All this talk about fires has me truly sad.

In Feb 1974 my house caught fire from bad aluminium wiring - which has since been banned by building code.

I still remember watching the volunteer firefighters risking their lives to same what was left of our house. Thanks again, guys!!!

I still smile when I think of the wirey guy who dove to catch my darting pregnant tabby "Friskies Buffet" when she tried to run back into the burning house and how she peed on him as he brought her to my sister. [she gave birth a day or two later - the cat - not my sister.].

I still wonder about the fact that everything in my grandmother's room was destroyed except for her pictures. That drawer somehow has left untouched.

I still wish pain upon the people that robbed our few remaining possessions from the smoldering husk of a house.

I still cannot imagine the panic my dad felt when he arrived home from work in the dark to an empty fire-damaged house with no family there and no one to tell him we were all o.k.

I still dread the instant memory tag I get anytime I smell a fire. It throws me right into the depths of depression.

I still question if I hadn't gone through the fire, and if it hadn't triggered off the start of my bi-polar, who I might be today?