A bit of background here: a few days after Christmas my husband woke up from a nap and declared that the house smelled of gas. That certainly explained the headache I had and it was an easy trace -- the oven, which I had just finished using for a massive round of bread-baking, had reached the end of its useful lifespan. Technically, it was the gas valve feeding into the range that had gone kerplunk but it gave us a wonderful excuse to get rid of the appliance that was falling apart and spend money that we can't really afford to get something that we really needed. With me so far?
All right. Found a suitable replacement (floor model, on sale, yippee!) and I should have taken the hint from Murphy when the salesman got all stressed out on the matter of delivery. I wanted it 1. delivered 2. installed 3. the old appliance made off with. I found out that that was easy as cake IF you bought anything BUT a floor model. Floor models, it seems, are installed by an outside contractor who 1. couldn't be reached to make arrangements for delivery 2. was going to charge an arm, leg, and Megan for delivery, hookup, and disposal, and 3. probably wouldn't have the right parts and I'd just end up having to call the gas company anyway to get it hooked up. At which point I said I could take my van around to the loading dock and drag it home with me then. Seemed like a lot less hassle. On the way home I had the bright inspiration that hooking up the stove couldn't be THAT difficult. Right?
Long pause for the laughter to die down.
We will pass swiftly over the unloading of the stove, wherein I nearly squashed my husband. He's a good sport, and the bruises should go away in a few days :O.
It was at this point that I found out the valve leaked, and that I would have to return to a hardware store to find a new one. Three stores later we find someone who actually knows what I'm talking about and where the valve I need is located. Then I return home where I play Final Fantasy XII for two hours, working up the courage to clean the gunk of nearly 20 years, ten of which I'm actually responsible for. I found that home-made soap takes ancient grease off far better than 409. It wasn't even the good stuff, just the kitchen-scrap soap I did just to see if I could. I have also vowed to find whoever decided that textured walls would be a great idea in a kitchen. If I get a true jury of my peers I will never be convicted.
Tomorrow I get to hunt down the line I need to connect the stove to the house; after that I get to do the fun stuff -- actually connecting the stove to the house and leak checking everything. (My brother is considering getting a pool going as to whether and when the house burns down, if you're interested :D).
And speaking entirely without irony, I haven't had this much fun since I replaced the squirrel cage in the central AC unit.
So, my resolutions for 2007 have suddenly turned into a very short list. 1. Prove to my children that it's entirely possible for a woman to recover her mind after renovation.