I’m a “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” fan. So, when I think of fire, I automatically remember the scene where the hairdresser and advertising salesperson and Arthur are all stranded on an island and Arthur suggests they build a fire. The advertising girl wants to do research into what people want from fire and do they want it in decorator colors?

Fire! A roaring blaze in the winter to warm your toes! For heaven’s sake, fire! You know, like toasting marshmallows around the campfire and a bear rug with your lover. That’s what fire is for. Heat, man.

Okay, so I’m a romantic. I like passion and fire in my life. Could be all the fire in my natal chart, seven planets altogether. Maybe that’s why I was undaunted when I moved into a place in the Colorado mountains at 9000 feet a few years ago. They told me there was propane heat, but it was expensive and I wouldn’t want to use it much. The elderly couple who owned the place, lived next door and made regular hikes down the steep mountain and several miles into town and back every week (no kidding), told me I’d best use the woodstove most of the time. Build a fire.

Great. I can build a fire, I thought. I was a Girl Scout. And I could, too, but nobody told me about building one that would stay lit all night long when the temperature outside was 18 degrees. That’s okay. It’s one of my favorite stories now. It only took me 3 nights at 18 degrees to learn how to keep a fire going all night long, so there were still embers in the morning to stoke back into that blaze that would make it possible to even consider getting out of my nice warm bed.

Fire is a glorious thing. I will never lose my fascination with it. Just last week I took logs over to my boyfriend’s home. He’s got a fireplace in both the basement and the main floor. We built a nice blaze and relaxed in the warmth. It was beautiful, a romantic moment – and then he went and asked me: did I want it in decorator colors next time? He thinks he can add something to it to make it pink or green. Men!