Confessions of a Fire Starter

My kitchen fire story began on the morning of September 17, 2002. The attack on the trade center was still on everyone’s mind and my sister called to tell me of another death from anthrax inhalation.
After talking to her for about fifteen minutes about the sad state of the world, I told her that I better get to work and ended the conversation with the prophetic announcement: “We’re not even safe in our own homes anymore.”
As I turned toward the stove, I saw the pan of grease from the donuts that I’d deep fried the night before sitting on the burner. I didn’t want to take a paper towel and stick my hands in the cold grease to clean the pan so I decided to do it the fast way.
I pulled the pan over to the front burner, and turned the stove on high. I’d melt the grease and pour it out in a tin container: less mess, and quicker, too.
Talk about quicker. You want to know how quick fire is? I was soon to find out.
My next thought after I’d turned on the burner was that I’d run up to the store to get a new shower head. The plumber was scheduled that morning to fix a leaking pipe under the sink and I was going to have him install a new shower head at the same time. I grabbed my purse, ran upstairs for my car keys, and then back down the stairs and out the door.
At the local hardware store, I purchased the shower head and stopped on my way back for a latte. I was not gone more than 25 minutes.
When I drove up the hill I noticed a fire truck close to our house. My God, our neighbor had a fire! I got closer and saw that the fire truck was in our driveway. As I approached our house I saw that there were three fire trucks. Our neighbors were standing around our driveway and on our lawn. A firefighter was coming out of our front door.
I panicked and pulled my car onto the front lawn. “Are you the home owner?” he said as I got out of my car.
“Yes, I live here. “What happened?”
You’ve had a fire.” His eyes were kind. “It looks like it started in the kitchen.”
“Fire?” I echoed. I was in shock. This was not happening to me.
“Do you know how it could have started?”
“I have no idea!” Maybe a Halloween decoration ignited?
“It looked like a pan might have been left on the stove.”
It was then I remembered. “It wasn’t left on the stove, I said, “I turned the stove on.”
He looked at me strangely and I quickly amended that I’d turned on the stove to melt some grease and then forgot about it. (Dah, I might as well said that I started the fire so I could remodel the house with the insurance money.)
I was in fire shock; I could have said anything.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. Fortunately, I had my cell phone with me so I was able to call my husband and tell him that we wouldn’t be eating dinner at home tonight. In fact, we wouldn’t be eating dinner at home for another five months!
Our insurance company came through with some emergency money and they put us up in a motel until they could secure temporary housing.
We had two Persian cats and we lost one in the fire.
It was when I learned that one cat had died in the fire that the reality really sunk in. The fire had destroyed a living thing. The insurance would cover the damage, but it could never replace the animal that was as much a part of our family as if it were a human being.
The surviving cat, a Himalayan we called Charley Chan (see photo) was a lifesaver. While we were waiting for the house to be repaired (it was extensive) I took Charley everywhere with me. I began to refer to my outings with him as “Travels with Charley.”
Even though it was a sad day, there was some room for a little levity. I’d begun to decorate the house for Halloween. A warlock stood by the front door.
After the smoke had cleared, we were allowed to go into the house and see the damage. “Be prepared, it looks pretty bad,” the fire investigator said. It was dark inside, and smoke blanketed everything. Smoke webs hung from the cathedral ceiling, making the house look haunted.
My husband and I, as well as four fire fighters walked past the warlock at the door and made our way into the kitchen where the fire had started. Once there, I could only stare. Part of the ceiling hung down, wires were hanging out of appliances as if they were eviscerated, and everything was charred. No one said a word as we stared in silence at the damage.
And then, a deep voice came out of the dark house. “I’m going to get you!”
We froze. We looked at one another in bafflement. “What in the hell was that?” One of the firemen said.
Then I remembered. “It’s the motion activated Halloween decoration at the front door!” The fire must have caused a delayed reaction in his motion detector.”
Everyone started to laugh, myself included.
“He sure did “get me” I said. Happy Halloween to you, too.”
What did I learn from my kitchen fire? Well to begin with, I learned to think about what I was doing when I was doing it. I learned to not have my ‘mind’ race ahead of my actions. In short, pay attention to what I’m doing.
I learned how fast a fire can burn and how you life can be changed over night. I learned how nice my neighbors can be under harrowing circumstances. Before the fire we exchanged pleasantries, after the fire we shared bits of our lives.
I learned to slow down and enjoy each day, I learned not to obsess over things I had no control over, and pay attention to the things that I could control. I learned that a kitchen fire may not be end of the world but the start of a new one.