I'm going to be doing a thing for the next four or five days, which will keep me away from the scriptorium and my 'pooter. So no speakie until Tuesday or Wednesday. The MZBs didn't get me or anything, I've just got to go to a place and do a thing.
See ya!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
How not to arrange for clean clothes
When I found myself without a convenient way to get to and from the town that's about 12 miles away, there was one aspect both a blessing and a curse. The blessing was that I had an excuse to no longer use laundromats. I really hate laundromats, but sometimes they're the most convenient way to achieve a hamper full of clean clothes. The curse was, of course, that I no longer had any good way to get to a laundromat, and how the hell was I going to wash my clothes? I'm a hermit, not a slob.
At first I washed and rinsed things in a bucket. This would have worked better if I'd had a bigger bucket, but of course that requires more water, which since I'm a wimp requires more hot water, and hot water's an issue, so I was using that five-gallon bucket rather frequently. It was a pain.
Then I was helping a friend move out of a house in town, and among other goodies she was getting rid of a washing machine.
A washing machine! Hell, why not just offer me a box that makes gold bars! Actually, that wouldn't be as useful as a washing machine. I took it on the spot, having no idea in this world how I'd actually get it to work.
Okay: What does a washing machine need? It needs electricity, of course: Check. If the system couldn't take the load, I'd just run the generator. It needs water. Hm. Well, cold water was doable. I'd just run a hose from the valve house, around these trees, over this fence, through the Gitmo yard and into the power shed where I'd parked the machine. Okay, check. It needs drainage. Hm. No sewers around here, but that's okay again! I scrounged a couple of lengths of PVC that the drain hose would fit into, ran it across the Gitmo yard and down the slope. The junipers would thank me. Check.
I ran the machine like this a few times, and everything seemed fine. I did learn that it was vitally important not to let the agitator start until the pressure pump had filled and shut off, or the power output spiked to damned near 85 amps, but that's just good power management. Yeah, everything seemed fine.
On the third or fourth time I used the washer, I found that it had stopped without filling the drum. When I checked to see what the hell was happening to the water, I found that the inlet screen on the washer was completely plugged with red mud. I cleaned out the screen, put the hose back on, went to the valve house to open the valve, went back to the machine, turned it on. It filled for maybe ten seconds and then stopped again. I went back to the valve house, shut the water back off, removed the hose again, and...the inlet screen was plugged with red mud.
Hmph. I pulled the hose right out of the power shed, turned the valve on, and let water run out on the yard for a few minutes. Then I hooked everything up, and this time it worked fine.
Until next time, when I had to go through the whole thing again. There's a lot of sediment on the bottom of the cistern, and it seems that the valve house outlet we use for hoses gets it all; there's sediment at the other faucets, but none of them plug up like this. So every time I want to wash clothes I have to disconnect the water line from the washer and let the water run first, to clean out the pipes and hose. As long as I follow that little ritual, everything's fine.
When you're off-grid, it seems, little chores you never think much about in suburbia can end up taking quite a bit more time.
At first I washed and rinsed things in a bucket. This would have worked better if I'd had a bigger bucket, but of course that requires more water, which since I'm a wimp requires more hot water, and hot water's an issue, so I was using that five-gallon bucket rather frequently. It was a pain.
Then I was helping a friend move out of a house in town, and among other goodies she was getting rid of a washing machine.
A washing machine! Hell, why not just offer me a box that makes gold bars! Actually, that wouldn't be as useful as a washing machine. I took it on the spot, having no idea in this world how I'd actually get it to work.
Okay: What does a washing machine need? It needs electricity, of course: Check. If the system couldn't take the load, I'd just run the generator. It needs water. Hm. Well, cold water was doable. I'd just run a hose from the valve house, around these trees, over this fence, through the Gitmo yard and into the power shed where I'd parked the machine. Okay, check. It needs drainage. Hm. No sewers around here, but that's okay again! I scrounged a couple of lengths of PVC that the drain hose would fit into, ran it across the Gitmo yard and down the slope. The junipers would thank me. Check.
I ran the machine like this a few times, and everything seemed fine. I did learn that it was vitally important not to let the agitator start until the pressure pump had filled and shut off, or the power output spiked to damned near 85 amps, but that's just good power management. Yeah, everything seemed fine.
On the third or fourth time I used the washer, I found that it had stopped without filling the drum. When I checked to see what the hell was happening to the water, I found that the inlet screen on the washer was completely plugged with red mud. I cleaned out the screen, put the hose back on, went to the valve house to open the valve, went back to the machine, turned it on. It filled for maybe ten seconds and then stopped again. I went back to the valve house, shut the water back off, removed the hose again, and...the inlet screen was plugged with red mud.
Hmph. I pulled the hose right out of the power shed, turned the valve on, and let water run out on the yard for a few minutes. Then I hooked everything up, and this time it worked fine.
Until next time, when I had to go through the whole thing again. There's a lot of sediment on the bottom of the cistern, and it seems that the valve house outlet we use for hoses gets it all; there's sediment at the other faucets, but none of them plug up like this. So every time I want to wash clothes I have to disconnect the water line from the washer and let the water run first, to clean out the pipes and hose. As long as I follow that little ritual, everything's fine.
When you're off-grid, it seems, little chores you never think much about in suburbia can end up taking quite a bit more time.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
"Nation of Cowards" - About Race?
From this MSNBC article...
At a Department of Justice program this morning celebrating African American History Month, the nation's first black attorney general -- Eric Holder -- said the United States is a "nation of cowards" when it comes to racial issues.
Holder said average Americans "simply do not talk enough with each other about race."
Lemme make sure I understand this. The Black AG, who works for a Black president, says that we're...what?
"...in things racial we have always been and continue to be, in too many ways, essentially a nation of cowards. Though race-related issues continue to occupy a significant portion of our political discussion, and though there remain many unresolved racial issues in this nation, we, average Americans, simply do not talk enough with each other about race."
Holder continued, "It is an issue we have never been at ease with and given our nation's history this is in some ways understandable. And yet, if we are to make progress in this area we must feel comfortable enough with one another, and tolerant enough of each other, to have frank conversations about the racial matters that continue to divide us."
Okey Dokey. Personally I thought that by this time it would sort of be beating a dead horse, Eric - er, that is, Mr. Holder, sir - but you're the boss.
Why do I have this sneaking suspicion that the above speech was sponsored by the National Action Network?
Kill Your TV
I spent last evening as I spend nearly every evening before retiring, reading a book and communing with the dogs and cats. Click has become much saucier over the past couple of weeks, not spending all her time hiding in the loft and praying Butch doesn't come bother her. Yesterday evening she was draped over my arm, doing her level best to keep me from concentrating on my book when I could be doing more important things like paying attention to her. Magnus had gone into his nightly coma from which he would not emerge for more than twelve hours. Fritz and Ghost were keeping an eye on the windows for me, and Butch was nowhere to be seen.
All about us it was peaceful, and except that some might argue I'd have used my time more profitably with a non-fiction book there was nothing the least bit unhealthy in any part of the mix. I was thinking about that this sunrise, while making honey butter and planning my day. I grew up addicted to television, as I suppose many people in my generation did. When I was old enough to start making my own decisions I scheduled many and many an evening and weekend around the TV Guide. If I could have back all the hours I wasted on that idiot box, I'd probably be in my thirties now.
I cut back to movies and a few specific cable channels maybe ten years ago, but still spent the majority of my slack time in front of the box. The fare may have been a bit less unwholesome, but it was still time pissed away never to return. A few years ago I kicked the whole thing loose. Now I've got a DVD player and a collection of movies that, to be truthful, I rarely watch.
To say the very least this excision has not harmed me in any smallest way. I've a lot more time on my hands now and I find useful and interesting ways to fill it. It occurred to me just yesterday afternoon, in answer to an imagined question from an imaginary visitor, that I am never bored. I have no regular job, no visitors, no television, a limited supply of books - none of the things most people use to fill their time. And I...am...never...bored. Oh, sometimes I get tired of some particular activity. Then I go off and perform some other activity. There's no shortage of things to do, and I'm not just talking about dreary chores. There's all sorts of little construction projects (and one big one), there's canyons to be walked ... I've hiked these hills for years now, and they still surprise me around damned near every corner.
My own thoughts even fail to bore me. I remember once being almost terrified at the thought of being left with nothing whatever to do, because then I couldn't be distracted from my own thoughts, my own self. Well, with the exception of the boys my own self is the only company I've kept for the past eight months, and you know what? I'm not as bad as all that.
I wonder how many people spend all their disposable time on distraction. I wonder how many of them ever stop and ask themselves, distraction from what? What are we running from, that we need to bury our head in a box and blot out the world around us? If the world around us is that unbearable, the time has clearly come to either change it or move somewhere else. But that's not what we're trained to do. That's not what the TV has trained us to do. "I can't right now, Honey. Friends is on." Yeah - if we've ever heard or spoken a similar line, it should be a clear sign to us that there's a real problem.
Step one toward a more fulfilling and purposeful life, I think: Kill Your TV.
All about us it was peaceful, and except that some might argue I'd have used my time more profitably with a non-fiction book there was nothing the least bit unhealthy in any part of the mix. I was thinking about that this sunrise, while making honey butter and planning my day. I grew up addicted to television, as I suppose many people in my generation did. When I was old enough to start making my own decisions I scheduled many and many an evening and weekend around the TV Guide. If I could have back all the hours I wasted on that idiot box, I'd probably be in my thirties now.
I cut back to movies and a few specific cable channels maybe ten years ago, but still spent the majority of my slack time in front of the box. The fare may have been a bit less unwholesome, but it was still time pissed away never to return. A few years ago I kicked the whole thing loose. Now I've got a DVD player and a collection of movies that, to be truthful, I rarely watch.
To say the very least this excision has not harmed me in any smallest way. I've a lot more time on my hands now and I find useful and interesting ways to fill it. It occurred to me just yesterday afternoon, in answer to an imagined question from an imaginary visitor, that I am never bored. I have no regular job, no visitors, no television, a limited supply of books - none of the things most people use to fill their time. And I...am...never...bored. Oh, sometimes I get tired of some particular activity. Then I go off and perform some other activity. There's no shortage of things to do, and I'm not just talking about dreary chores. There's all sorts of little construction projects (and one big one), there's canyons to be walked ... I've hiked these hills for years now, and they still surprise me around damned near every corner.
My own thoughts even fail to bore me. I remember once being almost terrified at the thought of being left with nothing whatever to do, because then I couldn't be distracted from my own thoughts, my own self. Well, with the exception of the boys my own self is the only company I've kept for the past eight months, and you know what? I'm not as bad as all that.
I wonder how many people spend all their disposable time on distraction. I wonder how many of them ever stop and ask themselves, distraction from what? What are we running from, that we need to bury our head in a box and blot out the world around us? If the world around us is that unbearable, the time has clearly come to either change it or move somewhere else. But that's not what we're trained to do. That's not what the TV has trained us to do. "I can't right now, Honey. Friends is on." Yeah - if we've ever heard or spoken a similar line, it should be a clear sign to us that there's a real problem.
Step one toward a more fulfilling and purposeful life, I think: Kill Your TV.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
I found this little video while surfing,
And it's pretty good stuff. I don't subscribe to some nice things the writer/narrator has to say about the first GW in comparison with Lincoln, but other than that I can find little to quibble with.
On a nasty day...
We sit inside the scriptorium and surf the web.
I've been blocked so long it's hard to remember sometimes that part of my original reason for coming out here was so I could write. I did write a novel, one of my favorites, in record time. Since then, except for some uninspired short stories and this blog I've been pretty much a would-be writer.
So anyway that's why, on this changeable but consistently cold and blustery day I'm surfing instead of writing. The only alternative that presents itself as rational is to go back to the lair and read more of my landlady's historical romances. Been doing a hell of a lot of that already. This time of the winter, it's hard to remember that most of the year it's summer.
I've been blocked so long it's hard to remember sometimes that part of my original reason for coming out here was so I could write. I did write a novel, one of my favorites, in record time. Since then, except for some uninspired short stories and this blog I've been pretty much a would-be writer.
So anyway that's why, on this changeable but consistently cold and blustery day I'm surfing instead of writing. The only alternative that presents itself as rational is to go back to the lair and read more of my landlady's historical romances. Been doing a hell of a lot of that already. This time of the winter, it's hard to remember that most of the year it's summer.
Had a little fight with the locals yesterday evening.
Between five-thirty and six, as things were settling down in the lair after Snacky Time, Ghost suddenly came out of his curl and shot for the door. This wasn't a "woof, dammit, forgot to go bark at the coyotes" sort of thing, but a chest-roar "all hands on deck to repel boarders" sort of thing. By the time I got to the door to let him out Fritz was well into the act, and they both shot right out of the yard, off the ridge and down the slope before I fully realized they'd yanked the door right out of my hand in their haste.
By the time I grabbed my carbine and got to a place where I could see what was going on, Ghost was in the middle of the meadow mixing it up with something. And I never did quite see what it was, as the light was starting to go and my eyes aren't what I could wish. It was a bit smaller than him, grayish, and it seemed to me that it moved like a cat. They were dancing around each other, but I only got a moment's look because Fritz was much slower than Ghost but no less determined to get in on the action. When whatever it was saw the Hound of the Baskervilles closing on it - and possibly me behind him, though the sight of the dog would have been enough for me - then whatever it was decided to check out doings in Wisconsin or some other far-away place. I wanted a shot at the thing, if only to find out for sure what the hell it was, but there were too many dogs about. So I contented myself with a few shots in the air to speed up the procession and keep it wanting to be far, far away. Ghost chased it, but I've seen him run faster - he'd pretty clearly decided that as long as it left the precinct of the meadow, honor had been served. He'd come the closest of us to exchanging blows with the thing, and in cooler blood he seemed to vote for discretion. Smart dog.
It was about the right size for a full-size bobcat, but I've never seen one that far into open ground or anywhere near so close to a dwelling. So I can't say for sure what it was.
By the time I grabbed my carbine and got to a place where I could see what was going on, Ghost was in the middle of the meadow mixing it up with something. And I never did quite see what it was, as the light was starting to go and my eyes aren't what I could wish. It was a bit smaller than him, grayish, and it seemed to me that it moved like a cat. They were dancing around each other, but I only got a moment's look because Fritz was much slower than Ghost but no less determined to get in on the action. When whatever it was saw the Hound of the Baskervilles closing on it - and possibly me behind him, though the sight of the dog would have been enough for me - then whatever it was decided to check out doings in Wisconsin or some other far-away place. I wanted a shot at the thing, if only to find out for sure what the hell it was, but there were too many dogs about. So I contented myself with a few shots in the air to speed up the procession and keep it wanting to be far, far away. Ghost chased it, but I've seen him run faster - he'd pretty clearly decided that as long as it left the precinct of the meadow, honor had been served. He'd come the closest of us to exchanging blows with the thing, and in cooler blood he seemed to vote for discretion. Smart dog.
It was about the right size for a full-size bobcat, but I've never seen one that far into open ground or anywhere near so close to a dwelling. So I can't say for sure what it was.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Joel's Secret Lair, Final Edition
I hear that you're building
Your little house
Deep in the desert...
You're living for nothing now
I hope you're keeping
Some kind of record...
Leonard Cohen, Famous Blue Raincoat
Your little house
Deep in the desert...
You're living for nothing now
I hope you're keeping
Some kind of record...
Leonard Cohen, Famous Blue Raincoat
The shell of Joel's Secret Lair was actually supposed to have been complete before winter, but last year sort of went to hell. At some point you need to just stop feeling guilty about what you're not going to accomplish and say, screw it.
But the weather is getting intermittently non-miserable, and it's time to start getting serious. This morning broke cloudy, windy and cold. But then it took one of its weird turns and - for a space of about three hours - turned t-shirt gorgeous. Now, of course, it's blowing half a gale. But that window of nice gave me a chance to deliver the footer forms I'd loaded in the trailer yesterday. Or so I thought.
I'd already noted that over the winter a good bit of the rough trench I dug last fall had filled in. I'm going to need to work on a dike for the little gully I thought was sufficient to keep water and mud from running into my site, because...well, because it's less sufficient than I thought.
It may not look like much now, just a tiny little rectangle of trench. But before too awfully long there'll be a little stucco cabin on this site, if I just stay with it.
Yeah, they're a lot of help. But at least they find a shady tree and enjoy the change of scene, staying out of my way. I needed to dig out the mud and stuff that had partially filled in my trench, plus there was one corner I didn't finish before because I ran into a bunch of rocks. Today I finished the rough trench and hauled in the 2x12s for the forms.
The plan was to carry the lumber down the hill to the site, but by the time I finished with those @#$! rocks I felt like I was doing good just to get them out of the trailer and stacked. So there's only two or three at the site. These are some of the recycled 2x12s that are too short or too damaged to serve as floor joists. Perfect for concrete forms.
Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads!
Actually, a road would be nice. It's part of the plan, but for now I'm shlepping materials down the hill or through the wash. That's going to get old, especially since I need about two pallets of concrete bags. A driveway may move its way up the list of priorities.
Updates to follow.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Yeah, sorry about that...
Sometimes, as CM said, even us hermity types get busy.
Landlady was due this weekend, and Friday was basically just one of those days when nothing worth - or even seemingly worth - blogging occurred to me. So there's a couple of empty days for which I apologize to anyone who cares.
Very pleasant weekend, though. The landlady's visits are the only time I ever get to cook for someone else, which is a treat. Plus eating actual real-people-type meals is a treat, since I usually don't bother for myself. This weekend there was some talk about my nutrition, or possibly malnutrition.
We got a bunch of chores done. There's a trailer that's been overflowing with junk since I cleaned up some stuff and demolished the old wellhouse, and we took all that to the dump on Saturday. A trip to town, where we got some mulch for the fruit trees and made a few other stops. In this town it's basically impossible to buy fuel on a weekend, but that's okay since I topped off just two weeks ago and haven't completely emptied a single tank or can since then. Next weekend I'll be taking a longer trip, and there'll be time to worry about it then. Then we spent some time working on the barn's workshop, which is very slowly beginning to resemble an actual workspace instead of a room containing random things. Very soon there'll be a real furnace making real heat and a real water heater making real hot water which in turn opens the way for a REAL SHOWER. Conventionally rigorous personal hygiene: what a concept. I have a shower in the lair, but only about five gallons of hot water at a time which makes showers rather rushed and unsatisfying affairs. Plus in the winter it's just too frickin' cold to do more than sponge-bathe. Visits to the city that involve actual townie showers are worth it for that reason along. Looking forward to having one of our own.
On that trip to the city, I'm afraid Butch the Cat will be joining me and he's not going to like it. He has taken to expressing his rampant maleness in the one way I'm just not prepared to put up with, IE spraying inside the lair. Nope, not having that. So I can take him out and shoot him behind a tree, or I can take him to a vet and get his balls cut off. Not sure which I'd choose if it were me, but I know which I'm choosing for him.
Anyway, more later.
Landlady was due this weekend, and Friday was basically just one of those days when nothing worth - or even seemingly worth - blogging occurred to me. So there's a couple of empty days for which I apologize to anyone who cares.
Very pleasant weekend, though. The landlady's visits are the only time I ever get to cook for someone else, which is a treat. Plus eating actual real-people-type meals is a treat, since I usually don't bother for myself. This weekend there was some talk about my nutrition, or possibly malnutrition.
We got a bunch of chores done. There's a trailer that's been overflowing with junk since I cleaned up some stuff and demolished the old wellhouse, and we took all that to the dump on Saturday. A trip to town, where we got some mulch for the fruit trees and made a few other stops. In this town it's basically impossible to buy fuel on a weekend, but that's okay since I topped off just two weeks ago and haven't completely emptied a single tank or can since then. Next weekend I'll be taking a longer trip, and there'll be time to worry about it then. Then we spent some time working on the barn's workshop, which is very slowly beginning to resemble an actual workspace instead of a room containing random things. Very soon there'll be a real furnace making real heat and a real water heater making real hot water which in turn opens the way for a REAL SHOWER. Conventionally rigorous personal hygiene: what a concept. I have a shower in the lair, but only about five gallons of hot water at a time which makes showers rather rushed and unsatisfying affairs. Plus in the winter it's just too frickin' cold to do more than sponge-bathe. Visits to the city that involve actual townie showers are worth it for that reason along. Looking forward to having one of our own.
On that trip to the city, I'm afraid Butch the Cat will be joining me and he's not going to like it. He has taken to expressing his rampant maleness in the one way I'm just not prepared to put up with, IE spraying inside the lair. Nope, not having that. So I can take him out and shoot him behind a tree, or I can take him to a vet and get his balls cut off. Not sure which I'd choose if it were me, but I know which I'm choosing for him.
Anyway, more later.
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