Tuesday, May 09, 2006
I mean fire, as in something's burning, not like, pull the trigger kinda fire. Or, as I pronounce it (being from Louisiana), 'Far.'
I'm still a spry young lad of 43 but lately I've been able to practice my 'grumpy old man' moves.
In Brevard County, Florida, where I live, we've been having bunches of brush fires. About 25 miles north of where I live, near Cocoa, Florida, there are brush fires so bad, that the Florida Highway Patrol is contemplating shutting down a section of I-95 for at least a week, maybe a month. This interstate along with other major roads in the area have seen almost daily closings until the wind shifts or sun burns off the fog. We are in serious drought and no forecast of rain in sight. Plus all the dead stuff laying around from the hurricanes the past coupla years is prime fuel for fires.
They keep having deadly pileups because the knuckleheads driving on said interstate highway still think the 95 on the highway sign is the speed limit, regardless of the fact that smoke has visibility down to a few yards at best. And to add insult to injury, we've been having very foggy mornings almost every day. Bummer.
So when my kids complain about the smoke smell, I, in a crotchety old man's voice, yell "Con-sarnit! You whipper-snappers are too young to remember the fires of '98! Y'think this is sumpm? This ain't nothin'! Thems's were some fires, I tell ya!" Because, like, we went through all of this back in 1998. Oh, well.
Good times. Good Times.
Seriously though, just walking outside our house is like someone holding your head over a chimney. You have to force yourself to breathe the smoke is so bad. Your instinct to not breathe almost takes over and of course you're gonna be out in it longer than you can hold your breath so… But still, it goes against your instincts.