Either one or the other

Here I was trying to clean up the mess I had created.
Wait. I did not create any mess. The hot stove did.
It is one of two things. Either the hot stove created the mess or the hot stove created the mess.
Count me out of the cause.

Either the hot stove was too fast heating up the pot of red stew on it or I waited too long to take off the pot I placed on the hot stove.
The long and short of the whole sad story is that I sacrificed a whole pot of red stew. That pot meant a lot to me.

~~~~~~~~

My very special friend saw my plight which was, if I had to eat any nice meal, I had to eat out. One day, our talk went that way and she decided to ease my suffering. Her response: Two nice bowls of hot red stew – just for me. It was meant to last as many days as possible.

I had gone halfway or so down the whole volume, then one day..

I put the remaining red stew in a nice small pot and on the electric stove.. then went to sleep – not literally.
I went about my business as if I had not put anything on the hot stove. If it was one hi-tech stove with a sensor to know when the soup was done, it would simply have turned off the heat as soon as my stew was ready. That did not happen. Instead, it got hotter. Hotter and hotter till my stew got destroyed – literally.

As my stew steadily got closer and closer to the point of no return, I went about about my business with a heart without worries. I got into grandma’s room to get a cover cloth and then, that funny smell.
I sniffed.

…

Pity.. I couldn’t scream. Real men don’t scream. Only girls do.
What I could do, I did. Raced to the kitchen at Mach 2.

Turned off the stove and lifted up the lid. There was my stew – plain ruined.

It was a bad mess – that the stove created. Not me. At that time when I was meant to be having a nice meal, I was prepping the pot to be cleaned up.
So, instead of blaming myself for leaving my pot of stew on a hot stove unattended,

for the danger my carelessness put both myself and the whole house in,
for allowing all of my friend’s benevolence go to waste,
for trusting a hot stove to monitor my stew and turn itself off at the right time, even though I did not leave it any special instructions, or program it in any way,

I blame that stove.

Yes I blame that stove though I know if I do things this exact same way in the future, I will get this exact same result.

I blame that stove.

 

Gma’s Wall Photos

Step into my living room. Easily, you would think you were in a photo gallery;
It is about Gma’s love to have her photos right where she can see them without having to flip photo album pages. I’m sitting in her favorite spot in the living room and the wall before me is covered with photos. The wall at my back is also covered with photos.

———————————

Some time ago, the house was made over and that left the walls with just a few pictures, simple and uncluttered. But the walls were just too #notjustOK for Gma. Day after day, more photos were added to the ones already on the photo railing – by Gma. I thought “well, fine. When the railing can take no more photos, she’ll stop.” Soon, the railing was holding all the photos it could take,

…

…

… but Gma did not stop.

Much as I did not like the idea of adding more photos, I was very instrumental in placing many on the wall. Gma did most of it herself but there were times when she needed a little help. She would call me and point to a spot on the wall – her other hand holding the new photo addition. Quickly I understood. In a few minutes, the wall had one more photo.

There were times when you’re passing by and you see her standing in the middle of the room scanning the wall, a fresh photo in hand. Oh no, not again but you already know the drill. One more photo baby.

Why, why and why? There are probably a host of different reasons. But here is one I’m 99% sure about:

She wanted to be able to see all the faces in those photos all the time, and I know she derived a lot of joy just sitting in the sofa and looking across the wall – whereon the photos hanged – wherein the people she cared about permanently smiled. Yes, these are the people she cared about. Seeing them all the time makes her day.
She wanted to put all her nice memories right before her at all times, which science has not proven to be a bad thing.
As you age, family, friends and the other “smaller things” of life matter more on a scale higher than they used to. Small gifts from people you care about mean more.. than just gifts. That explains something.

If you’d ask me,

The littler things of life mean more.
I would choose modesty and happiness over too much money – money over and beyond what I will ever need.
I would rather have friends to play with than servants to wait upon me.
I would choose a small, cozy, comfy, comfortable house over a fifty-bedroom mansion.
I would feast on the type: pounded yam, tea, fish and veggies, roast corn.. over expensive dinners in the most-luxurious of hotels.
I would rather stick to one beautiful lady than do hot whores who would eventually make your life (w)horrifying and (w)horrible <== #checktharhyme

So, it beats me to imagine why humans would, in a bid to be happy:
Keep dozens of cars,
Build mansions, most rooms of which you would never use,
Steal billions upon billions from the treasury,
Keep collecting and acquiring everything there is to acquire.
abbl…