Fire! Fire!

About 7:10 PM we got a loud bang on our door. Barbie and I were baking a birthday cake for a friend and getting ready to go play games with the Hall's. It sounded urgent, but nobody was at the door. I heard some yelling, and climbed the stairs to see what was going on (we live in the garden unit). Then I smelled smoke, saw a thick haze in our building hallways, and rushed outside to see smoke just billowing from the mansion next door--and in Chicago next door means 5-8 feet from our building wall to theirs.
Our street was lined with fire engines, men rushing wildly around the house. Loud crashes filled the air as windows were smashed, and as the front door was forced open the entire back porch erupted in flames--flames that would envelope the entire house, consume walls, roof, porches, and eventually softly lick even our own new home.
A nice couple lives there, and had left that afternoon. Nobody was hurt, and the inspector says the brick walls (for that's all that's left) are stable and won't crash in and kill us in our beds. Our building was evacuated, and it's something else to see valiant men working to save your own home.
Four hours later, and the fire is out; the street is blanketed in a layer of ice as water still spews from the fire hydrant. An answer to prayers, not even the screen windows are damaged on our building; the wood porches and outside stairs are wet (but not charred!) and we still have a home. I wish I could say the same for our neighbors.