I love old houses.

Except mine.

I say this because I’m in a battle with a radiator that has lasted 25 years.

Longer than both marriages and both divorces, combined.

Basically several world wars, in my personal life.

Before I explain, let me first say I try to write columns people can relate to.

This one, I’m not so sure.

You might not have a radiator.

You might have a nice new house where everything works.

You might live in a nice warm place where you don’t need a radiator.

There could be a palm tree outside your door or a sailboat you tie up with a rope and take out from time to time, having fun.

If so, I congratulate you.

You made a lot of great decisions, and I wish you had been around to tell me what you know.

You chose a sailboat, but I chose a radiator, like my own personal anchor dragging me down, costing me more than any boat, and not taking me anywhere for fun.

My house is old, built in 1810. Many days I feel like I’m 1810. Especially when I think about this radiator.

The radiator is in Francesca’s room, and it never gets hot. I have had at least five different heating companies, and I’ve replaced not only the radiator but the pipes leading to the radiator, since its pipes have to have a certain slant. If not, condensation will form, causing something called water hammer, which is just what it sounds like.

The radiator clangs like a hammer, or, in my case, a jackhammer.

Or a five-alarm fire. In your head.

It clangs loudly enough to wake Francesca up when she’s home, and even me down the hall, and we both lie there, sleepless and seething.

In my case, cursing is involved.

Also, mentally calculating how much I spent on this alarm.

The sum is alarming.

And this doesn’t happen only in the middle of the night.

Let me give you a hypothetical.

Pretend you’re an author lucky enough to have written a book that people want to talk to you about. Imagine, too, that there’s a worldwide pandemic so nobody can talk to one another or they could die.

I know, crazy.

Let’s say you have Zoom meetings with large groups of readers at night.

Then the radiator sounds the alarm.

You will see the faces in the little blocks on your laptop, and they’ll start frowning in confusion. They’ll touch the buttons on their computer, wondering what’s wrong with their audio. They’ll raise their little Zoom hands and ask if anyone else hears that loud noise.

Because they live in places with palm trees and sailboats.

You’ll explain about the radiator. You’ll keep the profanity to yourself.

Never an easy task.

Maybe that’s the relatable part.

Not cursing when it’s medically necessary.

Daily I fight the urge to yank the radiator out with my bare hands and throw it out the window.

Actually it’s lovely to finally jettison something you hate, and no, I’m not going to make another divorce joke.

I say this because I actually did this this week, with something else.

I have had a pool table for over 25 years, too.

It doesn’t matter why. It only matters that I’ve gotten approximately 10 uses out of the pool table.

Like the radiator.

Anyway, I started looking at the pool table, which was taking up an entire room that happens to be sunniest and oldest in the house.

I thought to myself, I have an extra desk I could put there and sit in the sun while I work. I could even imagine a palm tree behind me and a sailboat tied up with a rope.

So I went online and entered the world of the zillion people who are trying to sell old pool tables to the two people who will buy them, and a miracle happened.

Somebody came and took away the pool table.

Plus they gave me money.

I thought I was dreaming.

The same day, I moved in a desk, a rug, a lamp, and a computer, and that’s exactly where I’m writing now.

I’m so happy.

I’m bathed in sunshine.

My house redeemed itself.

Plus the room has a beautiful stone fireplace, which has never worked, but I’m going take the money I got for the pool table and fix the fireplace.

I’ll have to add some, but it’ll be worth it.

Because a fireplace is easy to fix, unlike a radiator.

In fact, once the fireplace works, maybe I won’t need a radiator.

I could start a nice big fire, and throw the radiator in.

Look for Lisa’s new domestic thriller, “What Happened to the Bennetts,” coming March 29. Also, look for Lisa’s best-selling historical novel, “Eternal,” in paperback Feb. 1. Francesca’s critically acclaimed debut novel, “Ghosts of Harvard,” is now in paperback.