Well, technically, I could die any day. But those of you who know me know that I am not prone to hyperbole. When I went downstairs in the morning after my mom had left, I smelled something burning or something that had burned. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but I just figured that she had burned some toast. It was not until later in the day that I found what had caused the smell: there was a burn mark across the wood trim next to the kitchen window. My mom had left a makeup-type magnifying mirror pointing skyward in the windowsill and it had focused the sun’s rays and burned a line across the wood as the sun moved. Had the mirror been in a slightly different place it could have ignited a drape, setting the whole thing off and burning down the house. That’s one for CSI!

I say “could have died” because recently we replaced the batteries in most of the smoke detectors on the upper floor. So most likely I’d have escaped with my life and my underwear.

I’ll post a picture later.

Of the burn, not the underwear.