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So, paisley and I watch the New Year's Eve (12/31/89) fireworks from Seattle Center on television, and go to bed an hour or so later. About an hour after that, I find myself waking up for no particular reason, but vaguely aware that a very loud and low-pitched engine is idling in the parking lot. I go over to the library, and look out the window. While I can't see any activity, I am aware that the buildings are being lit up by a flashing red light, like there's an emergency vehicle just out of my field of view. I pull on some clothes, go downstairs and step out on the porch.
HOLY SH*T!!!
The six-plex directly across the driveway from ours is completely engulfed in fire, with flames jumping ten or so feet out what's left of the roof. There's a fire engine parked between that building and ours, but the wind is blowing sparks about...and we have a cedar shake roof. I wake up paisley, we gather up the cats and get them into carriers and load them into my car, in case we need to make a quick escape. Fortunately, the fire department managed to contain the blaze to that one building, and we were able to move everyone back in after about three hours (and after it had started snowing, which wasn't in the forecast and doesn't happen very often up here, either). Still, the one building was pretty much gutted. It turns out that someone in that building had been shooting fireworks off their balcony at midnight, and some of the sparks had set fire to a mattress on another balcony, of an apartment whose occupants were out for the evening.
On the bright side, that incident resulted in the first time I was ever quoted in a daily newspaper, as a reporter took down my comments on how stupid it was to shoot off fireworks under those conditions. Since said reporter cut out all the "f-words," the quote as appearing in the paper was about half the length of when I delivered it. ;-)
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