A Dying Home (1)
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Each semester I was the one who gave the students a tour of the convent. I explained how to wash their clothes by hand. I showed them the telephone booth where they could make international calls. I pointed out the fire hydrants on each floor.

We were always told fire was the biggest risk to this century-old wooden building. I once walked into the upstairs classroom where some students were reading by the wood-fired stove, only to find smoke rising from the OUTSIDE of the fireplace. Someone had stacked fresh wood on top of the hot stove, and the bottom piece was starting to catch. I rushed over to the stove, tossed the unlit logs back on the wood stack nearby, and threw the nearly flaming one into the fireplace slamming shut the metal door. I looked at the students sitting on the couch, their mouths op...

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