TheBanyanTree: Do You Know Where Your Fire Extinguisher Is?

[Monique Colver]

Do you keep in regular contact with it? Give it a call now and then, just to
make sure it’s still around and hasn’t departed in a huff because it feels
unloved and unwanted?

Not me. I know where mine is, now that it needs to be replaced. I wasn’t so
sure before. I knew we had one, of course we did, we’re big believers in
safety, and in my case that’s generally an attitude that is best expressed
in this manner: “I saw a fire extinguisher around here once, so I know it’s
here. I’ll worry about finding it when I need it.”

There’s an obvious problem with my philosophy, which is that there’s really
no time to look for a fire extinguisher when there’s a fire. Those suckers
move fast.

I love fire. Bonfires. Camp fires. Fireplace fires.

I loathe fire. Wild fires. Countryside decimating fires. House fires.

It’s all about the proper time and place, see?

I was enjoying a quiet time of lethargy yesterday, after having prepared
potatoes for dinner and put them in the oven. Charming husband, my own
personal hero, was grilling lamb on the cheapo Weber grill. He’d been
outside watching it and reading, but came in to check on me. I distracted
him with witty banter, and since I am irresistible his return to the
outdoors was delayed.

Until something made him look back towards the door. Smoke, I think it was.
Smoke drifting in through the open doorway, billowing clouds of it.

He went running towards the back door and then yelled “Fire! Call 911!”

I, being rather slow to respond and not altogether bright in times of
crisis, instead went to look at the fire, not that I thought he’d lie to me,
but just to check, y’know, because why would we have a fire?

While I was still pondering the fire part of his message, and confirming
that it was indeed a fire, leaping up against the siding right outside the
back door, he came running past me again, fire extinguisher in hand, and put
out the fire.

“Call 911,” he said again.

I looked around for my phone. Now, I was pretty sure it had been around
somewhere, but where? The problem with cell phones is they tend to travel,
sometimes on their own, as if they become impatient with one location and
move themselves to another.

I found it, and called 911, and the nice lady on the phone asked me a list
of questions. Yes, the fire was out, we thought, but it had been right in
the area where there was a crawl space underneath the house. Yes, we just
needed to be sure it was actually out, and not lurking underneath the house,
ready to explode through the floor when we least expected it. Yes, we were
safe at the moment. Yes, there was smoke in the house, and the color of the
smoke was sort of . . . light smokish? Grey smoke color? (I’ve used the word
smoke so much it sounds like a parody of itself.)

I disconnected, and heard sirens.

How embarrassing.

It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with sirens, but usually when I hear them it’s
not because they’re racing to my house. I swept the hallway and went out the
front door. Don’t ask me why I swept the hallway. There was a broom hanging
around (at least I know where that is), and I just thought it’d be nice if I
swept up a bit on my way out the door. I enticed the dogs, who had been
watching events transpire from a corner of the yard, with doggie treats to
get them inside and upstairs, where they could be locked away so they
wouldn’t feel encouraged to welcome the firemen. I’m not sure that would
have been at all welcome.

I stood out on our front lawn. A couple with their little boy were across
the street, taking him out for a walk. They called over to me, “Is that for
you?”

“Yes,” I had to admit, “It is.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, we just need to be sure the fire’s out.”

“So we might get to see a fire engine!”

“Yes,” I said, “Any time now there’ll be a fire engine.” I knew this because
the sirens were getting closer.

They turned their little boy towards the street so he’d have a good view of
the pretty fire engine when it came rolling up.

A neighbor from an upstairs next door window called down to me, “Are you
okay?”

“Yes, we’re fine. Just a small fire.” He started to say he’d been looking
out his back window and had seen smoke, but then the fire engine turned into
our street, sirens blaring, and it was time for more neighbors to come out
of their houses and stare.

That’s what people do, after all, when there’s an exciting neighborhood
event going on.

As embarrassing as it is, it’s not nearly as embarrassing when the fire gets
bored with the crawl space and reaches up through the floorboards and starts
in on all the flammables we have laying around, such as ourselves and our
dogs.

What nice fireman. Two of them came in, and while one took heat measurements
of the floor the other looked at the crawlspace area in back. Out front,
another fireman set up a fan. There was a bit of smoke billowing around
after all.

The hall closet was cleaned out, since the crawlspace entrance was in the
floor there. Just like making sure you have clean underwear on in case of an
accident, make sure your closet is clean just in case firemen need to get to
your crawlspace. Another life lesson.

They looked, they measured, they used the water hose in the crawl space. And
the temperature of the floor started to go down, which is generally a good
thing.

We were pronounced safe from fire, at least until we start another one. We
don’t have any other plans for that at this time.

Oh, and the lamb! The lamb was fine. The fire hadn’t been the grill itself,
it had been the chimney starter, which became overexcited, as near as I can
tell. Charming husband felt bad about the entire incident, but I told him
not to – there’s a reason they call these things accidents instead of arson.
Now if it had been arson, he and I would be having a little talk, but as it
is, I was thoroughly impressed with the speed with which he responded and
put the damn thing out. That, and he knew right where to find the fire
extinguisher. While my brain was still processing the idea of a fire he was
already putting it out. Isn’t he wonderful? And in the future, the grill
will be kept much farther from the house.

I watched the fireman pack up their truck, at least for a little while, but
the crowds of neighbors began to be a bit daunting, standing around as they
were, wondering if we were a danger to their houses, and so I went back
inside. Charming husband didn’t even want to be seen out the front, so
embarrassed was he at the possibility of answering questions like, “What
happened? How did it start?”

We are all fine, though I’m not sure my heart resumed its regular rhythm for
a couple of hours. The house is fine, except for a bit of scorched siding
and a few needed replacement parts.

So where’s your fire extinguisher?

-- 
Monique Colver