Things were going wrong. And fast.
The basement of my daughter’s house where I now live alone—she, Mike, and the kids moved last August to Pennsylvania—is inhabited by a water heater, a furnace, a compressor, three 4-foot-high tanks for softening the water, and a metal box beside these tanks containing salt whose purpose remains a mystery to me. For about a week, a thing-a-ma-jig at the base of the furnace had run continuously, the water softeners sounded off at irregular hours, and the compressor kept clicking off and on about five times per minute.