Woodblocks and S'mores

I can’t build a fire for anything. We had a fireplace at our old house, and I could get a fire going but not the kind that could actually warm you up. It was more for mood than heat. Plus, I had to constantly tend to it. I couldn’t sit back and enjoy it. Or even run to the kitchen for anything. There I sat with poker and tongs in hand and stacks of newspaper at my side, aware that my efforts were futile, like the man with the dog in Jack London’s “To Build a Fire.”