Not a good sign.
The buzzing and fizzing and pops could easily have been the kids or the cats. Or a renegade mouse. Or the radio, which has seen better days. Or some paper that got caught behind the fridge and sort of got sucked into the exhaust unit thingie and was rattling around.
But the flashing lights in the oven could not be explained by any of those things.
The lights in the oven corresponded with the pops and fizzes and buzzes and then bangs.
I looked inside and saw that one corner of the bottom element was sending up a fountain of sparks - like those fireworks that stay on the ground and that send up a fountain of sparks. I love those. Actually I love all fireworks. Especially the big ones that look like zinnias and spread out slowly across the sky. Oh and the ones that go straight up and explode into three more fireworks of all different colors. And the pink ones. I love the pink ones.
Where was I?
There were no pink fireworks in my oven. I don't really think fireworks belong in the oven.
I turned the oven off.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
I was so glad my cornbread wasn't in there.
When I got the courage to open the door, I saw that one corner of the element was toast.
Not actual toast. Just toasted.
Not actually toasted, more like melted and cracked.
Yep. One corner of the element was melted and cracked.
We did not have cornbread that night.
I was bummed.
We have a new element now and as we speak, we are inaugurating it with spritz cookies.
Not in the shapes of fireworks.