The Smoke Detector

Saturday was our first day there, and naturally that evening we planned to burn one of our fire logs in the fireplace. I mean, who wouldn't?

According to the package, this log was supposed to burn for about two hours. I knew there was something called a "flue," and it was very important for it to be "open." After poking up the chimney with the aptly named poker, I found a hook and levered the flue open. We lit the log. We had a nice evening. But, after several hours, we were ready to go to bed, and the log hadn't burned out yet. Hmmmm. I doused it with water, over and over again, until it was clearly out. And then, in a fever of environmental conservation -- to save the resort energy, you know -- I poked up the chimney and closed the flue. I mean, freezing cold air was coming down the chimney. What can I say... I'm thoughtful that way. We went to bed.

At 12:30 I was suddenly awakened by an earsplitting EEEEEERK! EEEEEERK! EEEEEERK!, which I immediately recognized (don't ask me why) as a smoke detector. I opened my bedroom door (the EEEEEERKs became even more earsplitting) and emerged into a living room filled with smoke.

The thought that instantly leaped to mind was, "Oh no! Do the other people in the building think there's a fire? Are we going to be to blamed for turning everyone out in the middle of a freezing New Hampshire night? How will we live it down?" You see, as I am "one sharp cookie," I knew what was wrong.

I headed for the fireplace. Yep, the log was smoldering. Not burning, but smoldering. I opened the balcony door wide as I passed it on my way to...

...the smoke detector. This evacuating the building thing was on my mind. I climbed on a chair, took down the smoke detector, and unplugged its power. Luckily it didn't have a battery backup.

I dumped two more cups of water on the log, to cool it down a little, and picked it up using paper towels. I ran out on the balcony (keep in mind that I'm naked and it's, like, in 40 below outside) and threw it over railing. It fell into the snow below. Then I ran to the front door (in the next zip code, remember), and waved it open and shut, open and shut, open and shut, over and over again, to generate a draft through the the suite and out the balcony doors. A freezing cold draft, I might add. Maybe it wasn't really 40 below. But it felt like it.

Eventually, the smoke cleared. Mostly, anyway. I reinstalled the smoke detector (getting those little slots on their little mounting posts is always a pain). And, finally, I looked in on Judi. She was sound asleep. She had never even awakened.

The next morning, Judi and I looked over balcony railing. The log was down there, reduced to ash, in a now-melted circle in the snow.

Judi thought it was hilarious.

On Tuesday evening we burned another log in fireplace. This time I left the flue open all night. It worked like a charm.

To heck with that environmental crap.