Every year when the heating season gets serious, we call the furnace people. It seems that without their yearly visit, heat doesn't get up to our third floor. With Thanksgiving guests about to sleep up there, we made our annual call. I don't get why their "fix" only lasts one year, but that's not the only thing I don't get.
On Thursday the furnace man came. Then he left for an emergency. When he came back, we were eating supper. He did his magic. As he left, he said, "By the way, I turned off your hot water heater because it is leaking and you are about to have your nice basement flooded. " "So we can't use the hot water?" I stupidly asked. "That's right," he said as he disappeared into the night.
That's our good luck. Without the furnace man visit, we would have had a flooded basement.
With Thanksgiving a week away, imagine the nightmare we missed. Last year our carbon monoxide detectors went off in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner, and the fire department was shooing us out into the cold before we knew it. Needless to say, I am very grateful to the furnace man.
On Friday, the plumber came and as Peter's email to me at work (subject line: "Hot for you") reported, by six p.m. we were back in hot water land.
So why the bad mood on Saturday morning? Too much to do, too little time. What was I thinking when I invited people for dinner the Saturday before Thanksgiving? How will I get everything done for my favorite holiday? After we got the big grocery shop put away, it seemed more manageable. I love my friends who are coming for dinner. And before I know it, all of my family will be together for the first time in seven months.
And so the bad mood passes.