Anniversaries

When Burning Down the House is not just a song...

Around this week, I remember what happened 28 years ago. I guess it has been long enough that I no longer remember the exact date, but I do know it was within a day or two of the autumn equinox.

I lit a fire in my wood stove, as it was a chilly evening. I was taking care of my land lords’ dog. I could smell the wood smoke and hear the fire crackle. Maybe it was a little too crackly. My cat demanded to be let out (he was not fond of Bella, the dog.) I offered for Bella to go out, but she refused. In fact, she was looking kind of nervous.

I finally went to the door to go outside with her, as she needed to go out one more time before we all went to sleep. There was even more crackly noise out here, which, did not, in fact, seem to be a good thing.

I stepped off the porch and looked back at my house, and the roof was in flames. Oh shit. This being long before I ever had a cell phone, I ran back inside to call 911. Then I went next door to the neighbors. They came over and attempted to direct the hose to my roof, but there was not nearly enough water pressure. Richard went out to the end of the driveway to direct the fire truck to my house.

That part was not the part that I really like to remember: the terrifying part with the flames cracking from the dry cedar shake roof. The fire fighters rushing around doing what they do.

No, the part I want to always remember was this:

While the fire fighters were battling the flames, my neighbors got on the phone and by the time the fire was out (this was by now after midnight) about a half dozen or more of my friends had arrived, and as soon as the fire fighters gave the okay, we all started shuttling my paintings out of the house and into the second cottage next door that was used as a studio.

The next day, more people showed up, brought furniture out to dry in the September sun, emptied my kitchen and the rest of my studio. Gail and Audrey spent the entire day drying off slides, taking them out of the plastic sleeves and carefully blotting them dry. Annie C took all my smokey smelling clothes home and washed and ironed them.

The neighbors on the other side, who have a pizza restaurant in our town, showed up with pizzas for all the people helping to get everything out of the house and into my landlords’ garage. Other people showed up with food and drinks (I think there was some chocolate) for everyone helping.

I lost a few things— old furniture, a few rugs, only a couple paintings, but nothing important. The fire crew came in time to save most of it, and the kind people of my town got everything out and put away. The worst thing I lost was time and peace of mind, but in time, all that fades, and what I remember is the kindness of friends and acquaintances. And gratitude for help received. Some of the people who were there that day are now gone. I hope I will continue to remember them every year, so that they will never really be gone.

Yesterday was Talk Like a Pirate Day

and so, we must indulge another tradition: The Mr Wu Pirate Story!

So clean your chimney, be careful with candles, and talk like a pirate!

Thanks for being here!