…And we have heat. For the first time all Fall, real heat. The fan kicked gently on, warmth wafting down, lovely, lovely.
And then the smoke alarm screamed bloody murder. DANGER! DANGER!
Okay, that’s pretty funny, actually. I hit the timer on the thing to quiet it while one of the helpers apologized that new furnaces often do set them off like that just right at first.
The alarm kept going, adamant. Huh. Oh–it only turns off for the kitchen sensor, not the others, Richard reminded me later. Oh okay.
I told the guy, reaching up to my ears, “Well, *I* can turn it off but I don’t know that that helps you any.” (Actually, I’m not sure he had any idea I wear hearing aids.) I opened the windows and it went quickly silent. They had it on high to test it and between the competing air flows that furnace showed it was definitely up to anything going on outside.
One skein Finito superfine merino in Cereza paired with a few grams of black sparkly cashmere. One soft little cowl for Joe’s wife, worked on while he worked. If ever someone had earned a bit of warmth…
I’m remembering a reason to be glad the furnace is on the roof: when we were building our first house, I don’t know if it got encouragement from the crew that was perturbed that I’d pushed on them on their overdue project? “Will the house be done by Thanksgiving?”
They slowly turned in unison and stared me down.
Finally, “WHICH Thanksgiving, lady?”
I never smelled it before then, but somehow it got in there before we closed on the house the Tuesday before the Day of the Turkey.
For our first year, every time the blower kicked on, five or ten seconds later and there came our natural asthma treatment: skunked.
——
(Conversation just now: Me–Did you turn up the heat?
Him–Yes.
Me, disbelieving–Weren’t you warm enough?
Him–Yes, but I wanted to experience the heat.)