The case of the wooden pants

When we first got our new fireplace -- a fieldstone beauty that is two-sided and can be enjoyed both from the living room and the dining room -- we had a hard time figuring out how to enjoy a fire without filling the house with smoke.  We actually installed heat upstairs (thank heavens, what were we thinking that we could live without it, especially with this nutty weather we are having) because we read that the cold air messed things up.  That didn't work.

Then we would crack a window, but that didn't do the trick either.  Someone mentioned that we needed a fan to blow somewhere, and Peter put one in the woodbox and I have no idea where it blew, but every time you wanted a fire you had to make sure the heat was on upstairs, a window was cracked and the fan was on.  None of this actually kept smoke from pouring out into the house, but it is the act of DOING something to correct a problem that keeps you going.  I guess.

Eventually the amount of smoke that poured into the room abated ... or maybe we got used to it ... I don't know, but I don't remember when we stopped all the shenanigans that preceded a fire, but now we just light fires, end of process.  (And very often it gets smokey, or smells smokey.  I guess we are truly used to it.)

Okay, that was a tangent -- I began this with the intent of discussing the log pants.  When we first got our fireplace ... Peter was putting logs on the fire when he held one up and said, "hey, doesn't this look like a pair of pants?"  Indeed it did, and we commented that we should have our friend Liz paint a zipper on it, maybe some other features, and so he leaned it against the stones, and that is where it has been ... well, no less than forever!  We never adorned it with telltale hints to make it look more like pants, because to us they just were a pair of log pants.  Never to be burned.  Apparently.

This past week Maddie was obsessed with fires, and kept one burning continuously until she used up the piles of wood in the garage.  Peter and I consider fire events -- we have them frequently, but we pull up chairs in front of the hearth, very often pop a bottle of champagne or other spirits -- but if we light one, it is our focus.  Having one so continuously was nice, but like I said, it used up a lot of wood!  So the other day Maddie eyed the pants, even took it in her grasp, and I said in horror, what are you doing?  You can't burn the pants!  They are older than you are!  They have been there forever!

And last night, Peter lit a fire, and we were sitting there, when he jumped up and announced that he was going to burn the pants.  Huh?  What was the sudden urge to burn up an iconic part of our family?  Was it because I did away with Christmas?  Now the pants?  What next!

This morning, while chatting with the kids (text, gmail chat, facebook chat) Maddie asked whether we had a fire last night, and I said yes, and told her that dad wanted to burn the pants.  Charlie's immediate response was YOU CAN'T BURN THE PANTS!  But Maddie understood, she is aware of the wood shortage!  But it got me to thinking, why not burn the pants?

In truth, they aren't that attractive, but what is more amazing to me is how long they have maintained permanent residence on a rather focal point of the living room!  They almost perished years and years ago when my sister's brother-in-law just assumed it was there to be burned, but we all shouted noooooo, and he looked at us all as though we were crazy, but he found another less treasured piece of wood to burn instead!  Why do we hold on to things so long?  But what strikes me even more is we never had a conversation beyond "hey, doesn't this look like a pair of pants?" as to whether we would invite the inanimate object to share our lives.  It just happened.

I think the pants should go -- not because they aren't kind of cool (I just love how they look as though they are sashaying ... swing the hips baby) but because the universe seems to be speaking.  A piece of wood that has gone untouched for 12, 15 years (maybe longer) that suddenly is being targeted as firewood in two consecutive days speaks to me that it is time.  It's time to let go of all of the things we hold on to without even knowing it.  That piece of wood hasn't been in my consciousness for years, and now suddenly it's all I see when I gaze into the flickering fire.  It is now trespassing in my cluttered brain.  One toss into the hot coals and it will be no longer.

And yet ... Charlie doesn't want the pants to be burned.  Should we have a family pants burning party?  Should they go with much pomp and circumstance, or should they fall quietly into the smoke and disappear?  Maybe the time to rid the world of the wooden pants isn't now -- when they have been brought back into focus -- when suddenly the thought of no longer having the pants adorn the hearth seems wrong, some how.

I don't know -- the pants do not HAVE to go -- but they have made me think about all of those things that just sneak into your life and take up residence and don't make a peep so you won't notice ... but when you do, you ask yourself, do I really need you?