When you live in an uninsulated house, you get really excited about fireplaces in the wintertime.
In the summer, the fireplace stood like a mafioso, quietly lurking against the wall, reminding us of the possibilities to come. A squat mafioso with a really long neck.
We got the chimney swept, which was totally awesome, even though it wasn't Dick Van Dyke after all. He was a rangy kiwi guy, with few words to spare but lots of admiration for our fireplace. "She's a good 'un," he said.
Now the interesting part begins. How to light a fire!
Secretly I pretend I'm Daisy from Downton Abbey, before she gets promoted to kitchen assistant (or whatever). Yes, I'm crazy. I sweep last night's ashes through the grate. Hands a touch sooty.
Squirrel up some newspaper and place it in the grate. Think about all the fires I've to light before The Family comes down for their breakfa- no wait. No, just this fire.
Make a little teepee of kindling sticks. Light the newspaper.
Dammit, something is wrong with this newspaper. It is taking forever to light! What the. . .
Ok, newspaper finally lit. Yahoo! Blazing now! Kindling is. . . standing like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednigo. Totally not lit. Newspaper blazes out. Kindling barely singed.
Take out kindling. Grab more newspaper. Hands now extremely sooty. Squirrel more newspaper. Squirrel an entire dang section of the Auckland Herald and make a huge tower of newspaper. Place Shadrach, Mesach and Abednigo back on top of the newspaper. Light that stuff everywhere.
Repeat a few more times. Curse a bit. Push that strand of hair out of my eyes. Fire lightning no longer fun. I'm not a maidservant, I am a grown woman with a university degree who apparently has no luck with a fire. How to have fire safety in your house? Have me live there. (but not cook; but that's a story for another time)
FINALLY get it started. Gently place some broken up pieces of hot log, and place tenderly on kindling.
Get a healthy shovelful of coal. Ask the kids what the hell they're staring at. Place coal atop flames. Say a few prayers, ask forgiveness for the huge spate of language from earlier.
Get a big fat log out, roll it gently on the glowing coals.
Sit back and sigh. It's done! If I were Daisy, I'd tell the Granthams to go . . . um, light their own fires. And then get fired myself. No reference either, which back then TOTALLY sucked. Anyway.
Once that fire is lit with the flames dancing merrily, notice the room has gotten 5 degrees warmer. Yahoo! Convince myself that Centigrade degrees are way warmer than Fahrenheit degrees so I win.
Go wash the soot off my hands, face, front of my blouse, ear. . . you get the picture.
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