Remember my prediction about the next big thing falling apart around here? Well, nothing has fallen apart, per se, but something is dreadfully wrong in this house. We have no heat. An almost 90-year-old house, while quaint (if not a bit hot since there is also no a/c) in July, becomes a veritable icebox in October. OCTOBER. What happened to fall? Seems we’ve skipped straight from summer to winter. Sad.

We have radiators we do not know how to start. Craig tried this weekend, but when your options are 1) blow up yourself and your family, or 2) wait until the radiator man can come get them going for you, you tend toward the latter.

Honestly, we were thankful the phone number on the company sticker on the boiler downstairs was still current (it looks like it’s been on there longer than St. Louis has been around). Craig dialed, expecting to hear the three tone sound of the foiled, but they did answer. They said in a house as old as ours with a boiler as old as ours, we really need the boiler man to come get it going. And, oh, he can come just after your noses fall off, but not before your fingers do. Sound okay?

O-k-k-k-k-kay.

Really, it could be worse. It could be 52 degrees in our house instead of the current 54. And at least we have a working dishwasher right now. Glory.

So here’s to Mr. Radiator coming over tomorrow. And hot chocolate for dinner. And triple-layered clothing for the next 24-48  hours. Here, here!