Dead Christmas tree story for feeling better or worse about our Whitefrog Christmas: Two friends were tickled possum-pink twenty years ago to house sit a really nice place for two close friends of theirs, gone mid-Dec and Jan. Had a big tree in the living room. Guess they had planned to wait til Feb to let owners decide what to do with it but eventually realized they couldn't. The scariest part is that these are really smart people. They had never gotten rid of a tree, either of them, and they didn't have no stinking tree pick-up, so they decided it would probably burn. Can't do it in the yard, but heck, there's a honkin brick fireplace right here. We'll just build a fire and move it in a little at a time. "OK!" No, wait, that, could be, dangerous. Let's shove it in there, as far as we can, and then light it. "OK!" Soooo, they shoved it in as far as it would go with the top turned up, and left the lower part laid out into the room on some cardboard or christmas-wrap or something for the carpet. [Any of you guys called the fire dept yet? Ya better hurry.] Roger stuffs some newspaper around the top of the tree and lights it.
The best part about hearing this story, which they at that time had told no one else, was watching their faces at this point. There was a moment right there where both their eyes lit up and their mouths made big circles, and you could practically see bright orange fire light reflected in their skin. Deafening crackling noises and their hair beginning to suck forward from flue draft. Uh oh. Uh oh. Oh.....pshyt!!!
The tree had been in front of the window, and by golly so were the curtains. They realized, because they're smart people, that if they did'nt make it to the curtains, they might not make it to the door anyway.
The neighbors across the street, seeing a view window full of glowing curtains, called the fire department.
No one likes to get a visit from the fire department. Have you noticed that? It usually pretty much means something bad or incredibly stupid has happened, and is way beyond concealment, for sure. "It's not our house." "We're just visiting." Imagine the amusement of the firepeople; thinking of the owners, their choice of friends-as-sitters, and picturing their interface with the insurance company. Wondering if they should have these people tested or deported, for the protection of town, until they get back. "Wanna ride on the fire truck with us? Just back to the station."
It was quite an ordeal for gentle S + R. Traumatic. I could tell. Because when S remembered what happened when their friends got back, she seemed kind of confused and incredulous: "They got.....mad." |
