Flue-id Commotion

Many of you may remember last year's blog entry about combustible Christmas trees. I will say I felt a bit vindicated when this story was recapitulated around my family's dinner table and BOTH my sibling and my mother said, "Wait, so you mean they don't just spontaneously combust?" Thank God I wasn't the only one who believed Ginny's wives tale.

How I thought that would have been the end of my embarrassment of Christmas fire stories. Then last night happened.

J was post call and was sound asleep when I got home from work. I thought it would be nice to have him wake up to the scent of yummy beef burgundy stew, a nice glass of red wine waiting for him, and the warmth of the fire on a chilly winter night. I got the fire log out of the garage and began to get things ready for dinner.

In my credit (and defense) I did check the flue. I opened and closed it a number of times and even tried to look up the chimney to make sure it was open however it was dark outside so really I couldn't tell. The opening and closing of the flue was rather noisy and I didn't want to wake my slumbering husband with all that racket so I stopped. Instead I started the fire and watched the smoke. Yup, it seemed to be going up the chimney. And with that, I went back to do dinner preparations.

Not too long into my herb chopping and Brussels sprout peeling did I begin to wonder if I had turned on the oven and something was just charred on the bottom. Then I noticed the curls of smoke quite visible in the kitchen lights. It was at that moment that all of the fire alarms went off. I guess the flue wasn't quite open. Yes, the smoke went UP the chimney, but then built up and came back DOWN the chimney as well.

By now, we have a roaring healthy fire in the fireplace and my husband is up running around looking quite pissed and surprised. He later stated that he was having a dream and thought that the alarms had something to do with the Germans coming and he was at war. Now, granted, he was quite sleepy and was quite focused on shutting off the alarms. I was more concerned with the flue and the fire and not wanting to put my hand anywhere near the flame to open the flue. In fact, I was pretty paralyzed with fear about this whole fire thing although at least I was paying attention to the most likely solution vs. the alarm. Edgar was now cowering under the table with all of the noise. I actually flashed upon my previous entry of Edgar being trapped in a fire while he was at the kennel at this point in time.

I also realized that I had washed all of our oven mitts and pot holders so I began to dig those out of the dryer as I thought that they would protect my husband's hands as he opened the flue. Again, I was more likely to call the fire dept than do this myself. I finally got J's attention and asked if he would stop working on shutting up the alarm, but instead work on the flue. I also began to open up all windows, doors, etc. Surprisingly, Edgar did not run out of the house and instead just slinked around like he did something wrong. Poor dude.

Oh dear. This was NOT the evening I had intended. After all of the commotion died down I was pretty upset. I apologized profusely and tried to calm down. I could also hear my father's voice in my head, "That was so stupid!" As if I really meant to do something like that on purpose.

The house aired out quickly and I opened a bottle of wine while my husband began to write in the soot all over our mantle before cleaning it. I think it was his way of making light of the situation which worked...well, that and 3/4 of a bottle of Syrah worked wonders. While my pyrophobia isn't better now (in fact, its much worse) my husband pointed out that now I can have confidence I can start a roaring fire.