Our heating system stopped this morning. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell, because of the temperature Helaine sets the thermostat. I woke up, turned up the thermostat and… nothing.
If you’re reading this from outside the Northeast, this next line might not make any sense. Our home is heated with oil. It doesn’t come in from a pipe. An oil truck pulls up to the house as needed, filling a big tank in our basement.
Our semi-countrified neighborhood has no gas lines, no water or sewer lines and no sidewalks. Our water is pumped from a well nearly 300 feet beneath our backyard. We’ve got a major league septic system hidden under the lawn in the front.
We have purchased oil from the same company since we moved here. Loyalty is rewarded. The repairman was here within a half hour.
As it turns out, a gunked up burner was preventing the system from firing up. Damn you OPEC. A few seconds ago, the sound of the furnace returned.
We have our furnace serviced every year. The last time was 11 months ago. I guess we just got unlucky this time. Meanwhile, I can stop rubbing my hands together.