I'm Going In

In a minute, I'm going to get up from my very comfortable spot on the couch, get dressed in something WARM, and go out to brave my garage.

Why?

Because tomorrow, the garage door guys are coming to replace the dreaded torsion spring.

Actually, my garage isn't too bad, but it's not too good, either. I've been getting ready for a helluva yard sale, and as I've gone through stuff, it's been packed into boxes and dumped in the garage. The boxes line one wall pretty completely and they are not the neat, tidy stack of boxes that I started out with, mainly because I suspect Rockboy has been rummaging to see what was in them.

Because they block one wall, I'm also a little concerned that the garage door guys may not be able to get to everything they need to since there's a lot of S P R E A D at the base of the pile.

And, on that side wall, there is a regular door to the outside. It's blocked by boxes and piles of crap. But, if it rains really hard and the wind is howling, water comes through the bottom of that door and makes a huge mess and gets boxes wet, etc.

So, I've re-thought the whole thing and am going to re-arrange everything and tidy it up.

I really didn't worry too much about it because the car has always fit in there, but now seems to be the time to get a handle on this mess.

It's been an interesting month, home-repair-wise.

Let's review the list:
* Broken torsion spring on the garage door
* Washing machine making funny noise (diagnosed by the way - I need a new agitator)
* Broken water supply line on the fridge, leaking water trashing hardwood floor

***NEW ADDITION: When I came home on Thursday night (the COLDEST night of the year), I thought, hey, it's a little chilly in here, I'm going to turn up the heat just a little. When I nudged the thermostat up, nothing happened. I kept nudging. Nothing kept happening. Then I looked at the thermometer, to see what the temperature actually was.

It was about 56 degrees in the house.

No wonder it was a little chilly. And the heat wouldn't kick on.

I flipped the breaker in the garage (which meant scaling a pile of boxes - part of the inspiration to DO something about that flea market out there).

It didn't help.

Sigh.

I went next door to my neighbor's house, since I had seen him rummaging around in HIS garage.

He said he'd look at it and see if he could figure out what was going on. He came. He looked. He offered to call a friend with a HVAC business. I told him to call. It was too damn cold to fool around.

The man finally came, clomped upstairs to the attic, fiddled around for a few minutes, pulled out some metal stick-looking thing, wiped it off, scraped it with his knife, wiped it off again, and stuck it back in.

The verdict: Dirty flame sensor.

The cost: $90.00

A value, since I was FREEZING, but wow - $90.00

I asked about the price. He said that it's for the service call and first hour of service, new parts not included.

I mentioned that he hadn't been here an hour yet and asked him to vacuum the living room.

He politely declined, took his check, and left.

(That's probably best, since he was young and reasonably cute, because the next thing I was going to say was, "For $90.00, you better get up on that coffee table and dance.")

I called my neighbors to let them know we had heat again. This time I was talking to the wife. She was glad the heat was running and said that when she came home from the grocery store, she pushed the garage door opener remote (not realizing that hubby was in the garage with the door already up) and the door started to go down, then gathered speed and slammed shut. Now it wouldn't go up again.

A little lightbulb went off.

I told her how to check it: pull the emergency release cord. If the door feels like it weighs 400 pounds (and it does) and you can't move it, your torsion spring has broken.

Voila.

But, my neighbor came up with a creative solution. She publishes a local home magazine that you can pick up for free all over town. She sells a LOT of advertising.

She called up a garage door company and offered to trade them ad space in exchange for fixing the garage doors.

Hers AND mine.

For free.

As in, no money.

Since I diagnosed the problem.

And, in exchange, I owe them a dinner (home-cooked) and the use of Rockboy as a slave.

Sounds like a deal to me.

I just haven't mentioned it to Rockboy yet.