Wednesday, November 26, 2025 – Day 470

Wednesday, November 26, 2025

Good morning, everyone.

Looking ahead at the weather, it shows snow barreling toward Crystal Lake with temps that will feel below zero. Suddenly, saying “no” to St. Maarten feels like a mistake. Brrrrrr. 🥶❄️

A follow-up to the house fire story from yesterday…

When I was 5 or 6, still living at 316 Keith, I took a book of matches up to my bedroom. I was fascinated by fire even then — the warmth, the glow, the way a flame dances. To this day, a large crackling fire still feels like comfort to me.

So there I was, sitting cross-legged on my bed, striking matches, one after another, just watching the flame. And then the thought came: What can I light? 
Yep… not my finest moment.

I touched a match to my blanket, and the whole thing whooshed to life. I remember how bright it was and how fast it took off…shocking and scary all at once. I batted at the flames with my little hands, slapping frantically, doing anything I could to save my bed, my room, maybe even the whole house. Somehow, I got it out. A tiny victory, but a victory.

Then I held up the blanket. A giant hole surrounded by blackened edges. No denying what had happened.

I tried to think fast — remake the bed? Fold the blanket to hide the damage? Throw it out entirely? Stuff it under the bed? Swap the blanket with Tim or Tom? But under all the scrambling thoughts was one big, pounding truth:

“I’m in serious trouble.”

I eventually went downstairs to face the music — or at least I think I did. The memory blurs there. But what’s perfectly clear is the look on my mom’s face.

She wasn’t just angry. She was scared. She was pissed. And now, as a parent and a grandfather, I understand that mix of fear and fury in a way I couldn’t possibly grasp at age six.

The house fire from a few years earlier was still a heavy shadow for my parents, so seeing burn damage in my bedroom must have hit every alarm bell they had. My mom reacted the only way she knew to make the lesson stick. She lit a match and held the flame under my finger so I’d understand what fire can do.

I don’t remember the pain, but I remember the burn that needed bandaging. And just a couple days later, with impeccable timing, we had our family portrait taken. That bandage is forever captured — a tiny reminder of a big lesson.

I’ll post the photo. It’s grainy, but the memory behind it is sharp.

And here’s the funny part: despite everything …the panic, the punishment, the bandage…my love of fires has never been smothered. If anything, I appreciate them even more now. Controlled, contained, safe. Fires you gather around, not run from.

Have a great Wednesday. I’m going to hang out by the fire and feel grateful for its warmth and think about life.

Love you guys! ❤️

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