That Night

That night, just a few days before Christmas, I decided to make pizza for the family. Yes, it does take longer to heat up the oven in December than in July, here in Maine. Imagine this scenario:
It is dark, 6:00 P.M. It is snowing and also raining, and I'm out there fumbling around with my flashlight dealing with the oven.
The first pizza went in, and the oven was not hot enough so I just pushed the pizza into the fire, giving it to the fire gods, went into the house and prepared another. I brought the second one out, holding it on my wooden peel with my left hand while I messed with the fire with my other hand. The pizza slide off the peel, face down into the snow. I scooped it up, and it didn't seem worse for wear, so it went into the fire. Not bad, the family was pleased, but they didn't know about "the fall."
The next pizza was baking brilliantly, and then suddenly there was a thud. A fiery log fell right on top of it, but because I am very fast, I rolled it off and the pizza was saved.
The remaining pizzas baked without incident, but I did manage to spill my glass of wine on the rug. Breadhunter