Fio was thinking about writing a review of a play she and Husband saw Friday night, or perhaps a nice tribute to Labor Day. Then a fire raging in the Central Texas area consumed the home of a family she knows.
Daily we read the newspapers and watch television reports about human tragedy, but reality hits home when someone we know is involved. Our hearts go out to the victims, but their loss reminds us that we too are vulnerable.
Husband checked the hoses last night, as though he and Firefighter Fio could hold off a blaze on their own, and Fio has made a list of what to grab, just in case. In fact, she's going to stow family photos in her car this morning.
God bless. Be prepared.
Showing posts with label Fires. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fires. Show all posts
Monday, September 5, 2011
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Dead Trees and Flint
Fiorella is obsessed with dead trees and flint.
She never realized how many dead trees there are just standing around until she and Husband cut their own firewood. Now the trees stand out like sore thumbs everywhere she looks. How she longs for a pick-up truck so she and Husband can stop by the roadside late at night and saw down some of those trees, or pick up those broken branches waiting to be hauled away to a landfill. She just cannot stand the waste.
Fio also cannot stand to see flint wasted. She has a whole shelf of pieces she found on her driveway. And just last week, she pulled two really nice pieces out of the gravel fill at HEB. Today she discovered about six flints in the gravel fill at her father's nursing home.
Flint and dead wood. Together, they make fire, and fire makes the universe.
She never realized how many dead trees there are just standing around until she and Husband cut their own firewood. Now the trees stand out like sore thumbs everywhere she looks. How she longs for a pick-up truck so she and Husband can stop by the roadside late at night and saw down some of those trees, or pick up those broken branches waiting to be hauled away to a landfill. She just cannot stand the waste.
Fio also cannot stand to see flint wasted. She has a whole shelf of pieces she found on her driveway. And just last week, she pulled two really nice pieces out of the gravel fill at HEB. Today she discovered about six flints in the gravel fill at her father's nursing home.
Flint and dead wood. Together, they make fire, and fire makes the universe.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
In Praise of Odd Logs
Husband and I are not as adept as the supermarket firewood suppliers in forming logs of standard length and appearance. In fact, many of our logs are completely misshapen. I'm watching a hollow log burn in the fireplace right now that looks like the head of a feral hog with mouth agape and flaming tusks. Saffron tongues leap out from under and above, from in front and behind. Its belly is a cave of flame. Maybe there are small Neanderthals inside it, celebrating a mastodon hunt.
Yes, Fio likes the odd logs, the crooked and twisted ones, the crotched ones, the ones with weird angles, the unconventional ones.
But then, as you may have guessed, Fiorella is somewhat unconventional herself.
Yes, Fio likes the odd logs, the crooked and twisted ones, the crotched ones, the ones with weird angles, the unconventional ones.
But then, as you may have guessed, Fiorella is somewhat unconventional herself.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Fire Superwoman!
Fiorella made a fire today-- on the first try!
Let ranks of silver trumpets blare,
Let all the world admire
First a flicker, then a flare--
Fio has lit a fire!
Of course, fifteen minutes later, it tried to die on her, but Husband came home at the last minute and saved the day.
Some people learn things quickly and are great right off the bat, like some of the girls in Fio's long-ago college horsemanship class. They were prancing their mounts around the ring like old pros while Fio could hardly keep her seat in the saddle. So much for her Walter Farley-inspired dreams of horse-girl communication.
Fiorella, though, has always been a bit of a slow learner, the only recompense being that she also learns extremely well. Yes, once she's got that concept, she can apply it like a son of a gun.
Forget about the equines, but fireplaces of the world, beware: your time is coming!
Let ranks of silver trumpets blare,
Let all the world admire
First a flicker, then a flare--
Fio has lit a fire!
Of course, fifteen minutes later, it tried to die on her, but Husband came home at the last minute and saved the day.
Some people learn things quickly and are great right off the bat, like some of the girls in Fio's long-ago college horsemanship class. They were prancing their mounts around the ring like old pros while Fio could hardly keep her seat in the saddle. So much for her Walter Farley-inspired dreams of horse-girl communication.
Fiorella, though, has always been a bit of a slow learner, the only recompense being that she also learns extremely well. Yes, once she's got that concept, she can apply it like a son of a gun.
Forget about the equines, but fireplaces of the world, beware: your time is coming!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Firemaking III
After an hour of trying, and completely emptying the kindling box, Fiorella finally got a fire going. If she were an Eskimo, her family would have long since frozen to death.
Husband takes fifteen minutes at the most, even with wet wood. On the other hand, whenever Husband has to write down the home phone number, he still has to ask Fio what it is.
I guess we each have our areas of expertise.
Husband takes fifteen minutes at the most, even with wet wood. On the other hand, whenever Husband has to write down the home phone number, he still has to ask Fio what it is.
I guess we each have our areas of expertise.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Firemaking II
1) Do not open the match box upside down. The matches will fall out.
2) No matter now many sections of the newspaper you use, sometimes the damn fire will not light. (Especially if you use the financial section, which won't light a fire under anything these days.)
3) Blowing on a barely-lit fire to encourage its flame can just as easily put it out.
4) When it comes to starting a fire, third-time-lucky does not mean a thing.
4) You can always turn up the heat or put on a jacket until Husband gets home.
2) No matter now many sections of the newspaper you use, sometimes the damn fire will not light. (Especially if you use the financial section, which won't light a fire under anything these days.)
3) Blowing on a barely-lit fire to encourage its flame can just as easily put it out.
4) When it comes to starting a fire, third-time-lucky does not mean a thing.
4) You can always turn up the heat or put on a jacket until Husband gets home.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Fireplaces
Fiorella, as you've probably already guessed, is obsessed with fires--in their proper place, that is.
Her first childhood home sported a working fireplace which her parents, with a big, coal-eating furnace in the basement, seldom used. Although Fiorella was at the picturebook stage and developed fantasies of a roaring fire sprouting from stacked logs in that space, all she ever saw in it was a few lumps of coal generating weak tonguelicks of flame.
Fiorella's first, second, and third marital homes did not boast fireplaces, even fake ones, but she hit the jackpot on her fourth one, and Husband proudly demonstrated his Scoutmaster skills with one-match fires when the gas jet went out of commission. Fio was in fireplace heaven. She especially loved it when the children gathered on Christmas mornings, claimed their gifts from beneath the tree (stationed next to the fireplace, of course), and opened them on the couch in front of a picturebook fire. Unless, of course, it was eighty degrees outside.
And now, in Fio's fifth house, she has TWO fireplaces, although only one is real. One mustn't push Husband too far. After all, he is also the one who cleans out the ash.
Her first childhood home sported a working fireplace which her parents, with a big, coal-eating furnace in the basement, seldom used. Although Fiorella was at the picturebook stage and developed fantasies of a roaring fire sprouting from stacked logs in that space, all she ever saw in it was a few lumps of coal generating weak tonguelicks of flame.
Fiorella's first, second, and third marital homes did not boast fireplaces, even fake ones, but she hit the jackpot on her fourth one, and Husband proudly demonstrated his Scoutmaster skills with one-match fires when the gas jet went out of commission. Fio was in fireplace heaven. She especially loved it when the children gathered on Christmas mornings, claimed their gifts from beneath the tree (stationed next to the fireplace, of course), and opened them on the couch in front of a picturebook fire. Unless, of course, it was eighty degrees outside.
And now, in Fio's fifth house, she has TWO fireplaces, although only one is real. One mustn't push Husband too far. After all, he is also the one who cleans out the ash.
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