C Is For...

C is for Chimney.  (Oh, good grief.  I seem to have gotten hung up on the alphabet.  Oh, well...we'll ride this pony for a while and see where it takes us.)  The wood stove has a metal chimney.  It's like dust on the furniture; when a thing has been there long enough, I may look at it, but quit really seeing it.  Not too long ago, I did note there was a circle of discoloration on the chimney stack and some on the roof below it, indications that there had been, thankfully, just a small chimney fire last winter.  Not wanting to put responsibility on family or friends, I called a professional to come and inspect and, if need be, repair the damage.  We've had a bit of a problem connecting, but Chimney Guy finally drove up yesterday and got out of his truck wearing the traditional chimney sweep top hat, doffing it in the grand gesture.  Like a physician, he asked questions and I described symptoms.  He then went up on the roof for a hands-on inspection, coming down to say the integrity of the pipes had not been damaged.  I had been seeing dollar signs flash in front of my eyes, so I was much relieved.  It seems that, with the wood pile dwindling, I had been frugal putting on logs and keeping a low fire, allowing gases to condense and form creosote instead of burning off.  I had been unbelievably lucky that the chimney fire had been contained to just the one hot spot and high up.  I got chills thinking of the "might have been."  I won't make that mistake again.  His minimal bill paid, Chimney Guy exchanged his top hat for a ball cap and drove off.  We dispensed with the "see you soon" farewell.

C could also be for Crying.  At one month, Twenty-Two is old enough to start the weaning process and I began cutting back on his bottle feeding yesterday.  He is drinking water from his dish and eating some grain, and I need him to start upping his intake of solids.  Twenty-Two is not happy at this turn of events and is quite vocal about it.  It's not easy listening to a baby cry.