Fire erupts in Clinton Township townhouses
I live one street south of 15 mile road. The townhouses that caught on fire are on in front of me but down a bit.
We were at Sandy's house and Jeannine called me on my cell, around 8:30.
"You aren't home, are you?"
"No... What's up?
"Oh, so you don't know that half your neighborhood is on fire?"
"WHAT????"
"Don't worry... I drove past your house and it is fine."
When we came home at 11:30 the fire trucks were still there, and the news trucks were starting to leave.
Luckily I wasn't home. I don't *do* house fires well.
When I was 6 my house burned down... twice. My mom had just taken my brother and I to my grandmas to spend the day with her. She came home and fire trucks were blocking the street.
She said "I live on this street and need to get home. Is there any way I can go to my house?" (The street was long, so there was a pretty good chance our house wouldn't be in the way of the firefighters.)
They said "What is your address?"
"8760" She said.
"I don't know how to tell you this..."
When the house was almost rebuilt it caught on fire again. One of the construction workers flicked a cigarette, and a bird picked it up to use to build its nest in the new overhang on the house. (I know, I know... what are the chances. *Sigh*)
So I grew up with reminders of how we lost everything. Charred family Bible. Charred books. Looking for an important picture or paper and being told it burned in the fire. Stories about how *thank god* my cousin who was staying with us in the basement moved out just a few days before. (The fre started in the basement and he wouldn't have made it out if he was still staying there.)
The boys are dying to walk up there and see it. I keep trying to have an appendix attack or something just as debilitating, so I don't have to go. Damn these healthy organs.
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