Where There's Smoke, There's Fire

Contest Winner!! Angela MacIntyre!

Angela, contat me at christie (at) Christie-Craig.com to claim your prize.

Where there's smoke, there's fire.You know that statement really isn’t true. Sometimes there’s smoke. but no fire. Sometime there’s even sparks, and no fire. But it’s almost a guarantee that when there’s smoke, sparks, and flames, there’s gonna be a fire. I know what I’m talking about. You see, hubby has taken up welding.

Now many of you have read the blog about his plumbing attempts. To summarize: The destruction of numerous sheetrock walls, only to realize that it was a leaky faucet. Yeah, I’m not letting him forget that one.

Anyway, I’m here to tell you that he’s not quite as good of a welder as he is a plumber.

Let me set this story up a bit. My office has French doors and two large French windows that face the garage. And my desk faces the French doors. So I can see my dear hubby as he tinkers around in his garage. His recent tinkering involves his new toy: A welder.

Now, you’ve also heard me mention that my husband is a very frugal man. (And this will come into play again in this story later on.) This new toy was going to save him money. He bought the welder, in lieu of paying someone to weld in the floorboards to his much loved antique Falcon that he’s restoring. Personally, I have this image of him driving down the freeway when the floorboard literally falls off. But that is another matter, and possibly a great blog later on.

Anyway, I’m working at my desk, writing some really hot, smoldering scene and all the sudden I’m seeing sparks. Literally. I jump up to check on hubby. He’s down on his knees resting on a three-foot by three-foot piece of thick form padding.

“It’s nothing,” he assures me. “It’s normal.” Sparks are supposed to dance around him like flies on speed as he welds.

“Don’t they burn you?” I ask.

“Not much,” he answers as I see the little brown soldering spots on his shirt.

Now it took some getting used to, seeing the sparks, and occasionally seeing the smoke. But I trained my eye not to focus on it. After a few hours, I’m back into my story and out of the corner of my eye, I see sparks, I see smoke, but this time, I also spot some flames. Then I see hubby high-stepping it out of the garage, holding his foam knee supporter out as far as his arms can reach, as the flames shoot up a good two feet higher than his six foot frame. He tosses it on the concrete and runs for the water hose.

I step out and say, “I suppose that’s normal, too.”

“It’s nothing,” he assures me. “Happens all the time to welders.”

I just send him an evil eye.

Two days later, I’m back at work and we’ve avoided fires, so I’m feeling pretty confident.

I see hubby on the concrete without his foam knee pad, welding on the lawnmower. Now, I thought he was welding his floorboards. I step out and he tells me that his $89.99 lawnmower that he bought two years ago has lost another wheel. (Yes, this is where the whole frugal issue comes in.)

“Why don’t you just go out and buy another one?” Now, we’re not rich by no means, but I can guarantee you, we can afford a new lawnmower, especially the cheap-ass kind he’s going to buy.

“But I can make it last through the summer”, he says and I see the challenge in his eye. “My welder is paying for itself.” Not that he paid a lot for it; it was just like the lawnmower, the cheapest one he could find.

I step back inside and relax. I’m just about submersed back into my story when I see more flames. At first, I worry that the big ball of fire is my husband. But nope, it’s just lawnmower.

Now, I know my husband. He was a safety engineer and surely he wouldn’t weld on a lawnmower that still had gas in it? Would he?

I run to get a box of baking soda. Of course, I look pretty silly running out with tiny box of soda when an entire lawnmower’s on fire.

“Get back,” he yells at me. That pretty much tells me that he hadn’t removed the gas.

He shoots the water hose on the lawnmower and puts out the fire before we have to call 911 or before the dang thing explodes.

I wish I could tell you that’s the end of the story, but oh, no. It gets better. After the lawnmower cooled off, he finishes his welding job and with pride, he takes the charred cheap-ass lawnmower and mows the lawn. I wonder what my neighbors think? You gotta’ love this man.

Now in my next book, I don’t know how fire is going to come into play, but you can bet it’ll show up somewhere.

So how are things going at your home front? Any excitement? Is your hubby frugal? Are you? What do you do to save a buck that might make me feel my hubby isn’t so bad? Don’t forget that today I’m giving away an ARC of Don’t Mess With Texas and a DMWT-inspired necklace to one lucky commenter. So make sure you leave a comment.