If you recall, Gary the RV repair man was here last Thursday to look at my non-functioning oven. He ordered the part he needed to fix it while he was here, but the part seems to be lost in limbo. They are trying to track it down.
In the meantime the furnace blew out during last Wednesday's windstorm, but it had always been "easy" to re-light before. Easy compared to a frontal assault on Everest in February. It's anything but easy, but we had always managed to get it re-lit before.
We've had reasonably warm weather in the days since it blew out, never below -10. Our panel heaters have kept us plenty warm. But we had a chilling thought this morning.
What if the furnace requires a replacement part, or (horrors) replacing? It might be something that takes a number of days to get done and Christmas is bearing down on us, with the associated houseful of guests and activities. If it turns cold we could be hooped.
So I called Gary this morning. He said he'd drop by this afternoon and look at our furnace. He arrived right after lunch, looked the furnace over and had it lit in two minutes flat. It's NEVER lit in less than five or six minutes for us, and I have lain on the floor for up to 20 minutes at a time trying to re-light it several times in the last few days.
This confirms my worst fears. I have to do something to cool Ms. Tinpalace's ardor for him. I thought a good kick to her cabinetry was in order once he left. A cold shower obviously doesn't work, because she's sat in the rain and snow for the last three or four weeks without any abatement in her desire to have him for her very own.
Anyone with suggestions as how to redirect a trailer's ardor let me know. If she could fixate on one of the neighbours that would be fine. None of them charge for their time, and one is even a bachelor. Admittedly he's 82, but he doesn't look a day over 72. He's quite a good-looking man, even if he is 82, and he's awfully nice. He's come for a couple of meals, and you'd think she'd have taken notice.
Maybe Tinpalace feels the same kind of adulation and hero worship for the repairman that an adolescent feels for her family doctor, especially after he fixes her sore throat or broken toe and comforts her in his detached but well-practiced manner.
Excuse me while I go out to kick her tires and take the hammer to her hitch. There has to be some way to knock sense into her - she's no teenager, at 32 she's practically a dowager, though admittedly one with many replacement parts!