Arf, arf arf

Because I had a loaf of seven grain bread from the German bakery, and because Stix brought some Monteray Jack, we had cheese toast today at Molly's. The furnace seemed a bit inactive, so a trip to the basement revealed that it was firing, but needed fuel. Tommorrow. The furnace in this house is not firing, either. It's gas and my attempts to relight the pilot were not successful. Mr. Beetz is looking into it...and I hear it kicking into gear! Bravo, Mr. Beetz! It's 51 degrees in here. Everyone should hide an engineer in their spare room, I warrant.