Sunday, November 27, 2011


My parents have a very sensitive smoke detector. It's just outside the bathroom door and anytime anyone takes a shower she has close the door behind her when she's finished or the steam will set it off. With some degree of regularity, someone forgets to lock the steam in the bathroom when he leaves. Every time we stay here, the smoke alarm goes off.

On Thursday morning, the food was cooking, the house was clean, and a fire was crackling in the wood burning stove. For reasons I'm still slightly unsure of, the stove suddenly began billowing smoke from all of its nooks and crannies. It had something to do with my dad turning on the house fan. Several of us were in the kitchen. My mom kept trying to find the source of the alarm, checking the microwave, the toaster oven, all the different timers she'd set. I figured it was the smoke detector being screwy again. We soon realized that the entire family room was filling with smoke.

My dad turned off the house fan and began opening windows. Let me be clear, THERE WAS NO FIRE (other than in the stove, where it is supposed to be). There was only smoke. A lot of smoke. We all opened more windows and began fanning the smoke out. A minute or two later, my dad turned to go down the hall. That's when he noticed my son, fighting the "fire" that wasn't.

When he'd noticed the smoke, Garrett had run into the front yard, turned on the hose, pulled it up to the front door, and was spraying water through the screen and into the house.

The clean house.

The house that was eagerly awaiting guests.

The house that was not on fire.

Maybe we have a firefighter in the making.

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