187/365 02/25/2026

Our dad liked fires in winter. It didn’t matter we lived in Florida. It didn’t matter the weather outside was a bright, offensive 80 degrees. He would clap his hands gleefully some time after Thanksgiving. Declare it was a fine night for a fire in the fireplace. He said it like that” “Kids,” he’s day, “I think tonight’s a fine night for a fire in the fireplace. Help me gather supplies.” This meant my sister and I had to find old newspapers and search the yard for twigs. Our dad would gather logs from the pile out back of the garage.