Christmas Eve

I got out of bed and instantly realized the house was too cold. I checked the thermostat. It was set at 68° but the temperature in the house was 64°. As Dorothy Parker famously asked when someone knocked on her door, “What fresh hell can this be?” (For the book title, her biographer, Marion Meade, changed it to “What fresh hell is this?”, and that was the version of the quote that found its way into the American vernacular.)

So, the central heat wasn’t working. I trudged down the stairwell to the cellar where the boiler is located. I saw immediately that the red “breaker” button on the controller unit had popped up. I pushed the button down to reset the controller, and the blower motor turned on, but there was no ignition – the combustion chamber remained dark. In 40 seconds the controller, sensing no flame, would break the circuit again, but I didn’t wait. I went to the breaker box and switched off the boiler. Because if the fuel pump was working, running the system would result in more unburned oil accumulating inside the combustion chamber.

I ran through possibilities in my head. Bad ignition transformer. Bad fuel pump. Water in the fuel line. Debris in the fuel nozzle.

I phoned the oil company. The service manager told me there was one job ahead of me. Of course, that one job might take all day. Meanwhile, the outside temperature was 40° and the house was getting colder.

Three hours later the HVAC technician arrived. We went to the cellar and I flipped the breaker on. The blower motor ran and this time ignition occurred. There was fire in the combustion chamber. Sometimes it only takes the presence of a qualified technician to make the problem go away. Then, when the technician is gone, the problem returns. Intermittent problems are the worst. How many people have taken their cars to the auto shop, only to see the problem disappear. “I swear it was making a funny noise when I applied the brakes … really, it was.”

The HVAC technician replaced the filter-nozzle assembly, mainly because replacing it was easy, quick, and relatively cheap to do. It’s like looking under the street light on a dark night for the key you dropped – not because that’s where you dropped your key, but because that’s where the light is. But if the heat goes off again, at least we’ll know one thing that isn’t the problem.

Next, I went to the grocery store for victuals. How crowded was it? It was so crowded that I had to wait in a line just to get into the parking lot. I wasted no time rounding up what I wanted to buy. While I was at the self-checkout, I thought I saw Stephani Germanotta walk past me to the next checkout machine. She had blonde hair and was nicely dressed in a black skirt, dark stockings, and gray blazer. She was with some dude in a suit. I briefly wondered why Lady Gaga was shopping in my little central Virginia city. Perhaps she was passing through on the way to her next concert when she developed a sudden craving for an ‘apple – pepper jelly – cheddar’ grilled cheese sandwich. Discovering she was out of cheese, she ordered the driver of her tour bus to veer off the Interstate and locate the nearest Martin’s store. (Martin’s does have a great selection of cheeses. No wonder she shops here.) I admit I only saw her from behind, so there’s a slim possibility it wasn’t Lady Gaga. But I believe it was Gaga. Some things you just know. You don’t need evidence. You don’t need proof. You just know. You know?

It’s exciting times. And if the heat stays on tonight and I don’t die of hypothermia in my sleep, I may blog again tomorrow.