Thanksgiving

Tuesday night, I came home to see fire apparatus at the end of the street, 

with more coming until they were lined up along the narrow lanes. 

Again? Again. For what seemed like the third time in three weeks,

families had been burned out of their homes. If it seems like an

epidemic, it is - an epidemic of stupidity - because all

three fires were due to negligence. It isn't just the homes where

the fires originated, but the adjacent townhomes

were also damaged, which means about a dozen folks

have been forced to start over, from scratch,

because someone was careless with a cigarette or left a frying pan 

on the stove while they went to the store. Damn.

I've always said that my biggest fear about apartment living 

was not knowing what my neighbors were up to. While I can control 

 my own actions, I have to trust that my neighbors are not

going to fall asleep while smoking, or splash hot grease

onto the stove top. The prospect scares me to friggin' death;

all the smoke detectors and extinguishers in the world are no defense

against stupidity and negligence. We are just lucky that,

so far, no one has been injured or killed.

My little place is warm, my neighbors are quiet, and

the stove tops are OFF. Tomorrow, I will

have a Thanksgiving dinner of broiled salmon, rice pilaf,

asparagus, cranberry sauce, and chocolate ice cream.

I have a meal of my choosing and "hovel, sweet hovel"

has not been among those burned.
Yes, I am thankful. Amen.

Fiery Bling

I've started collecting stand pipes, at least those that provide an 

opportunity for a bit of interesting composition. 

Looking down on these fixtures shows their red enameled tops, 

beautifully set off against the brass-colored hardware.

The chains on the caps remind me of a woman I saw years ago 

in the infield at the Speedway. She had pierced her nipples

and had a chain running between the two. Argh!

Just In Case, 'Cause You Never Know

During my "one lap of Speedway" yesterday, I saw three members of the Speedway Fire Department enjoying the pleasant afternoon, sitting in front of the station. Don't be fooled by their apparent idleness: 

the station is spotless, the fire engines are gleaming and 

their equipment is meticulously maintained.

Firefighters as a group, seem to enjoy the kind of camaraderie and trust 

that few of us will ever enjoy with our coworkers. It is a special bond, one formed by fire or the threat of it. They work together, train together, 

and laugh together to form the kind of team 

us cubicle-bound drones can only imagine.

Each man's turn-out gear is carefully placed near the apparatus, 

close at hand for whatever alarm that may come. Due to the vast improvement in building practices and materials, as well as the establishment of building codes, there are fewer fires: well over one half the runs fire stations receive are actually emergency runs for reasons other than fire. As a result, most firefighters are now cross-trained and certified as emergency medical technicians and paramedics

There appeared to be miles of hose, carefully cleaned, 

flattened and coiled in every spare corner of the station. 

It comes in different sizes and sits tidily placed in racks, 

awaiting possible use for an event that no one wants to occur, 

but "just in case, 'cause you never know."

This is my favorite picture. I saw the canvas-clad figure 

lying on the floor and, of course, against all logic I briefly thought the men 

up front had left one of their cohorts sprawled on the floor. 

"Oh, pfft! you silly woman," I thought, "it's a training dummy." 

My more macabre side took over and I took pictures.