Tonight I was coming home from work and about a block from my house there was a police car blocking the street. I asked, stupidly, if I could go through since I live down the street. He said no. He said there was a house fire on, and he named my street. My hand flew to my mouth and my heart stopped. Sophie! She's at home in the house! I asked which house and the house number wasn't mine. I was able to park my car there and walk the block or so to my house. I still didn't quite believe it wasn't my house until I was able to see it with my own eyes. The housefire, then out, was kiddie corner across the street. (I don't think anyone was at home.)
It's quite light and flashy in the nieghborhood tonight. There are three fire trucks, one ladder truck, several other fire vehicles and some police cars lining the street. Two fire department SUVs are in my driveway. Firefighters are up on the big ladder now with big lights inspecting the house. It loooks like they're taking measurements and pulling things off the house. I'm sure there are all sorts of things to do to a burn site to figure out what caused the fire, etc. The Red Cross people are out there too.
As I walked up to my house, past all of the fire trucks, I felt really proud. Both of my brothers are firefighters and EMTs. They do this kind of stuff all the time. I don't like to think about it. I refuse to watch any programs or movies that have any element of firefighting. I make myself forget about how scary and dangerous their jobs are. Thank God for them and the others like them.