The Harlot has her annual Fall Furnace Wars...
and we've got a new heating paradigm here at casa akabini:
• no using the central forced-air (propane-fired) heating;
• no heating unused rooms during the day;
• no other source of heat but some great little electric radiators (oil-filled) (snaps to come), and the fake-o plug-in "woodstove" heater in the living room.
We've been doing this since we got back from our honeymoon, wanting to live a more European, less wanton, more frugal and respectful lifestyle.
Net result? we've been back since January 2 and haven't fired the central heating once.
Turned off the pilot lights in the vintage stove (all except the oven light; that one's too much of a pain in the bohunkus to re-light every time).
The new little radiators have timers on them, so they go on an hour or so before we need them (before waking for the one in the bedroom, during dog walking hour before work for my studio), and go off at night.
And today, the propane truck pulled up... did its thing, and the fella left the bill hanging on the front door.
Smug, and filled with the methane of self-righteousness, I retrieve the bill, expecting greatness.
Four gallons MORE than last month.
We are investigating.
Current theories: the dog has been turning up the thermostat while we're out to dinner in revenge for leaving him behind.
Or we've got a leak somewhere, and my metal knitting needles will someday set off a spark that will require getting the house re-bolted to the foundation.
Or Larry's cat Buddy upstairs has been inviting all his friends over to enjoy the heated bathroom floor upstairs.
I mean, really. It's got to be SOMETHING.