As I alluded in yesterday’s post, Casa dé Hambone physically relocated. Back on November 3 I uprooted the family and moved a whopping 5,000 feet north of where we were living. Bigger casa with room to grow, with the added perk of an additional fireplace in the basement. Being winter, my wife and I decided that it was about time we fired up said fireplace and enjoy a romantic evening watching a movie next to the crackling of a fire. What ensued was a tiny disaster.
To set the stage, we bought the house from a 96 year old woman who has gone on to a rest home. She’s still alive and well – no worries there – just couldn’t take care of herself any more. Left in the basement fireplace was a clean burning chemical log, some old newspaper and a Sprite box. Everything one needs for a quality blaze. I brought down the matches, bent down in front of the fireplace and opened the flue.
It was cold. An odd sort of cold where a downdraft is coming from the chimney. “Not to worry,” I told myself. Once the fire gets going and the chimney heats up, it will create an updraft and all will be well.” I should have known I was on a bad path when the first four matches I struck were blown out by the downdraft. But not to be outdone by nature – and wanting the opportunity to use the couch by the fireplace with my wife when the kids were asleep – I proceeded, and managed to get one end of the log lit.
It took a few minutes for the smoke to really become a noticeable problem in the basement. I took a walk upstairs and began to understand why the house had smelled like a 96 year old woman when we bought it … the chemical logs and newspaper that was burning had to be at least that old. I went back downstairs to check on progress and got my second hint that something was wrong … a distinct haze throughout the basement.
There I am, on my knees in front of the fireplace with a flashlight trying to see if smoke is being pulled into the chimney due to an updraft, or if it’s continuing to be blown out of the fireplace. My lovely wife, of course, is standing next to me constantly telling me its getting worse while I swear I see the direction of the smoke in the light moving toward the chimney. Currents are a crazy thing.
We finally decide that this isn’t working, that the house is really starting to stink and that we need to do something. By this time, the chemical log has been burning for approximately ten minutes on one end, so it’s not a simple matter of just smothering the fire with a wet rag or something. It is in this moment that I had my next stroke of genius. You see, we have kept a charged fire extinguisher in the house for years – always prepared for disaster to strike but never truly wanting to use the fire extinguisher. (Okay, I lied … I’ve always wanted to use it, I just hoped there was never a need to use it.) I dashed upstairs, grabbed the extinguisher from underneath the kitchen sink and headed back downstairs.
First, let me tell you that you should read the instructions on any emergency device prior to there actually being an emergency. The last thing you want is to actually have to use something like a fire extinguisher and in the moment of panic not know how to use it. So there I stood in front of the fireplace, squeezing the trigger like a madman and nothing happening. I silently cursed to myself and read the instructions:
1. Remove pin
Oh.
With the pin removed I was about to unleash the fury of the extinguisher on the blaze that roared (more like meowed) in front of me, but common sense got the better of me. What does step #2 say in the instructions?
2. Stand at least 6 feet from the fire
Six feet? Come on. That’s got to be for a real fire so that it doesn’t blow back and hit you or something. Besides, six feet puts in the middle of the room – and I don’t want to miss. On to step #3.
3. Aim nozzle at base of fire
Got it. And #4?
4. Pull trigger
I’m not sure that what followed was due to how close I was to the fire, the fact that the fireplace is a somewhat contained area or something else altogether. But the instant I pulled the trigger I was greeted with a forceful explosion of dry chemical that obliterated the fire and left me standing in the middle of a white cloud of chemical dust. I cursed again, but this time not to myself. I looked around the room and discovered that visibility was considerably worse that it was only moments before. Combine this with there are no windows in the basement that open and, well, I have what some would call a problem. As I stood there, sucking in a combination of chemical dust and 96 year old smoke, I thought to myself, “This must be what Hell smells like.”
My wife, the wonderful woman that she is, was already active upstairs opening up all of the windows and doors in an effort to cleanse the house of its newfound odor. She even offered me some words of encouragement. “This is the smell I always like outside that we never can get inside.” Thanks sweetie.
Did I mention that it’s the end of January? In Chicago? In the middle of winter? So there I found myself standing in front of my open door, freezing and staring across the street at my neighbors who must be wondering what is going on, in a house that smells like 96 year old burning leaves, and thinking to myself, “… and this must be what a cold day in Hell smells like.” I swear right then Satan walked by and commented, “Nice job, Hammond.”