What A Long, Strange, House-On-Fire Trip It's Been

Tessa, 

Actually, the title of this post should be "Thanksgiving fire damages Bartlett home".  That's the headline the Daily Herald went with, and who am I to ague with the nation's 75th largest newspaper?  Here's the article text:

Bartlett firefighters stopped a Thanksgiving Day fire at a single-family home Thursday before it rendered the home uninhabitable.

The fire department was called to the home on the 500 block of Harbor Terrace at 3:58 p.m. in regards to a possible chimney fire.

After discovering light smoke on the residence's second floor and in the attic, firefighters determined fire had extended from the fireplace flue into the exterior wall.

The first crews to arrive got into the attic to extinguish the blaze there, while additional crews went to the roof to assist with ventilation and bring the remaining fire under control.

Firefighters are continuing their investigation into the exact cause of the blaze, which caused an estimated $30,000 in damage to the house and another $5,000 to its contents.

Hanover Park firefighters assisted Bartlett at the scene, while crews from Algonquin, Bloomingdale and Carpentersville moved to standby at Bartlett's fire stations.

Why didn't the paper mention the part about you smelling the fire before even the dog noticed?  Or the part about me noticing the smoke in the attic, and then crawling into that smoke-filled attic, like a perfect example of the idiot, what-not-to-do kid in a fire safety video.  Plus, they originally spelled it "Alquonquin".  (Really, there's a whole essay here somewhere about the demise modern print media, the kicker being that none of us ever even read the printed version of this story.)

What a helpless feeling, to stand outside the house, wrapped in a coat, watching smoke lisp out of the attic.  You can't leave and you can't go help.  You can only pray the flames lose and lose quickly.  There are sirens and a ladder truck, and you think about how closely the scene around you resembles an insurance commercial.  But we all made it out safely, reminded again of what we're truly thankful for.  And that is the lesson sitcoms have taught us to learn.

In any event, I wouldn't want to stand outside a burning house with anyone else.  Unless that other person had the ability to instantly put the fire out.  In that case it just makes sense to go with the superhero.

I Heart You.

No-Shave November

Tessa,

Just in case you were wondering what you missed by deciding not to attend opening weekend of the 2010 deer hunting season:

Oh, you weren't wondering?  Then these will really bore you.

Ok, that last one is boring to everyone.  I don't really know if it warranted photographing in the first place, but it's on the internet now, so, oh well.  How about my beard in that first shot though?  Not bad, huh?  Between that and the plaid, I'm really channeling the ancestors.  And I suspect you're probably wishing my ancestors had been bankers or bakers or something more clean-shaven and less hands-in-the-pants-ish.  That's fair, but there's a fat lot we can do about that at this point, so flannel it is.

Also, what's the difference between plaid and flannel?  I really have no clue.  I think it's one of those square-rectangle relationships.  Like flannel is always plaid, but plaid doesn't have to be flannel.  Either way, I use them interchangeably.   Never had anyone say, "Actually, that's not a flannel shirt, it's plaid."  Then again, I suspect that people who wear flannel/plaid are less likely to be quibble about fabric than most.  They've got wrenches to turn, nails to hammer.

Okay, well if these photos whet your appetite for the frozen Northwoods, you're more than welcome to join.  I'm sure Anthropologie has something in blaze orange.

I Heart You.