The central-heating and hot-water system in my beloved’s apartment has conked out. Gas-powered, it is supposed to be very reliable, but it appears not to have been maintained properly over the years. After ever more serious trouble with it, my beloved called a maintenance and repair company dealing with such systems, and things started moving. First the company boss came by to see what was wrong. Arriving exactly on time, he made sure we had both heating and hot water until two of his repairmen could do everything else that needed doing. A few components of the system needed replacing, as well. The repairmen, who also came by when agreed, did their thing adroitly and without a hitch, as well. On top of everything, the price of their service was perfectly acceptable. In short, we seem to be in good hands, and we will make sure that we return to the same company for regular maintenance. But I was quite stunned when I saw the nondescript box containing the gas burner splayed open. That was my first experience of this kind, too. The pipes. The wires. The myriad mechanical and electronic gadgets connected by them. To put it in a nutshell, it was an incomprehensible tangle. Totally and completely beyond my ken, or that of my beloved, it made me deeply uncomfortable. Nay, outright anxious. We are surrounded by systems that work reasonably well while they work, but we are powerless when they fail. And they fail often enough to keep reminding us of our powerlessness. I do not like the feeling. I hate the feeling, as a matter of fact. Deep inside, I would rather live without central heating and hot water, among many other things central to our civilization. And fire I know already.