So last night after the cold front came through I ate chilli dogs and watched the Astros game with two of my favorite men. (Seriously- look at these two! How could I not want a boy?) Despite how crappy the game went, we had a patriotic, fun fall evening.
John and I were later awakened at 3 am to the sound of a car horn honking and several loud bangs. When the firetruck stopped right outside of our bedroom windows, I decided to get up and take a look see. Wouldn't you know, a 4Runner exploded on our street. Big fire. Right by our cars. Pretty scary. I don't think anyone was hurt, and it didn't spread. But I wonder- how exactly does a car that is not running randomly blow up in the middle of the night? I cannot tell you how thankful I am for firemen. I think I'll take them a bushel of apples or something.
John's first reaction when I said the word "fire" was pretty typical. Did he think of me and baby? No. He knew I was up and alert and could make it out on my own. Did he think of our cat? No. His impulse was to run for his record room and start carrying his computer and collection down the stairs. He didn't do this in reality, of course, just in his mind, and I saw it in clear detail just as he did! Once I assured him it was a car outside, and not anywhere near our house, he lay back down in bed without another concern.
PS- this picture was taken at the Salt Lick on Saturday night at the table where I thought we lost the camera.
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