The Privilage of Heat....October 19, 1999

The Privilage of Heat....October 19, 1999

One of the drawbacks to my obsession for living in old houses is the difficulty in heating them. It has been my experience that landlords who rent century old abodes for a reasonable price are not likely to maintain the residence in a manner deserving of their stature. This, of course, includes ensuring the houses are properly insulated.

I have lived in three relatively ancient houses thus far. While this does not qualify me to be too general, I think that it is safe to say that my experiences are fairly consistent with anyone else who has lived in similar places that rented for less than $1000.00 per month. The door frames are warped, the window casings cracked, the windows themselves are obselete and impossible to open, and the floors sag in various places. Most of all, it costs a fortune to heat the drafty place, it is always an oil furnace in the basement, there always seems to be a chill in the air, especially in the dead of winter, and the floors are invaritably icy cold to early morning bare feet.

And I would not have it any other way.

Nevertheless, in the first such place I lived, it cost a great deal of money to heat; we were barely able to make it through the winter with our heads above water, and more often than not, we were playing catch up with the oil company over the summer months. This was even with plastic over the windows.

In the second such residence, heating became a tedious issue; not only was there an oil furnace, but an oil hot water heater. Further, it was larger than the first house, with more drafts, and too many inaccessible windows to plastic-cover. Our oil bills were usually around $400.00 per month, and it just became too much.

As it turned out, though, that was the last place I was to share with my ex, and the final bill inevitably became shuffled around in separation bureaucracy. Had we stayed there much longer, I know I would not have been able to afford to keep heating the place.

My current residence, well over a hundred years old, has also given me my share of heating woes. Given that heat is included in my rent, I thought that I had found my own piece of utopia when deciding to move here.

I was mistaken.

Every year, like clockwork, I can count on the furnace breaking down at least twice. Once in the fall when heating again becomes a necessity after the insufferable hot days of summer, and once in the dead of winter when the temperature inside can plummet with more expediency than any air conditioner could ever hope to achieve.

I cannot tell you how disconcerting it is to be able to see my breath mist in the air while watching television, waiting for a repairman who was supposed to have arrived hors ago.

The worst experience I have had with the heating system was last spring when the oil tank leaked. Given the fact that the floor in my basement is dirt (an indication of just how old this place is), having oil leaking became an environmental hazzard. There were more people buzzing through this place than I could keep track of; heating technicians, environment officials, contractors, and of course, my landlady's deaf right hand man. The basement floor had to be excavated, and if the oil had seeped too far into the ground, then they were going tp have to use more heavy duty equipment than shovels. This would have meant tearing out the hand laid stone walls.

It would have also left me and the menagerie homeless.

Needless to say, things worked out for the greater good of all. The shovels exhumed deeply enough, my house was deemed hospitable once again, and a new oil tank was installed. This time, they decided to put it on a concrete foundation.

The last two winters that The Goddess and I dated, I would drive up to bring her back home for a short vacation. Both times, although I was only gone a couple of days, saw us returning to the furnace having shut down.

I think Maude had some part to play in those.

Today, I noticed a slight chill in the air, and decided to crank up the heat a bit. Sliding the little lever passed 60F, my chilled heart sank when I did not hear the distinct whir-shoosh of the furnace coming on. I hauled all the boxes of junk out from in front of the basement door, and braved the clammy underground to investigate.

I have a very errie basement. The narrow, steep, creaking wooden strairs lead to a floor carpeted in dirt, where one is walled in by hand laid rock. Also, a plethora of cobwebs hang from the four foot ceiling, guaranteeing that I will have to wipe them off my face more than once before getting to the furnace.

Upon investigating the oil tank, I discovered that it was empty. I wasted no time creaking my way back upstairs to call my landlady to let her know I was out of oil and starting to get cold. I wanted to mention the icicles forming on Reekie and Moo's little black noses, but decided against laying guilt.

After having the oil delivered, the furnace itself would not start, and I was therefore forced to wait for a technician to come over and fix it.

I waited.

And waited.

Finally, by 10:30pm, I called the company again to ask what the hell was going on. I was getting cold goddammit. The call centre op told me she would have the technician paged.

He called me from his house, a half hour later, and told me it would take him an hour to drive here. He intimated that he was hoping it could wait until tomorrow.

I made it clear I wanted heat tonight.

As it turned out, it was the same tech that was around when the tank had leaked.

He is deathly afraid of dogs.

Last time he was here, I only had one.

This time, amidst growls and raised hackles of two shepherd crosses, he almost refused to come inside.

I had to hold them back, all the while telling him they were only putting on a show. They had never bitten anyone in their lives.

After another hour, he finally got the furnace going. It turned out to be a burnt our fan motor.

Now, it is below 0C, and he wanted me to wait until tomorrow.

....Blessed Be...