I wasn't yelling, really. Just stating my opinion, although sometimes I know it is hard to tell the difference.

Since my husband has been a supervisor for the railroad, his mind is always busy, even if he is on vacation. Don't get me wrong; his mind has always been busy, and that is one of the things that I love about him. It used to be busy with things that related to us, though, and now he doesn't have the time to think about them unless they are urgent.

I have never been a particularly patient person, so this irritates me. Like when I tell him an added detail of a topic that I have mentioned fifty or so times and he looks at me like I am from outer space. I explain. Through my teeth. And normally he makes the connection. However, it would be nice if he could make it a whole lot earlier.

I know he tries. One teacher that I work with says the problem is that her disks are full. His certainly are. And running a search takes time. It is just that I remember the old days, and they were good. I feel threatened by the new days.

Such was the case this morning. My husband had been bustling since around seven, which is actually sort of late for him, and I knew he was tired, so I said I would walk by myself. He had received a call from the railroad even though they knew he was on vacation, and I mentioned it. I had thought that maybe this year we could take day trips during vacation and get things done around the house since he doesn't have time when he isn't on vacation. That doesn't seem to be possible, though. I guess if I want his attention, I need to get him away.

As I went to find my shoes, somebody knocked on the front door. Hard. And they kept knocking. My husband answered it, and shortly thereafter he yelled for me to bring the bucket. Seems his work truck was on fire.

A fireman lives across the street from us, so things were not as bad as they could have been, although the taillight assembly on the truck is melted and I don't know how much we will end up paying the volunteer fire department. I am thankful.

See, yesterday, in an effort to complete my "honey-do" list, my husband had cleaned up the yard and burned some things in our burn barrel. This morning, as he was bustling, he took the ashes out and put them in a plastic bucket in the back of his work truck to take them away. He didn't want to dump them in our yard because there were nails in the ashes. He was outside several times and didn't see any smoke from the truck, but evidently that bucket was too close to his spare tire and, well....combustion happens.

Fortunately, our across-the-street neighbor (not the fireman) noticed and ran to our door. Fortunately, the fireman noticed and brought his fire extinguisher. We have two. Neither one of us thought of them at first. Fortunately, the "fire snake" my husband carries for work in the back of his truck did not ignite. Otherwise, we may not have had a garage.

I am sure the across-the-street neighbor was scared. The garage on this house burned two owners ago, and he lived in the same house he does now.

I was scared, too. Scared because things could have been much worse. What if I had left on my walk and my husband had not known about the flames? What if....

But he's fine. And I told him I felt bad about yelling at him. I said that maybe God was trying to tell me never to yell at him again.

And he smiled and me and said, "No, you can yell. Just not on Tuesday."

Thank God things weren't as bad as they could have been.

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