Late last winter, we learned we were going to need a new furnace. That is not the news any homeowner wants to hear, but we quickly resigned ourselves to it. My husband, Paul, and I have lived in our Victorian house since 1988, and the boiler was there when we bought it. It had surpassed the lifespan of an average furnace.
Paul wanted to wait to have it installed during the summer, when I am off from my work as a school librarian. This was going to be a big project, and would mean a certain wrangling of our two dogs and four cats. Our 13-year-old chocolate lab, Aquinnah, has a condition called tracheal paralysis. If he gets excited, he starts coughing and hacking. He needs to be kept quiet.
So, soon after the school year ended, Paul contacted our fuel company. They sent someone over to prepare an estimate. He had more good news for us—the chimney had to be lined before the furnace could be installed.
We headed out on vacation shortly thereafter. There was no estimate yet when we returned, so it was late July before we actually got things started. Paul made an appointment for the chimney to be lined; that couldn’t be done until early August.
I go back to work the third week in August.
The chimney guy came while I was at a meeting. Paul texted me that the work couldn’t be done that day. Complications. I called Paul. It turned out that, once the chimney was lined, it wouldn’t be able to accommodate both the furnace and our oil-fired water heater.
I panicked a bit at that point. Did that mean we couldn’t get a furnace? Or would we have to live without a water heater?
This is called catastrophizing, and I’m very good at it.
When I was able to think clearly, I realized that we had to get an electric water heater. If that didn’t work out, we could get one that ran on propane, or even natural gas (though the latter scares me).
But I was not going to be able to truly relax until the whole project was done. Our house was built in the 1870s, and has narrow doors and stairways. There’s no bulkhead to the basement. Our washer and dryer, which are in the basement, are the smallest on the market. I could only hope they made electric water heaters in our size.
They did. Of course, now we had an extra expense and an additional hassle. The whole furnace installation was being pushed forward until I was back at work.
Paul was ready to lean on the fuel company for brisk action. They should have known that the chimney lining wasn’t going to work with both the furnace and oil-fired water heater. But they appeared to realize they’d made a mistake. The new water heater was swiftly installed. It took most of a day, and two techs and two electricians.
Then we had to wait for the chimney guy. They came a couple of weeks later. It was a half-day job, without too much fuss. At first.
At this point, I was at school. It was a professional development afternoon, and I was in a presentation in the chorus room. I was sitting sandwiched between colleagues on the risers. I got a call from Paul. Oh, no, I thought. But all I could do was hit, “I can’t talk now.”
As soon as I was able, I went into the hall and called him back. Quinn was wheezing. The dogs had to be kept in the living room during the chimney work. That room doesn’t have a door, so they could see the workmen coming and going. Quinn had become agitated. I suggested that Paul play some smooth jazz, which helps to calm Quinn, and he eventually did.
The big install was the very next day. We didn’t know which entrance the technicians would use, so we didn’t know if the dogs would have to be in the living room again. The preferable location was the family room, off the kitchen, which has a door that can be closed. It’s a long room, and if we kept music playing, the dogs would probably sleep through most of the day.
But the back door is off the family room and if the techs needed it . . . .
It turned out they didn’t. The dogs could stay in the family room and eat out there, and Paul could take them out through the back door.
It took all day, and five techs in all to install the furnace. When I arrived home, there was a huge drop cloth laid across half the kitchen. I knew then and there we’d be ordering pizza for dinner.
This was late afternoon, and the furnace was fully installed. But the guys couldn’t get it started. There were phone calls and a trip back to HQ. Another tech arrived. Then they succeeded—the furnace roared to life, but not nearly as loudly as our previous boiler.
It was a warm day. We had to open all the windows while the techs let it run for awhile.
But the good news was that the furnace had been installed in one day (we had been told it could take two). And I had a pleasant surprise. It’s gorgeous! The techs called it “The Ferrari of Furnaces,” and I believe it is.
The boiler is red and made in Italy. The rest—possibly manufactured in Québec—is very shiny stainless steel. If a furnace can be a work of art, this one is.
Of course, the next day it got cold at night, and we were under orders not to turn the furnace on for 48 hours, to let a sealant set. But I won’t quibble. This was a true case of "all’s well that ends well."
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