Boiler Blues

The sun is up at last. A bright pink--Lido Pink--the kind of colour of Brigitte Bardot's bikini or a young girl's most coveted new lipstick-spreads out around her edging into high viz orange. No matter how tacky she looks, I'm glad to see her. Everything looks better in daylight.

Except our boiler.

Sitting limp, as limp as a piece of steel can look, but definitely embarrased in a puddle of water at her feet. Last year about this time, she blew her pressure relief valve--a common enough thing among hard working boilers and she was up to scratch and perky until recently. She kept forgetting to keep her pressure up--or perhaps it was just too much effort. We turned the switch to give her more water, a little reminder of her role in life--our lives, at any rate, and we all limped along until this morning.

A phone call to the shaman--or plumber. And I think of Plan B--how to keep warm if we have to wait for parts or a new boiler or any of the other things. Oil filled radiator. Gas-fired ersatz fireplace in the sitting room, localised heaters for hot water in the shower. Of course we can make it. It may even be an opportunity for developing gratitude for all the things we take for granted--like hard working boilers. Perhaps that's all she needs.