Futility Now

The house has gotten really cold, and the furnace died again.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to have done with it and get some more powerful electric space heaters.

So we had an exciting homeownerly experience that started about two weeks ago. Our furnace went out a couple weeks ago, and we were all duly traumatized. Because no disaster can go unexploited by our fuel-providing overlords, the price of fuel had gone up by about 25% since the last time we’d needed to get something to burn. This combined with the fact that it was the middle of fucking march made us boldly contemplate the idea of just toughing it the fuck out.

This. . . didn’t last very long. We managed to settle on a smaller quantity than usual and went for it. While the expense was troubling, we were deeply relieved. Our relief lasted only until the friendly deliveryman had finished and I tried to turn to the furnace back on to a substantial quantity of disappointment. Something was catching on fire briefly, but then it was coughing disconcertingly and giving up the ghost.

In addition to our still being cold, we now had the fear that some sort of cascading failure was about to make our furnace, and by extension our basement, our home and indeed our very lives, explode and be cast swiftly into oblivion. Consequently, we called about Hazel’s extended family to deliver an, if not expert, at least more experienced opinion.

After a bit of monkeywrenching it became clear that there had been some water in the line, and that our fuel line filter would have to be replaced. The filter that was in there looked like an ostrich egg made of out mud. We weren’t even aware that there was a filter to change, although if we’d thought about it for a second it probably would have been obvious.

But even if we had thought of it, we would still have been out of luck, because if you want an effective metric by which to measure the decline of the oil furnace as a going concern I’ve got one for you: you can basically only by them online. Massive chain Ace Hardware no longer even has a supplier for them.

As for our part of the story, we were able to reach further along the extended family tree and find an expert, which is probably what should have happened in the first place but, you know, families!

So I guess it’s official that I’m an old man, because I’m incredibly relieved that the temperature is creeping up to around 50 again. In my youth (hand on forehead) I was largely indifferent to the cold, but three years on the West Coast have cast me straight back into the mewling wimp category.

Since we moved here I have been complaining incessantly about the fact that good bread can’t be found for money or love in Montavilla (well, when the farmer’s market is on Fleur De Lis comes here, but boy is the farmer’s market ever NOT on right now). While it would have been amazing if someone had opened a bakery in the old Grenade building instead of the body shop that’s going to go in there eventually, we did get the next best thing when Pastry Girl started carrying nice bread from somewhere else in town. The list of things that I need to go further than two blocks to acquire is getting even shorter.

Boy is it ever the great blizzard of Aught-Eight here in Portland Oregon. In contrast to the rather flaccid winters that rounded out my time in NY (yes, there was one dramatic storm in early ’06, but come on) it’s definitely a doozy. I’m not quite ready to have Western Mass flashbacks, but it doesn’t seem as out of the question as you might expect.

We have been trying to keep warm using fires and eggnog.

Also, we’re finally all on vacation and stuff, although the ladies who are involved in schools had the entire last week off. Lots of holiday-related crafts have been going on.

The tree:

I don’t really have any idea what’s going on here: