I had taken Avery’s chili dinner to Sarah and Tracy, and read picture books with Gabe. Dealing with cancer treatments, they appreciated the meal. Arriving home, I could smell that Dad had gotten dinner ready: grilled bratwurst, baked squash, boiled cauliflower, sautéed onions—a feast! Forking a brat off the grill, I noticed a foreign electrical cord connected to the grill. Looking under the grill surface into the drip pan, I saw the correct cord, where I had stored it, covered in hot grease. I commented my relief that the foreign cord had worked, and lifted the grill surface to retrieve the hot, greasy cord. When Dad saw he had grilled not only the brats but the power cord, he let out a dismayed “Oh shit.” Not in anger, but in chagrined exasperation that he likely had ruined my cord. “I feel so bad I cooked your cord,” he lamented later. I told him not to worry, that now we knew other cords would work, and anyway the cooked cord looked no worse for the grilling. Nothing had melted or burned. I suspected when cooled and washed up, the cord would work just fine. And now Mom and Dad know I store the power cord inside the grill unit when not in use, where understandably one would not think to look for it. And the bratwurst were grilled to plump juicy perfection.