When Four Equals One

The apartment is coming along nicely.  Still no photos, sorry guys.  I found the silverware yesterday.  That’s a big help.  There’s only a few things left I can’t find.  Unfortunately, it includes my make-up.  The entertainment center is up and partly filled, and there’s a nice reading corner with chair and little bookshelf in the living room.  Someday, when we get all the other boxes out of there, we can see about getting more than one chair.

The back room is now a “do not enter in case of earthquake” disaster area.  Boxes piled up over my head and piles of clothing covering a chair.  Getting to the table is nearly impossible.  Not that it matters, as that is also covered in stuff.  These are the boxes that are getting tricky; the where-on-earth-do-we-put-this boxes.  And the clothes, we you see, I thought I fit all my clothes and shoes in the closet.  Then we kept unpacking.  I had used clothes as packing material in boxes and had wrapped all delicate things, framed pictures, stereo equipment, trombone pieces, in clothing.  So, as we unpack more, we find more clothes.  This could get interesting.

Last night, I tried to use that crazy gas stove again.  Mr. Trizzle and I were working on dinner.  We planned to have roasted cob on the corn, bow ties, sauce and hot dogs (the last two for me and him separately, respectively).  Things were going all hunky dory until I tried to light the front left burner.  I turned the knob and the pilot light for the front right burner flicked.  Huh?  Guess I’m not using that burner.  So I tried to use the back left burner.  Turned the knob and again, the front right burner flicked.  What the?  So I tried the back right.  Same thing.  And the front right.  This time, it was a little different.  The pilot light flickered and the gas stream opened.  We had one lit burner. Great.

I had used the stove the day before and had no problems with any of the burners; this is a new development.

Mr. Trizzle discovered that the other knobs were still controlling the proper gas lines, just not the right pilot lights.  Luckily, some random restaurant in Nashville still has free matchbooks at their maître d stand, so Mr. Trizzle was able to light one of the burners with a match.  Anybody want to exchange an electric stove for a gas one?  It’s clean!