Fossil Fuels Suck!

My brother-in-law in Kansas was without power for three days, and apparently, there are still people in Oklahoma and Kansas who don't have power. And unless you have a generator, without power, you don't have heat. Which makes it pretty cold, even inside the house, right? Since we've moved out in the middle of nowhere and now heat our house with propane, we've become much more aware of our energy consumption. Our tank is now depleted down to 20% - and it's not even January yet! Which means we're going to have to buy more propane soon. Again. In bulk. Which means another $500 we're going to have to pull out of thin air. (I wish!)

So Michael got the idea... why don't we just turn off the propane? Let's see how cold it really gets? I mean, nevermind the blizzard we just had and all. Really. Because our bedroom and the upstairs are SUPER warm when the heat's on. Sometimes we'll even crack a window at night. We have steam heat, and man, does it rise! Maybe we don't even need heat, we reasoned... I mean, the people in Oklahoma have gone ten days now... how cold can it get?

Let me tell you. Really fricking cold. Finger-numbing cold. I can barely feel mine as I'm typing, actually. Standard framed houses were built for fossil fuel heating on the grid, period. Cold seems to seep in from everywhere. So, no luck on the "Let's do winter without any heat" idea.

The thing is, when Michael turned it off, the pilot went out. And since we haven't had this kind of setup before, he's not sure how to get it back on. So he's going to call today and find out. In the meantime, I'm freezing. Two sweaters, two pairs of socks, a down comforter, and my nose and toes and fingers are still frigid.

So I decided to start a fire. I've started fires before. How hard can it be?

You see where this is going, don't ya?

No, I didn't blow up the house. Thank god. But my fire sucked. It sucked so bad I called Michael at work, my teeth chattering, to complain about my fire-building skills. He said, "Let me call you back in ten minutes."

Instead, he came home. Nice, that he works only six miles away still. He came home and built me a big, warm, toasty fire that is still burning two hours later. All I have to do is keep putting logs on it.

Don't I have the sweetest husband ever?

And thankfully, I'm not blue-faced and chattering like Alvin and the Chipmunks anymore. Now I just have to cough up the dough for more propane. *sigh* I'm seriously considering Michael's talk of moving off the grid and building solar!

Wordless Wednesday: November 28. 2007

MARRIED LION

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Afternoon Delight

For two years, Michael commuted fifty miles one way to work every day. That means he put 500 miles a week on the vehicle he drove. When gas was $3.10 a gallon, he sometimes spend over $100 a week in gas alone.

He had to be there at eight in the morning, which meant setting the alarm for five, so he could leave no later than seven. He worked until five p.m. (He gets a one hour lunch). Then he would start the long odyssey home again. Fifty miles. He would usually arrive home somewhere between six and six-thirty.

That meant that five days a week, he was gone eleven to twelve hours a day. When he came home, he was very tired. I would have dinner on the table by seven, most nights. By eight, it would be cleaned up, the kids bathed, and time for them to go to bed. Michael would get, perhaps, an hour or so with them at night.

Three nights a week, he would have clients. At first, he would have to go into the office (sometimes straight to it, missing dinner altogether) until he switched his practice to online. After he did that, he'd at least be home in the livingroom working on his laptop. That was a nice change, and afforded us a little more time together.

Michael is a night person, not a morning person, so that means we were awake until at least eleven. Sometimes midnight. Sunday nights were the worst, because he'd caught up on a little sleep (I always let him sleep in on the weekends if I could) and he was resentful of the week-long odyssey he was facing, so he would defiantly want to stay up late. There were Sunday nights we were up until two or three in the morning watching movies--and when his alarm went off at five in the morning, he would groan and hit it... but he'd still get up.

I honestly don't know how he survived it.

Now that we'd moved, however, his drive has gone from fifty miles down down to five. He can make it home in ten minutes (as long as he doesn't get stuck behind a farm vehicle!)

He went from this:

(his route is detailed in red)

To this:


See that tiny little red dot near the bottom? That's where we used to live. In case you can't see his route, it's the green "start" and red "end" near the top righthand side of the picture there. See it? Look close...

Big difference, huh?

He leaves at seven-thirty in the morning (but doesn't have to get up until six-thirty!) He's home by five-fifteen most nights. Five thirty at the latest. And the best part? Three days a week, he even gets to come home in the middle of the day... most of the time for lunch... once in a while for a little "afternoon delight."

Days like today I think moving here was the best thing we ever did!

Thursday Thirteen #2: 13 Places I Love To Be Kissed

13 Places I Love To Be
Kissed

1. Under the
mistletoe

2. At the door when he’s
leaving

3. At the door when he’s coming
home

4. Against the wall – any
wall

5. A quiet corner of the
restaurant

6. In front of the fireplace

7. Cuddled on the couch

8. A street corner

9. Pulled into an
alleyway

10. In the rain

11. In the hot tub

12. In the shower

13. Anywhere he
wants