It was February 21, 1900. I was in my last semester of grad school and working full time.
I had just walked into my office after a meeting in Connecticut. Hadn’t even taken off my coat when the phone rang. It was my husband.
“Are you sitting down?” he asked.
“Seriously? Who says that?” I protested.
“No, I mean it. Sit down.” To humor him, I complied. “Our house is burning down,” he told me.