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Monday, November 1st, 2004
The door to the attic isn’t fond of being shut. It likes to open itself – or fail to latch properly in the first place. After D took the old vent hood up there, the attic opened itself, and Henry decided to go for an adventure up there. We had some tense moments chasing him all over the attic, his muscled panther body crouching low as he balanced on the ceiling beams.
Finally, we caught the tricky devil. Guess we’ll have to be more stern with the attic door from now on. Once the cats discover a new place they’re not allowed to be, they become determined to be there. Alistair discovered the back porch – thanks to another of those silly, self-opening doors – and has been hanging around more than usual as we enter and exit.
Also, in the attic I found something! A poker or something from a wood stove.
It had apparently been hanging there on a nail all this time, and I just now noticed it. I think it’s because I had been looking at antique woodburning stoves on eBay last week and saw the little tools that belong to them. Before that, I wouldn’t have known what this spiral-handled tool was. As it is, I’m not sure how old it might be. Perhaps it even belonged to the house’s original wood stove?
Speaking of heating devices (OK, so that was a rough segue), I also removed the cast iron summer cover on the entry hall fireplace to peek at what’s back there. The fireplace was surprisingly shallow with a metal basket for a single log. Lots of ashes and some leaves.
The only two of the fireplaces that don’t have original tile on the surround are the same two that don’t have a cast iron cover. They also appear to be deeper than the others, with a full-sized opening instead of this little one-log thing.
I don’t know much about fireplaces. What does it all mean?
When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
I’m always amazed to hear of air crash victims so badly mutilated that they have to be identified by their dental records What I can’t understand is, if they don’t know who you are, how do they know who your dentist is? — Paul Merton