An Attempt to Impress: Episode III - The Fire Strikes Back

Certain movies have 'Man Scenes.'

I'm not talking about Jason Bourne bringing down the entire German embassy with a backpack and a Bic lighter, nor am I going the other direction with Austin Power's ability to manipulate Fembots with his hairy chest.

I'm talking about 'Man Scenes' which are so manly it should be made into one word:  Manscenes.  A description:  In a world where the only way a man looks 'manly' is if he is able to annihilate an enemy nation with a gun and one clip of ammo, or if he has superhero powers and glistening, shaved muscles, or if he is able to somehow sleep his way (not really sleeping) through the forest of women who only need to be his object - I choose to be like Tom Hanks.

Castaway - setting the manscene.  Tom has been involved in a plane crash over the Pacific Ocean and somehow he survives the plunge into the ocean, the storm, dehydration and all things stereotypical of Island Survivor stories, he makes his way onto the beach of a deserted island where, after a few days of figuring out how to scrounge together food and water, he eventually decides it's time to make fire.  Dressed in a beautiful wool sweater and long pants, Tom talks to his only friend - a volleyball named Wilson - about the difficulties of actually starting a fire with sticks of wood.

Probably most of us have tried this at one point, starting fire with sticks (not talking to a volleyball).  Friction is a terrific force; it starts heat and begins fires.  There is a trick to it, obviously, which eventually Tom figures out and after the first tendrils of smoke lift from the frictioned wood, and the first fire starts the coconut husk alight, we are left in utter joy with Tom's elation.  Carrying his treasure to the beach like a modern day Prometheus (without Zeus' irritation and subsequent punishment of perpetual liver eating by vultures) Tom enflames the small fire into a raging inferno.  He sheds his shirt (which all men like to do, I think, even if they don't have hairless, glistening muscles) and dances around the fire beating his chest and proclaiming to his own version of Zeus...

I... Have made... FIRE!

3.  Start the Fire.

The third of the Five Ways to Actively Impress Your Spouse is to tap into your pyromaniacal heritage and start the fire.

When Christine and I first met, she was already adept at starting fires.  I, on the other hand, was adept at watching fires.  I liked to poke sticks in them, start the nubs on fire and write my name in the night air.  Now that's impressive.  But real men need to know how to start fires, how to keep them going, how to know how much friction is good and when it is too much and slows things down.  Christine already knew how to start a campfire, and of course I did too, but it was much better for me to have one of those plastic lighter things and a whole bag of newspaper.

I started the fire on our second night at Ravensbourne.  The owners of the cabin dutifully brought a rusted, vase-like brassiere and four pieces of wood.  They encouraged the girls to go hunting for some more wood lying around, but after our trip into the Valley of the Shadow of Death the day before, I wasn't sending my girls into the woods for any reason.  They'd probably be attacked by a python.

Included in the articles brought by were these little white cubes that you put at the bottom of the fire which supposedly help light it.  I definitely wouldn't be needing those.  Then, some matches which looked like they'd been lying in a drawer for a while.  Hopefully they still worked.  After receiving these campfire artifacts, the male half of the owners couple handed me a can of insect killer.  I'd noticed the immense wasps nests near the back porch and above the carport.  Knowing our luck with Australian invertebrates, these would be Tracker Jackers from the Hunger Games.  Hello hallucinatory death stings. 

He smiled.  "Are you a fast runner?"
"What?" I had no idea what he was talking about.
"I don't think the spray is going to reach the nest, but give it a shot if you think you can outrun them."
Great.  The owner of the cabin is asking me to be his exterminator.  "I think I'll just leave them then?" 
"Whatever you think," the older man said with smile as he warily watched the circling wasps above his head.

After bringing the campfire necessities to the back beyond the balcony, I set up shop and the girls when to gather some more wood (safely underneath trees in the gated community within visual of both Christine and I.)  Settling into my chair, I put some twigs on the bottom and took out the matches.  First strike.  I broke the head off of a match.  Taking another one out, I tried again but the same result occurred.  Must be faulty matches, I thought.  Third try I got the thing started but it quickly flamed out.  Prometheus, where are you?  Probably having his liver devoured.

Eventually, the match lit and I placed it on the twigs, but after a few moments, the match burned down to my finger tips.  Blowing on my fingers and shaking them, somehow that's supposed to help, I muttered under my breath and looked at the package of small white cakes.  Nope, I can do this.  Real men can start a fire without it.  If Tom can do it, so can I.  Another broken match.  Soon, I would be rubbing sticks together.  I looked up to see if anyone was watching me from the balcony.  Thankfully, no.  So, I succumbed to the temptation and took two of the stupid, little white cakes and placed them on the bottom.  Resentfully I looked at the matches that were abandoning me in my time of need and what do you know?  First strike, the match held and I put it underneath the stupid, little white cake and it caught immediately.  I waited for the stupid, little white cakes to burn down and then I put more wood on top (almost extinguishing it in the process).  I raised my hands triumphantly. 

I... Have made... FIRE!

"Christine, Hon, come look at the fire I've created!"
Christine stayed inside the apartment obviously more interested in whatever she was doing them being actively impressed by her husband.  "Did you have to use the little white cake things?"
I swallowed.  "Please, do you have to even ask that question?"

We had a great campfire that night.  Our conversation was stoked by recollections of Christine's (or Mum's) great talents and memories.  In the midst, I thought of even some of our moments of tension - or friction - that are good for any marriage.  If there is no friction or if there is no heat built up, the fire tends to die down.  Friction, when used correctly can be a very good thing for the fuels of a relationship, but too much friction only causes pain. 

After our night of remembering, of singing old camp songs and new melodies from the Matthias five, it was time to get to bed.  The girls took up the chairs and the campfire paraphernalia and I was in charge of extinguishing the fire.  I suppose all guys do this, right? so after carefully looking around and up to the balcony, in the dark of the night I urinated on the fire thinking that somehow this would put it out. 

As I played fireman, I hear from behind me, "Mum, Dad's peeing on the fire."

So impressive. 

Tomorrow - last two Ways to Actively Impress Your Spouse.