Sure, now you all think of me as the woman on a burning deck with a noose around my neck. And why shouldn’t you? That’s the picture the artiste painted. Perhaps my luck has turned. More likely it’s one of life’s little teaser rates, or some sort of bait and switch routine, but dag-nabaroonie, I’m just going to take what I can get and like it. Call it zealous naiveté if you will, but it’s the last card in my deck. Roger came out with Tell, and they did the once-over and in about 13 seconds figured out what the water problem is. I’m grateful that I knew when I’d reached the limit of my carpenterial sleuthing abilities and called in the experts. The snow is blowing into the crevices at the top of the studio walls, then drifting down and melting. So it’s leaking on the inside of my walls, not the outside. Whew. That’s an easy enough fix, and not even urgent until the rains come. All I have to do is finish siding the studio, and get those roof caps on.
Cheered by one discovery that did not spell disaster, I forged on into deciphering my operating instructions for the computers that run my heating system. Much as I’m grateful to the Cap’n, and sure as I am that he did a good job – nay an admirable one – given the …er… obstacles we met in installing that system, he is, nevertheless, a man, and unfamiliar with certain processes that women are not only more suited to, but just plain better at. I’m referring, of course, to reading the operating instructions. On the last day he was here he ran through with me the various components of the systems, and what all the knobs and dials meant. He also left a five pound tome of all the operating instructions, untrammeled. Tonight I trammeled them and discovered that half of what he told me about settings and those graphs was wrong.
He had told me that this button controls the slope and that one the shift and then pointed out a graph with lines and values for the aforementioned enough to keep a team of Fortune 500 economists busy for a week. He said he’d set the specs at this and that, and yet, a short visit with the manual on my part – as opposed to a cursory scan of them – reveals that the factory specs are not this and that at all, so I re-set them, and now we’ll see if the room temperature is as recalcitrant as it has been these past months. If it is, I’ll experiment, but unlike men, I generally start with the recommended values and then experiment. I’m just boring that way.
I thought you might like to know that I’d found an answer to the leaky problem, but that’s all I’m going to write right now, because I have an urgent need to go sacrifice a coconut to Saint Murphy, Patron of Ill-Starred Idiots. Or do you think he’d like a pineapple? Wish I had a mango.