Fire The Flamin' Facts by Philip M Glover

A Must-Read, Should-Own For Every Home and Business, February 18, 2014 By Caroline Mathews (Lake Petty Gulf, Tallahassee, Florida) This review is from: Fire The Flamin' Facts (Kindle Edition) Phil M. Glover bit off a lot when he conceived this charming and fact-filled endeavor. Fire The Flamin' Facts is much more than a safety manual, although it's the best one of it's kind that I've ever read. The book is, also, not simply a conventional text book. Yet, textbook it is - one that should be required reading in businesses, labs, fire stations, and manufacturing sites of every kind, everywhere. Reading it, one realizes how little is known and understood by the average person of "fire" the phenomena. I learned an amazing amount about a subject on which I thought I was somewhat well-versed. The "charming" part of the book is that, although rather long, reading isn't tedious - thanks to Fire's almost biographical nature. What you learn, here, is the personal story of Phil M. Glover as it is recounted throughout the book in pictures, real-life accounts, editorial content, and much more. From that standpoint alone, this is fascinating reading. A one-of-a-kind offering from a one-of-a-kind author.

Winter's Lessons

I started paying attention to what winter was telling me a long time ago. It was one of those years in Jacksonville when the weather was particularly harsh, the plants stayed holed up in the garage for months, and we might as well have been in there with them for all we enjoyed ourselves. That winter, my lesson was a simple one. I kept wishing for spring, longing for sunshine, hoping for a shower or a hairwash that didn't produce chilly goosebumps. Don't ever think that we Floridians don't suffer from the little bits of cold weather that we get. Everything is relative. We thrive in heat.

One evening, hanging a damp raincoat to dry out and rummaging around for warmer socks - grumbling to myself - I realized something. I was wishing my life away. What was I missing by failing to embrace the rainy, dank day and by dreaming of shorts, sandals, and beach walks? I changed my tune. In winters to come, I made sure that we had great seats for the symphony, first row balcony. Ditto, opera. Ditto, The Artists Series. A pleasant reward for not wishing the season away.

And Jacksonville got the Jaguars. Our seats were in nosebleed. Our spirits, however, stayed high all that winter (and the ones to follow) no matter what the weather. I bought warm walking shoes in team colors, heavy lap blankets, furry jackets, and more. In reality, most of the games in a season were sweltering. Lots of bottled water, lightweight clothes, little fans that run on batteries. But during the cold season, replete with pour-downs and beating winds, I still embraced Jaguars football and, with it, winter.

Football takes one happily to Christmas. Nobody minds the rough, irregular weather of the Christmas season. Fires and dank evenings become cheery, even longed for, family treats. Snow is on everyone's wish list. We pull out the cashmere and furs, the hats and gloves, the boots and scarves. In all honesty, we in North Florida usually buy way more clothes before Christmas than we need. Preparation for cold Christmas and for hot Christmas events. (The same is for Easter. The tail end of winter - beginning of spring - begs for nice cool clothing accompanied by lightweight coats and sweaters.)

As time went by, I began to plant seeds after Christmas. Flowers for the spring garden were nurtured and sunned in a warm cheerful room that we called the study. Filled to the brim with computers and books, the small room soon sported a table under the window and became, also, a greenhouse. Winter was becoming tolerable. I almost enjoyed it. No. I did enjoy it.

When I came to Tallahassee, I changed. It was inevitable. No football tickets for one thing. My first winter, I learned to embrace the sport at home, alone. I lay out my football suppers. I make a cocktail or open beer. I give the game 100% of my attention. I follow with friends on Facebook or experts via Twitter. I've learned to enjoy the sport another way. The football clothing budget has plummeted. I have a lucky hat and shirt for in front of the television set. My Jaguars walking shoes are worn out and disposed of.

I have to add, however, that with Tom and Jack playing soccer during the winter season, I wished, this year, for my poncho, my stadium seat, a new pair of gloves, and something besides Christmas socks. Shopping is in my future. Soccer and shopping? Other ways to enjoy winter! Maybe a trip to the mall?

Tallahassee, because of it's westward location is darker than Jacksonville in winter. Those few minutes make a big difference; my house is not that far from Central Standard Time. Also, part of the problem is because of the way the house, itself, is situated behind the northeastern and southwestern green spaces. I've always faced due east and west. Sometimes, vice-versa. On the inland waterway the sun rose over the marsh and set in the lake in my backyard. Here, a cold winter morning simply erupts out of nowhere. Then, suddenly, in the afternoon, darkness seems to descend blacker and more quickly. As the years go by, I drive at night less and less well.

Not wanting to fight parking or to be constantly traveling to strange neighborhoods with diminished vision, I began to curtail my winter evening adventures. Instead, I've learned to take advantage of the matinee, enjoy lunch out instead of dinner, and explore the town during the daylight hours so that, when I must drive here or there at night, I will know where I am. This prevents getting lost, backing up into ditches, having panic attacks. (Tongue is only halfway in cheek.)  I always know that, soon, this problem will reverse itself, for the Tallahassee evenings linger in spring and summer. It is still twilight here after the movie is over.

Older now, I am also arthritic. I realized last winter that I could no longer push and pull on big flowerpots,  getting the plants inside during the cold snaps and taking them back out for sunshine. My new garage doesn't open to the front, back, and kitchen. It hacks me. The only thing about the layout that I haven't come to grips with. For seven winters, I threw my back out. I continued to try to save old favorites. I kept on dividing and repotting as one will do with a container garden. This winter, unusually cold and brutal, I wised up. I gave away some favorites. The others, the cuttings, died in the cold. The lesson was, enjoy the things that you can do. Dismiss your need to do everything. There are pots of plants in the foyer that never need moving.

This spring and summer, I am going to concentrate on this latest lesson of winter. Shift my thinking. Decorate patio, porch, and front entrance in another way. Incorporate only a few plants at each location for that splash of color. Purchase some plant holders with wheels. Buy a really good wagon to replace the silly plastic one I've been using. Figure out a theme for the rest of it that utilizes something besides a potted plant. Something that small birds and animals can enjoy and will not break. Something permanent with minimum lifting Something beautiful. Pictures to follow.

By the time I do all of that, it will be time for next year's winter lesson.

  

The Elephant Never Forgets.

I've been reading the Bill O'Reilly books Killing Jesus, Killing Kennedy, and Killing Lincoln this winter. Throughout each of them, O'Reilly makes statements like "the man with only three years to live" or "the man who only had a month to live," or "the man who had seven hours to live" did so-and-so or thought this-and-that.

When I retrieved the card from it's cellophane this morning (as I do every Valentine's Day), those words popped into my head and I could not get them out again.

For several weeks preceding February 14th, in 2007, we had sat through the nights at the breakfast room table. He would fall asleep there - the best place in the house to be, he insisted, to enjoy the benefit of the posture he needed for the pain to abate a little.

I had brought my pillow in, finally, and on more nights than he knew, slept with my head where my plate was supposed to be, holding onto his arm. One night, he asked me to buy us a Valentine card. One we could share. One apropos the dilemma. And so I did.

On the evening of the 14th, we toasted with the rum and coke that we never finished drinking. I was in charge of cooking, by then. I had found the usual Valentine ingredients, so I served the steak (just one to share), the lobster, the mushrooms, the potato (again, only one). I remember that I skipped the salad. I did not grill the steak. Rather, I stir fried it with peppers, onion, and the mushrooms. And tears. I remember the tears falling into the pan. "They won't hurt him," I told myself. "Not much of this will be eaten."

"You've been my Valentine for 23 years." Smiles. "You'll always be my Valentine." Grins. "You never know!" Silly faces. "Fat chance." A quick hug. "Where is our card?" I produced it.

The inside message was pertinent to our new lifestyle of sitting at the breakfast table asleep or awake. It says, "Technically, any place we sit is a love seat. Happy Valentine's Day." Yes I had found the best of all possible cards for us to share on this surreal occasion. A wink. Laughter. Clinking of glasses. Perfect.

The man who had only two months almost to the day to live smiled at me. He sipped his cocktail. He rummaged around with his fork, pretending to eat his dinner. He held my hand. He drifted off to sleep - sitting up - before I could clear the dishes.