Monday, October 13, 2014

my toddler-like hissy fit

The weather is getting cold. Yesterday morning the house temperature got down to 15.5 degrees. I was hoping to not put on the furnace, so I boiled the kettle a few times- tea and a hot water bottle- and brought the temperature up over 16 degrees without too much of a problem. I love my gas stove.

But then last night it dipped back down to 15 degrees, and I finally conceded that it was time to turn on the furnace. I reluctantly walked the walk of shame to the thermostat- passing the gas bill sitting on the kitchen table, I winced. I calculated in my head how warm I could set it without feeling guilt, and how many days I could run the thing this month before I surpassed last October's usage... Lesson? I should keep my bills on the kitchen table all the time.

I flicked the little switch and waited for the roar of the furnace igniting.

I waited.
A little longer.
Turned the switch back to off, then back on again.

My pilot light had blown out two summers ago- resulting in my needing to call a repair guy... mostly because I didn't know at the time that my pilot light could blow out. At the time I asked him to show me how to light it in case it happened again. He told me it likely wouldn't- that it must have been quite the gust of wind to have blown down the chimney and put it out. Then he didn't show me. I'm guessing it was more to do with the fact that I had to pay him $130 for the visit.

I'm often told that I'm far too independent. I've even been told I scare men because of my independence... um... thanks? I think that was part compliment? Part "definitely not" a compliment.

In effort to break from that line of thought, and also because I'm sick of having to do everything for myself (waaaaaa! tantrum), I decided to put it out to the universe that I needed help. I asked my facebook friends if anyone knew how to light a pilot light.

What did I get? Mostly a bunch of people telling me to DIY and links to how-to videos. Then a second wave of "you're going to blow up your house" responses.

Dear universe. I ask for help, and I'm told to do it myself.
This is why I'm independent.

The cold eventually conquered any fears I had of lighting the gas heater back up, and after I got it lit I saw that two women had offered their husbands' assistance, which was very kind of them. I'll admit, there was a certain rush that I got when I finally figured out where the pilot was, got it lit, AND got the circulation pump turned back on (apparently I'd knocked it sometime over the summer too). When the furnace roared to life and the rads got hot... I felt smug. I felt smart. I felt independent.
Watch out boys.

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