All Orange Flame

"It was a pleasure to burn." 

The opening words of Fahrenheit 451 present fire as an instrument of change. Montag is a fireman, but also an "amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history" (Bradbury 1). 

This pleasure doesn't last long. His job satisfaction was already in the past tense, even before he met Clarisse, who famously asks, "Are you happy?" 

But that's not what this post is about. Reading the first few pages of this book aloud to students today, I'm nostalgic for some of my first memories of fire. 

• Alone in the living room, little Me poked a crackling log off balance in the fireplace, and embers landed on the wooden floor. I didn't have time to hide the deep, dark blemish on the fresh finish before my mom walked in and declared, "Pfffh, it just adds character to this old house, doesn't it?" 
  
  
• On a 1-acre island (actual size tbd), a group of 15-17-year-olds spread our sleeping bags around a fire after the summer sun set. We were cousins and friends who were also cousins. With a couple Dura-flame logs and a nice stack of kindling, our tan faces glowed well into the night as we told stories, asked questions, and contemplated the meaning of life together.
  
  
• When I was in college, I fell in love with a flambe chef. His first gig was at Constantino's House of Beef, where, in a tuxedo at age 17, he stood tableside, tossing bananas in a hot skillet. Thanks to his panache and the blue fuel of a Sterno flame, guests delighted in a fiery presentation of their meals. Now it's just birthdays and dinner parties, but he still sends sparks flying with a shake of cinnamon on rum in our grown-up kitchen.

Fire is a change agent, but its power is everlasting.