The ring on the little-used stove turned red and smoked a little, just enough to set off the smoke detector. I dusted off an old pan and set in onto the burner, knocking a few little bits of old charred food into the heating element, which caused a little more smoke. I opened the sliding glass door. As the smoke from the stove went out the screen door, the smoke from the cigarette of the neighbor sitting on the deck next door drifted in. I boiled some pasta and heated some sauce in a coffee cup in the microwave.
With no colander (or tennis racket), I drained the pasta with an oversized spoon. This did an insufficient job and made for soggy noodles.
I looked for something to read while I ate, finding a Senior Citizen Guide from 2007 with expired coupons and ads featuring people who are probably now dead.
The Ragu didn't bring a lot to the party, but it didn't stop me from eating most of it.
I rinsed off the dishes and looked for Dawn or Ivory, but found only Rite Aid liquid hand soap. With no sponge or dish cloth, I used several paper towels and wiped everything clean, doing my best to not to leave anything on the counter that might add to the growing ant population.
I tried to turn on the TV, but with four remotes could only muster up a "no signal" message. I gave up, locked the doors and went upstairs.
Several nights ago, my 85-year-old current roommate, who is out of town visiting his homeland in Hungary and never does any cooking in the house, discussed families (or the lack thereof) with me. I was describing how busy it is with my family, with work and school and after-school activities and dinner and bedtime and so much more. One of the sweetest guys in the whole world, he said that he felt lucky that he we wasn't bogged down by family. I don't know if he was kidding or not.
I hope he comes back soon.
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