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When Smoke Gets in My Eyes
| Article
# : |
15307 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
8 / 1989 |
1,635 Words |
| Author
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Kathryn N. Hardin
Kathryn Hardin's humor articles first appeared nationwide
thirty years ago. This Arkansas grandmother draws on her
life, past and present, for her current anecdotes. |
Where there's fire there's smoke, and where there's smoke there's me. Paranoia isn't a pretty sight, and I don't take every unpleasant thing that happens to me personally, but it does seem that fire makes a point of plaguing me with smoke in my eyes--ears, nose, throat, hair, and clothes.
My irreverent attitude may have something to do with this persistent persecution. It isn't that I don't appreciate the value of fire. It is unquestionably a boon to mankind. Keeping the home fires burning--figuratively speaking--is as important now as it was when Romans worshiped at the hearth of Vesta. But a society that is continually preoccupied with fire building--literally speaking--is a pain in the nasal passages.
During the energy crisis, an obsession with fireplaces affected a large portion of the nation's population; now, gathering around the hearth is rapidly gaining a cult following. Any social gathering where there is a fireplace can suddenly become a religious experience.
My husband and I went to a party recently where the hostess greeted us with, "Do come in. Harvey's got a nice little fire going in the den." It was almost as if she were saying, "The services are about to begin." (And they were--complete with testimonials.)
Harvey was addressing the congregation as we entered the room.
"See this piece of hickory," he said, holding up a stick of wood. "There's a story behind this."
The guests inspected and admired the hickory. I wasn't impressed. As far as I'm concerned, if you've seen one stick of wood, you've seen them all.
"You've got to watch that hickory," a woman called from the back of the room. "It'll pop out and burn the rug in a minute!"
"We had a hickory fire once that was so hot it melted the grate and blistered the paint on the front door," a man in the front row announced.
Harvey discouraged any more such unseemly outbursts with a disapproving frown and launched into the saga of the hickory stick.
"I was heading east on the interstate
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