Uncle Joe’s crutches to turn off the smoke alarm. “That should take care of things.”

“Smells like dinner is ruined.” Uncle Joe said. He stood up with Aunt Maggie’s help and hobbled to the door, pausing just long enough to look over his shoulder at his family. “Let’s go out to eat.”

We all filed out the door and into the van, and drove off without looking back.

Like everyone else, I figured turning off the smoke alarm would extinguish the fire.

Photo by Jani Kantokoski on Pexels.com