I'm glad I live in a brick house

The Pastor's father returned yesterday to stay with us for a few weeks. It's always good to have him around and he always has a story to tell. This evening he proved especially useful.

He was sitting outside on the patio in a swing that faces the rectory. My bedroom window happens to overlook the patio toward the back of the parish center.

As he was sitting outside, I was lying on my couch trying to muster up a bit more energy to finish the morning's homily (I'm not quite finished yet) and the Pastor was out visiting a parishioner.

Apparently while I was resting (oblivious to just about everything) and the Pastor visited, his father noticed sparks - flames, really, he says - emanating from the electrical wires that connect to the rectory just outside my bedroom window.

About an hour after the fire was first noticed (it apparently had two spurts and then stopped), I emerged from my suite to get a drink when the Pastor told me he turned off the air conditioner (which he only turned on this morning, at my urging) because we had a fire outside and he would turn it back on after the electric company arrived.

Not quite putting things together, I assumed he meant a small bonfire of sorts and I couldn't understand what such a fire had to do with the air conditioning, or the electric company, for that matter. After a bit more confusion I finally comprehended the situation. I'm glad I live in a brick house.

After assesing the damage, the worker said it was not as bad as he thought it was going to be. He also said that if we hadn't called, the house could very well have caught fire. A rather sobering thought, given I thought I smelled smoke outside early this afternoon, but thought it nothing more than a bonfire in the neighborhood (people like to burn leaves around here); now I'm not so sure.

At any rate, all is well now.