Skip to main content

The Orley's Man Saved Our Marriage

The Orley's Stove and Spa man may have just saved our marriage.  

Let me back up a little and set the scene for you:  

About two years ago Ross, the boys, and I started driving out to this property my parents bought.  It was their plan to fix up the house and flip it.  They needed some trees cleared around the place and asked Ross if he would be interested in the work.  The boys loved playing there, Ross enjoyed clearing the land, and I liked helping create brush piles that we would later burn.  Long story short, there were some zoning issues that came into play, the house didn't sell right away, and we wound up buying it for ourselves this past spring.  

In clearing the underbrush, Ross had cut down dozens of trees.  All of the trees that made good firewood were neatly stacked on the property.  Then Ross bought a couple of truck loads of madrone and oak logs that he cut down to the length and size of firewood.  Needless to say, we now had a dozen or more cords of firewood on the property.  But with all that wood, we had no woodstove.  We had a woodstove in the works, but nothing installed until just before Christmas.  

When the stove was finally in place, Ross was as excited as a kid on Christmas to get the thing fired up.  It didn't take long before we were heated right out of the house.  So we went for a drive while things settled down.  We got home and my chocolate stash had melted, the candles were sagging, and the house was about 92 degrees.  I put on my bathing suit and lay on the floor.  Heat rises, you know.  We opened the French doors in our bedroom and pretended we were just enjoying the December evening.  Some guys buy new cars and have to see how fast they can go, others buy woodstoves and see how hot they can get things.  The answer is hot.  Very hot.  

So that's how things started out with our Blaze King.  That's the brand of woodstove - not Ross' nickname.  Although....

Side note: he got the big one.  The difference in price point was so small it would be crazy not to get the big one - his argument, not mine.  I think it can heat like 7000 square feet instead of, I don't know, 5000 square feet.  So, like, four of our houses instead of just three.  Anyway, apparently size matters. 

So the big beast of a stove efficiently heats our home, but it smokes.  It smokes so bad that it has stained our wall and gives us all sore throats.  It makes me mad, like irrationally mad.  I don't know who to be mad at, but the inner dialogue with the smoking beast is pretty intense.  It's possible that I may have errantly directed some of that anger toward the individual who picked out the smoking stove.  It's also possible that I may have alerted the same individual to the smell of smoke every single day since...let's see, it was installed December 19th, so I'd say about since....December 19th.  

Ross attempted to fix it more than once.  It smoked less, but wasn't right.  I stubbornly, held to the fact that it wasn't my project.  At the same time, I hated it SO MUCH.  I finally, had a come to Jesus moment and decided that I could make an effort to help, so I called the Orley man.  I wanted Ross to do it, but it's like asking for directions.  It wasn't happening.  I called the Orley man, and told him I desperately needed help.  Either the smoke needed to go or I was going. I made it clear it was a point of contention.  He obviously recognized my level of hysteria, and was quick to suss out the problem.  If his fix actually works, then I may have to send the guy flowers.  He, not quite literally, may have saved our marriage...

**  I really do like our wood heat, but it's my duty as a loving wife to harass my husband as much as I can.  I think it was in our wedding vows.  He also knows I really like him.  He has pretty eyes.    

***Also, if you're in the market, may I recommend those Orley's Stove and Spa guys?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Tough Love

 We were on our way home from a birthday party not long ago, and Fischer began complaining from the backseat that one of the kids had tripped him and laughed about it.   Ross looked at him in the rearview mirror and responded, "Life's hard, Buddy.  You're going to have to toughen up."  To which his brother responded, "Yeah.  You have no idea.  Just wait until you're eight."  At that, they both sat back in their booster seats and contemplated their life situation for the remainder of the drive home.    Evidently, life is smooth sailing in those early single digits, but once you reach the ripe old age of, "I can mostly tie my own shoes and reach the kitchen faucet," it's all hard knocks and rough living.   I know this must be true because Sawyer also told his aunt the other day, "It's time to get on it and get myself a car.  I'm going to get a Cord Tacoma."  I think what he wanted to say, but didn't have the words  was,

All I Want For Christmas...

  Christmas time is such a fun season.  I love focusing on the birth of Jesus with the kids and recognizing the true reason for celebrating.  I also relish the magical part of the season that gives so much life to our kids' imaginations and innocents.  They are always precious, but I feel it even more so this time of year.   Even our oldest hasn't completely given up on Santa, although he has a lot more questions having been around classmates and friends who coolly deny the existence of Santa or Christmas magic.  We know it can't last forever, but I'm going to milk it for at least one more season.  He is still more or less on board.  I think he wants it to be real, so he doesn't dig too deep.  Consequently, he and his siblings were all excited for a trip to meet Santa and Mrs. Claus last weekend.  I was excited too.  I love their reactions, and last year Carter was too sick to go, so this was her first opportunity to meet Santa face to face.   The trip didn't di

Christmas Miracle

 For better or worse, I don't have a lot of pride.  I used to have some, but after the third and fourth child, what little I had vanished.  I'd like to be put together.  I would like my kids to be put together.  I have come to terms with the fact that, 99% of the time, that's not going to happen.  When we leave the house, I consider it a win if everybody has on an appropriate amount of clothing and two shoes that match.   The first time we visited the orthodontist in preparation for Sawyer's braces, I showed up with four kids in dirty play clothes and one child with mismatched shoes.  It just so happens that the orthodontist's wife is the mom of some of my former students, and she was working that day.  Luckily, I also hadn't brushed anyone's hair before we left the house, so we made quite an impression.  I've been trying to raise the bar ever since, but I seem to keep failing.  The next appointment we came straight from the barn and smelled like it, but