Only You Can Prevent Fire Places
When you’re in someone else’s house, you are a guest. You are an alien that has entered into their domain. If you enter the Thunderdome, you must play by Tina Turner’s rules. So when you are visiting at your uncle’s house for Thanksgiving, you let him take care of the fireplace.
For whatever reason, I spent a good deal of time in my uncle’s living room today, mainly watching TV or enjoying the company of my extended family. The house in general is a little colder than most, so they employ the use of a very nice fireplace, complete with fresh-cut cherry logs. Grandma was quoted saying that these “cherry” logs burn very hot and for very long, so one doesn’t really need to “pile them on.”
The room was getting pretty warm, and we all were enjoying that homely atmosphere that only comes at this time of the year. After about thirty minutes after Grandma made her wise statements (that only come from years of camping in the mountains), my uncle added one solitary log to the fire, helping it avoid extinction. We were all quite thankful… until suddenly, a non-family member (a guest of my uncle’s family and just a mere awkward acquaintance to mine) ran by, in a flurry of precociousness, and tossed in three more logs! Three logs, I say! Three logs, each the size of two year olds! Instantly, the fire burst into a towering inferno, making us feel like we were in a boiler room instead of a den. To top things off, he fled the scene, not even sticking around to enjoy the intense heat that he had brought upon us.
After about two hours, the fires subsided, slowing down to a nice roast. The room temperature was finally bearable again. Everything seemed to be okay, and Thanksgiving was saved. Dan had even gone over to add another single log onto the fire, just to compensate for the dropping temperatures outside.
But, a mere 90 minutes before we were about to leave, the firestarter returned. Everyone in the room was enjoying a re-run of Everybody Loves Raymond, when suddenly this clown tosses not one, not two, but three more logs onto the fire! Not only that, but he almost burns his hand in the process. Suddenly we are hit with a burst of warm air, almost knocking me unconscious, and causing grandma to move to the other room where the air wasn’t as stuffy. My father and I just looked at each other and laughed…
The pyro sat on the stoop in front of the fireplace, listening to all of the family conversations going on around him (or perhaps trying to figure out what Danny was doing on his laptop… which was play an emulated version of the Genesis classic, NHLPA 93). Suddenly he exclaims, “Boy my back is burning up! It’s warm in here.” Well, junior, maybe if you hadn’t started the Great Chicago Fire in my uncle’s living room, things would be a little more comfortable. He moved to the floor and laid down on his back, effectively getting in the way of everyone. Ever.
After about fifteen minutes of this unruly blaze, one of the logs (which had been teetering on top of the pile) slipped and began sliding down. My brother and I had both held hilarious mental images of the log sliding on to his lap, resulting in a great “My pants are on fire!” chase around the house. But alas, I guess that’s why they make those little chain-mail fireplace curtains. The log came to a stop, after shooting off a few amber flakes.
It wasn’t too long after that that we left the party. I left with an look of caution on my face, hoping their house wasn’t going to burst into flames moments after we pulled out of the driveway, thanks to the carelessness of our Smokey the Bear-hating friend.
It’s always important to let the master of the domain be the master of the domain. I don’t care how close you are to the family, or how much you are told to “make yourself at home.” When it comes to stuff like serving dinner, refreshing the toilet paper in the bathroom, and adding logs to the fireplace, leave it to the masters.
Posted by MikeRubino at November 24, 2005 7:45 PM | TrackBack