Stream of Holiday Consciousness

As I have gotten older the memories of the holidays of my youth have begun to blend together.

I remember at least two holidays in the winter when a flaming log rolled out of our fireplace onto the floor. Here is the top of the fireplace and the family in question. I'm the eldest child, J-bro is number two, and rounding out the top three is Drew.

Of these two flaming logs, the one which caused the greatest scar on the floor and the most vivid memory occurred during Elvis Presley’s “Live from Hawaii” concert. The Elvis log landed on the long black wool skirt of the only guest in attendance who was actually watching the concert, someone I will call “The Southern Woman.” None of my immediate family have ever been Elvis fans so I recall (perhaps only in wishful-thinking nostalgia) that it had served her right: I would have much rather watched The Love Boat or The Wonderful World Of Disney or whatever was on one of the three other channels in Anchorage at the time than the sweaty white jump-suited “King .”

On a prior occasion my dad was close by the fallen log and had reacted by simply reaching down and grabbing the log in his bare hands and throwing it back into the fireplace with no damage done. At the time I thought this was heroic. Now I realize that it was probably mostly instinctive and painful. Although that meets a certain definition of heroism I suppose.

The “Elvis Log” rolled out of the fireplace and onto the Southern Woman’s skirt while my dad was in the kitchen, far away from The King’s concert. He raced to the scene of the fire, picked up the log barehanded, and threw it back into the fireplace but by the time he arrived the carpet had begun to smolder. I’m not sure whether he happened to have a Stanley shop knife with him or whether he used some other piece of cutlery to cut a hole in the carpet to expose the underflooring, but soon it was cut and water was poured on the scorched wood.

And ugly green throw-rug sat on top of the ugly multi-colored green and gold 70’s carpet until it was replaced decades later.

During that time if one had folded back the rug and parted the labia of the split carpet, they would discover a dark burn mark that looked a little like this.

I’d like to think The King would have been appreciated it.

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Photos:
http://www.aperfectworld.org/
http://www.younameit.com
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Thanksgiving story coming. J-Bro, don't give away the commemorative punch line!