Montana Jones

Fire and beer

Woman:

Hey guys, that fire is about to jump the road.

Guy:

Need help?

Woman:

Yeah. Z_ called the fire department, but we need to make sure it don't jump the road.

Guy:

Hey Jones, how's your fire fighting skills?

Me:

Never done it, but I'll come along.

When I got out of the truck I took the time to look around carefully, noting where people were and where there was smoke and flame and survey the terrain. A safety check. My friends went to consult someone they knew raking at the burning grass near the road. The consensus was that the fire would only cross the road if the wind picked up and at the moment no ones house was in danger. More importantly, did anyone bring beer? There is only the one here and it's warm.

Another pickup truck arrived with an assortment of shovels and rakes in the back. The tools were handed out but no one moved to the fire. "Good thing you brought these" someone quipped, "we didn't have anything to lean on. Did you bring any beer?"

Another pickup truck arrived. The driver leaned out the window and joked "Typical goddamn Montana fire crew. Standing in the road and bullshitting. I'm surprised you aren't drinking beer."

The next half hour went much like that. People arriving, leaning on shovels, chatting up their neighbors, occasionally glancing at the fire and complaining about the lack of beer. When the fire truck arrived and men with yellow shirts and hard hats started surveying the scene it was apparent that they had not brought beer either. The tools were returned to the pickup trucks and the gathering broke up.

She:

How long have you been in Montana?

Me:

About three years.

She:

Does it surprise you how obsessed with beer everyone is?

Me:

No. I'm not surprised. I picked up on the beer culture real quick after moving here.

Labels: Beer, conversation, culture, fire, neighbors

Posted by: Montana Jones / 8:15 AM 1 comments

Do not leave candle burning unattended

A little lake of wax had congealed a selection of pens, old receipts and posty notes together. I muttered "Oh Shit" to myself, but the time to do anything about it was long past. My eyes traced the path of drippings from the mass of desktop clutter, up the side of the power strip, dangling stalactites from the desk hutch, puddles molded around the modems feet and a greasy crust covering it's surface. Green LED lights still blinking their connective cheer. Embedded into the plastic top of the modem was a warning label, "Do not leave candle burning unattended", the words slightly obscured by a burn mark scorching a line through the wax, pointing toward a melted hole. The charred rift in the cover of the electronics revealed the spidery little microchips inside, apparently undisturbed.

All the worst case scenarios then flooded my mind. The modem could have caught fire while I was sleeping, taking with it the desk hutch, books, monitor, clutter of papers and eventually the entire apartment. The fact that it didn't happen that way was some consolation. But it could have been much worse. The smoke detector has had the battery removed for some time now. It has a habit of sounding the alarm every time I use the kitchen. Every one of the two dozen fire extinguishers I own was at the office, miles away. Note to self; store some of those extinguishers around here in the off season.

As I chiseled away at the waxy blobs on my desk I flashed back to a conversation with dad not so long ago. "Your mom is getting more like grandma was," he said. "More forgetful." I pictured grandma in my mind, the white haired bundle of energy always flitting from thing to thing, from one idea to the next. Never settling for long, rarely concluding a task. It was a family trait, I could see it in mom and I could see some of it in myself too.

"Uh, huh." I said, not sure if I liked where dad was going with this.

"The other day she went out for her walk after putting the kettle on high. If I hadn't come downstairs when I did it could have been much worse."

I pictured a kettle of water on a hot stove. I'm sure the water would boil away sooner or later but I didn't think it would catch fire any too quickly. Mom would have been back in a half hour, caught it, cursed herself and moved on. I didn't want to push the issue with dad, he was convinced of the imminent doom.

"She still has it together enough, but we use our cell phones a lot. We check in any time we go some place, like when I leave the shop or something. I have to remind her of things she forgets at the store. I am still okay with her driving, I am okay with her going into Missoula, but she is getting older."

"You know that she watches out for you too, right?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm just saying."

It would be pointless to try to explain how we are all a little like grandma. Dad had his "I'm right and the world ain't" ax to grind. Pointing out his own foibles would just make him think I was missing the point and not worrying about mom enough.

Yeah dad, I do worry about mom. And I worry about you too. But you guys are doing just fine leaning on each other. Mostly I am worried about me. Especially since I nearly burnt my place down from my own absentmindedness.

Labels: absentminded, accident, candle, dad, fire, mom, prose, wax

Posted by: Montana Jones / 6:38 AM 2 comments