Back when Zan was just a year old, Wonder Woman and I
bought borrowed way, way, WAY too much money from a bank that let us move into this house, and one of the many things that excited us about our the bank’s new house was the fireplace. We’d never had a fireplace before, and the thought of throwing down on a bearskin rug in front of the glow of a cozy little fire was … well, the furthest thing from our minds, what with a 1-year-old child and another on the way … plus, throwing down atop an animal carcass doesn’t really appeal to me … and, hey, has anyone seen my point around here? I was sure I was about to make one.
So here we are, five years later, and never once have we burned a log or a piece of paper or even a wooden match in our fireplace. In fact, up until yesterday, the glass doors were completely taped shut.
But all that has changed.
Yesterday, we had a chimney sweep come to the house, and did you know that we live in 18th century London? Because that’s when and where I thought chimney sweeps were needed. Also, I figured chimney sweeps had names like “Seamus” and “Finnegan” and “Paddy O’Chimney Sweep” … but we got Jeff.
Seamus’ Jeff’s arrival, I had investigated online the many things that can happen to one’s chimney when one neglects it for, say, five full years … which is why I fully expected Finnegan Jeff to tell us we needed to knock down the entire house and start from scratch.
So imagine my surprise when
Paddy O’Chimney Sweep Jeff did some inspecting and some cleaning and some vacuuming, and then said we could get busy with the blazing.
I see a Yule Log in our immediate future. That, and a frantic 911 call to the fire department.