Nose hat

“I need a nose hat,” I said, as Matt entered the bedroom after cheering the Devils on to victory. I was huddled in bed with only my eyes and nose showing. It was at most 50 degrees in the house. The heat wasn’t working and the wind was blowing through yawning spaces that we hope will one day contain large expanses of glass.

“People on this planet cannot wear nose hats because they would suffocate,” he laughed. “Nose hats only work on planets where people have blow holes or gills or both.” He was still laughing while piling more blankets on the bed and when handing me a Rusty Nail, which I tried to drink without exposing my fingers to the frigid air. This, too, made him laugh.

He disappeared for awhile; came back covered in dust and confirmed that the furnace still wasn’t working. This was no longer a laughing matter.

He had called the service yesterday morning with explicit instructions: go to the back of the house and see the work crew; come in and fix the furnace. Instead, they knocked on the front door and then left, not letting Matt know they perceived an obstacle to turning the heat back on.

Matt called the furnace service for an emergency visit and we debated checking into a hotel. I reminded him that I’d wanted to one day stay at an Ice Hotel, so this could be our trial run. (Note to self: do not book stay in an Ice Hotel.) Plus, I had a tiny space heater running and it was starting to make a small difference.

The night was too short, yet long enough for us to miss the calls from the furnace fix-it guy. It was a chilly morning. Matt brought coffee into the bedroom so I could stay in the semi-warmth and dress while imbibing in my liquid “on” switch.

When I left for work—left him with too many mooks, contractors and sub-contractors to coordinate—I felt like deadbeat wife. The stress of the renovation was starting to manifest itself physically. My stomach hurt. My chest thumped. My nerves frayed. My shoulders fused to my ears. And then I had to pick up my boss, drive him to work and launch myself into a series of meetings, deadlines and the usual corporate madness…

While I commuted, worried and worked, Matt systematically solved the problems. Then he headed to his own office to put in a full day.

The heat is on. (They guy who had been dispatched to our house in the middle of the night returned again in the morning; Matt apologized to him profusely.) Matt also shoved insulation into the gaping holes along the length of the great room and added layers of plastic to the back and front of the house. “I know how to deal with that cheap, crappy plastic now,” he explains. “You tape along the edge and then staple through the tape.”

The house is warm(er) and I am calm(er).