Comparing Apples and Oranges

So we replaced our ~25 year old boiler with a sleek new 92% efficient one last November, and finally the gas company has sent us a REAL (not estimated) gas bill that is 100% the new boiler.  But I still don’t know how much less we’re using.

December vs. January: I’m an idiot and didn’t read my own frigging meter on December 13th.  I figured January would make the difference obvious… Except that January was 13 degrees F warmer than last year, and to help us purge the lines faster our boiler installer recommended we keep the temperature in the house as warm as we can stand it (65 degrees F – we can’t even sleep with our lovely fluffy comforter and the one dog acts like it’s summer he pants so much).  So this bill reflects 7.1 MCF “actual” usage (estimated for december was 7.2 MCF, based on the previous 12 months and the temperature), but probably more than that was used in January than December (when we kept the house cooler, and it was warmer outside).  Last year, January’s “actual” (including whatever leftovers from December’s estimate) was 14.9… But there’s that 13 degrees difference in average temperature.  And we’re not running any heat at all through an entire room that used to receive heat, but we did actually insulate that room and install doors (but no handles…).

Spreadsheet to the rescue.  I found December’s bill, and noticed that last year the same months were estimated and “actual”.  So I can compare an average of 2010′s December+January, and an average of 2011′s December+January.  Using the average external temperature, and the average internal temperatures, I can find the average temperature change I used the boilers to induce in the house.  Stay with me, it’s not that bad.  In December/January 2010 I used our old boiler to make the house an average of 29.5 degrees F warmer than the outside.  In 2011 it was 21 degrees F.  Thus in 2010, for those two months, the old boiler used an average of 0.53 MCF per degree to raise the temperature of the house (assuming the load and loss are both linear); in 2011 the new boiler used an average of 0.35 MCF per degree to raise the temperature of the house.  This is not taking in to account the poorly insulated (2010) and unheated but better insulated (2011) back room that is still under construction.  Still, that’s a pretty decent difference, about 33% less energy used (per degree F).

My math is solid, my assumptions are suspect, but it entertains me.  Ultimately I do trust that the new 92% efficient boiler IS more efficient than the old one.  I believe that it is due to the change in design and construction more than I believe that it is true due to my “back of the envelope” calculations, but I am an engineer.

I like to learn things, so I think the lesson I’ll take away from this is: it’s not just what you use, it’s how you use it.  Using the least efficient boiler on the planet to keep the house just warm enough to avoid a plumbing disaster will likely take less energy (and be cheaper) than using a 98% ultra efficient boiler to create a tropical paradise complete with tropically heated breezes from open windows.  But since we can turn the thermostat down with the efficient boiler too, I know eventually we will see a conclusive difference.  Our annual MCF usage is down from ~64 to ~52 already (I think that’s all the new water heater, but this next year will be the boiler + water heater).

If I were a betting woman, I’d have tried to sell the house before replacing the boiler, but I’m conservative.  I figured I’d have to replace it anyway, it adds value to the house, and I might as well get to enjoy it.  I’m just a little peeved that my enjoyment isn’t immediately quantified on my gas bill.

Banishing the Ugly

I bought my house 6 years ago, not as an investment but as a rescue.  When I was looking at it, I saw floors that needed to be refinished, garage door that needed replacing, an old decaying roof soon in need of repair, nasty kitchen that needed new floor and facelifted cabinets, disgusting paint jobs that required three coats of primer, 100% window replacement required, insulation that needed to be added, boiler, water heater, fridge, and stove that needed to go, and a chimney that needed to be rebuilt.  When I made it to the bathroom, I gave a sign of relief.  It was recently redone, diy by previous owners, and all modernized and functional.  It was a hideous color and looked like a peach birthday cake icing’s revenge nightmare, but it worked. No leaks, no chips, no cracks, no gaps, no old and busted.  Just new, functional, and ugly.

One week of taking showers in my new bathroom and the paint started cracking. The texture started peeling.  My bithday cake icing bathroom walls and ceiling had leperosy (aka DIYosis).  Top it off with the fact that I’d noticed that every single fixture and useful object had been installed off center (and off center relative to each other as well), and I wanted to cry.  I think I did, but I’m not sure – in self defense I’ve blocked my memories of that painful day.  Since then, every shower, every flush, every morning and every evening, I walk in to the leperous room and scowl at the walls, occasionally stifling a scream and picking a paint and drywall compound scab off in a fit of aggravation.

I have made it almost all the way through the rest of the house with all the repairs and improvements it needed.  Attic fan, floors, paint, patching, electrical work, garage door, steps, almost everything is done.  But I kept putting off the bathroom.  I didn’t want to rent the sander, and spackle the ceiling, and patch and paint – at least a week’s worth of effort and a couple hundred dollars.  But I’ve got momentum now.  And a recommended plasterer who doesn’t work high as a kite (sordid story there).  So we emptied our bathroom – we took down the mirror that was 2 feet too high to be useful.  We removed the medicine cabinet that was mounted such that washing one’s face was an exercise in self inflicted frontal lobotomy.   We removed the tiny beaded sconces mounted behind said medicine cabinet, illuminating the cardboard backing of the garish, oversized, lobotomizing mirror.  We removed the picture of the naked rock climbing man that I put up in a misdirected fit of athletic artsiness.  We removed the towel rack and TP holders, both installed in the worst possible locations precluding their use.  We removed the worst of the bathroom offenses.

All going to charity.  I’m not in a hurry to replace them.  When the plasterers are done, we’ll put some things back, but not all, and definitely not in the same places.  I really just want to see what it looks like first.  I can’t imagine the space without the birthday cake icing leperocy walls.  I have high hopes for some second hand cabinetry and a counter top that will allow removal of the “What The Hell Were They Thinking Add-On Linen Closet” from the most awkward position possible in the hall, but we’ll see when we get there.

What have I learned from this is that if you can identify a DIY job, it’s a bad job and will need to be repaired no matter what it looks like on the (currently smooth) surface.  If something needs to be repaired, putting it off for 6 years without finding out how easy and fast it is for a professional to fix is a stupid thing to do.  And if the slumlord who tried to pick you up across the campfire from his girlfriend recommends a plasterer, that isn’t “normal” and is not a data point to include in one’s decision-making criteria.

Charity Starts At Home

So continuing my household purge, I’ve managed to have a few epiphanies I’m ready to confess…

I will never play bassoon again.

I’m so sorry.  This has taken me 14 years or so.  I thought it was for me.  I wanted it to be for me.  I almost killed myself trying to do it, and came painfully close (maybe one year of conservatory doesn’t equal “almost” but man it felt close).  I never really recovered after a medical problem forced me to take off a long time… I was really good.  I could feel it when I didn’t practice for a few days, the difference was actually tangible in my muscles and joints.  After not playing for the weeks it took for the wounds to heal properly, listening to myself became more excruciating than any physical pain I’d felt.  I put it off.  I no longer loved it.  And I was petrified that everybody else heard the horribleness that had crept into my playing as well, as if I didn’t have performance anxiety to begin with.  So I dropped it.

“But some day I’ll get back to it and play casually, like in a community orchestra or WW5 or something. Yeah.”  This idea has kept the bassoon in its case, beside my piano, for 13 years.  I can’t fit in 10  minutes a day to pound on the piano for fun and stress relief – something that I was never emotionally tied to, requires no reeds or reed making, and can be done on any piano.  So I’m going to pick up the instrument that mistakenly defined my identity and worthiness as a human being for 8 years (that I abandoned, after great expense to those who love me) and tootle casually on a store bought reed?  I am more likely to successfully moonwalk.  On the moon.

So I’m letting it go.  I’m working with a former instructor who is helping me find a more appreciative and actively musical home for it.  The poor thing deserves better than to sit in a psychologically torturous position in my dining room.  It is a part of my past, and I am finally comfortable accepting that it will not be part of my future.  Now the relief is the tangible feeling, not the dread.

Bling is not my thing.

In my youth I wore a ring (or several) on every finger that would hold them.  I had more charms and necklaces than anybody I’d ever known put together.  I had two large, grownup sized jewelry boxes (full) by the time I was 15.  I am the only girl on my fathers’ side and inherited a stunning amount of stunning jewelry.  My father delights in finding unusual and beautiful natural stone jewelry to bejewel his darling daughter.  I don’t think I have ever intentionally parted with a single ornament.  I still own the plastic glow in the dark eyeballs that were awesome to wear at Halloween when I was 13.  I have an advent calendar worth of Christmas earrings.  I have the bracelet my cousin made in her college art class.  I have the paper and glitter string earings I made when I was 11.  I have a problem.

Ok, some (unmatched, broken plastic, paper) can be put in the trash.  Some (gem, heirloom) I actually wear on special occasions (at least once a year, “Tuesday” is special enough to qualify).  And I’ve got my “staples” which I put on sometimes and wear for weeks on end – small, simple, sentimental things.  But the bulk – the huge hippy earings I specialized in as a teenager, almost all the bracelets, the clashy but fun shell necklace – are awesome pieces for someone other than me.  Goodwill won’t take earings (the bulk of what needs to go).  Freecycle even failed.  I was close to pitching the excess glitter, but it seemed a waste of perfectly good shiny.

This morning I found Indigo Rescue who has an annual donated jewelry sale to support their animal rescue efforts.  This is perfect.  Jewelry I don’t wear will no longer be in my house, it will be enjoyed by other people, and puppies and kittens will be saved.  Talk about universal warm fuzzies.  I can pare down the collection to the pieces that truly matter to me, eliminating three of the four jewelry boxes I have.  I’ll no longer make us late to the opera because I can’t find the matching earring to the set I last wore 12 years ago amongst the rest of the jewelry box noise.  Did I mention saving puppies and kitties?

I have a Shawshank Library.

I’ve sold all the books I can at Half Priced Books ($85, chaching). I’ve donated all the books that Goodwill would take.  I’m left with a collection of books that, while I appreciated and enjoyed, I’d rather not own, but couldn’t find a new home.  Local libraries aren’t that interested.  But they match the requested reading list of Book ‘Em, a Pgh based charity that sends reading material to prisoners all over the country.  Self Improvement, How-to’s, Religious, Language Learning, Children’s, and Technical Non-fiction.  Perhaps it belies the underlying problem I’ve been having – I’m feeling trapped and have an intense desire to better myself in an attempt to escape.  Or it’s just what’s leftover after a year of purging.  Either way, that’s at least two sets of book shelves I don’t have to feel icky about not dusting anymore.  I can instead feel icky about not cleaning the blank floor where they once sat.

Bit by bit, the bird dismantles its nest so it can fly free.

What goes down must come up…

There’s something weird in knowing that the location we live in is temporary.  In reality, all locations anybody lives in is temporary, at least in a broader, more philosophical sense.  But our decision to move “as a family” (two humans, two dogs, and a cat) across the continent “at some point in the nearer future” has made the philosophically ephemeral much more concrete.  A lack of a moving date makes it a little softer than most people with my mindset usually deal with, but that’s not always a good thing.

Often, perhaps once a day or so, I look up from whatever I’m focused on, and I stare at an object – furniture, dishes, doo-dads, clothes, pictures – and I wonder, “Will we take that?”  I quickly weigh the effort to appropriately and responsibly remove it from our lives (sell it? give it away? donate it? upcycle? recycle? trash?), against the effort to safely transport it with us and house it in a new location (where square footage is an order of magnitude more expensive).  And I never complete the weighing.

Instead, I often get lost in reminders of why I have it.  Who gave it to us. Why we bought it. What it means to others.  What it was used for in the past.  Why we will never use it but still own it (oi, that’s a can of worms).  I have an example that will likely get me in trouble for posting, but it’s a good one.

I have a set of little tiny glasses.  They are gorgeous, but I don’t know what they are for. I’ve never used them or seen them used (they’re not shot glasses, but wouldn’t hold much more, and there are lots of them, enough for a dinner party worth of people to consume a very small amount of liquid in unison – who does that?).  I didn’t know they existed until they came into the house.  They entered in a box with a set of tea cups that I asked for or somehow otherwise (voluntarily, excitedly) acquired responsibility of ownership for.  I wanted the set of teacups, truly, for a single cup.

That cup, from when I could be trusted with very precious things, was always given to me to drink a little herbal tea after fancy family dinners when I was little.  When I look at the cup, I remember the stories Grandma told me (every time, I never tired of them) about the cup’s origin, the way the dragon shaped glazing felt on my little fingers, and the picture that shines through the bottom when you hold it to the light after you finished the tea (a very pretty lady’s face, and even she has stories I made up about her, I think my cousin has his own storied he made up before I was old enough to use the cup).  That cup is likely responsible for my being a hard core tea drinker and a little bit of an Asia-phile.  That cup represents, psychologically, the happiest times of my childhood, at those family dinners with everybody I loved most all in one place, well fed, ready to hug me and tell stories and play games after dinner.   That cup is my own personal real-life Norman Rockwell Painting.  I know my memories of these evenings are flawed, but I cherish every imagined moment of them.  Just like I cherish this cup.  We’re talking house on fire, take one possession (after all living beings are safe) kind of cherishing here.

But man that cup comes with some physical and emotional baggage.  An entire china cabinet of extremely delicate, very small, very beautiful and very precious objects that are never used worth of baggage.  In my head, the family considers the rest of the non-matching set of tea cups (acquired by a multi-generation variety of family bargain hunters at antique stores around the world) to be a single, precious, thing.  My sister has a favorite one too (it’s different from mine, but I don’t remember which it is).  I know there are stories about the little set of tiny glasses, I just don’t know them – but possessing them makes me responsible for those stories too.  It feels like the inverse of the old “for want of a nail, the kingdom fell” kind of thing.  Because of  a cup, a house is full.

So rather than conclude the weighing of pros and cons, keep or let go, I shake my head and return to my book, breakfast, computer, crocheting, pet, or husband.  But to get across the continent, I need to turn the populous cabinet into a solitary teacup, and repeat that action all over the house.  Some day my life will be divested of the objects that fill it – I’m lucky to get to choose when, but that doesn’t make it easier to do.

Winter is Too Warm…

So we recently replaced our boiler with a cast iron block, ultra efficiency boiler.  Put that in a smaller, heavily insulated house lived in by creatures that mostly prefer cooler temperatures, located in a climate that hasn’t seen more than one decently cold day so far, and you have a problem.  The thermostat kicks on the heater, and it starts efficiently chugging away.  The hot water begins circulating, and gets to the first floor (where the thermostat is located).  The first floor achieves the desired temperature (58 to 60 degrees, depending on time of day) and shuts the system off.  The air bubbles never got pushed around enough to make it to the vents to be released from the system – we have a handful of radiators that haven’t gotten warm at all.  So we were requested to keep the system up around 65 or more for the next two weeks or so, and keep venting.  THEN the boiler people will better be able to tell if there’s another issue that may also be keeping those radiators from heating up or not.  

I’d be more inclined to do this if I’d received a gas bill since the install, but I haven’t.  They installed it in mid November, so theoretically I’ve had a full month of new boiler.  I guess I can always shoot for a comparison in February instead of the first month.  It’d be easier if the gas company kept online user accounts and records I could review and save locally, but they are quite stone age, and I will NOT keep more than a year’s worth of paper bills, I just can’t do it.

In other news, the grain grinder I was so excited to order from Lehman’s, and then let languish in my kitchen, has found a newer, more appreciative home.  A very dear friend who seems to be able to thrive on 28 hour days has discovered it’s the perfect tool to, among other uses, hull his home-grown sun flower seeds to then feed his beautiful chickens.  In exchange, I get leftovers from his garden and harvest, which includes dried garlic bits (like you find in Johnny Carino’s garlic/herb/oil to dip bread into, yeah, that stuff, OMG), and Good Mother Stallard Beans (hello SOUP!).  The beans takes a lot of cultivation, the garlic turns out is a lot easier (but if possible, should be dried in an outside oven or when temps are low enough to vent the house, lest the whole house involuntarily cry with garlicky glee).

In place of the grain grinder, I’ve got the worlds most powerful food processor, which I think I wrote about earlier.  This thing does nut butters – and I can start with whole nuts.  It’s got a dough thing, it slices, it doesn’t dice, though, and it purees (but I’ve discovered a food mill does even better at pureeing some things).  I bet they sell an attachment for whisking, then I could make home made marshmallows. 

Which brings me to my new I-can’t-wait-to-check-this-out-of-the-library obsession.  Make the Bread, Buy the Butter by Jennifer Reese.  Seems she’s done what I’m making my way through doing, though with some detours to foods I don’t particularly feel the need to make or buy (prosciutto? meh.)  Heard about it on the Splendid Table on NPR, and am now extremely focused on attempting to make my own marshmallows, but I don’t have a stand mixer.  I think I can do with a hand mixer, but some day I will try with the old fashioned kind (now sadly unavailable – at least I got mine!).  I once managed to whip a meringue with just a wire whisk, I’m pretty sure me and egg whites have an understanding, the mayonnaise nightmares were just a disagreement among friends.  Regardless, I believe this book will be a most excellent winter read, to keep me inspired in the kitchen.

Giving Thanks

While I struggle to contain my Inner Christmas Elf until a more appropriate time, I figured it’s a good time to put together a list of the top 10 things I’m feeling gratitude for lately.  I’ve got hundreds of reasons to be thankful, but these have been front and center lately so I figured I’d share.

1.   The dog.  She does NOT allow rationalization.  All she knows is that I’m home, she’s home, why have we not left for the park or gone for a run?  She also hates computers or any type of screen, and she loves it when we cook (only give her veg scraps she still loves it) and even likes it when we clean.  So pretty much when I do the things I should, I get happy waggy tail and puppy licks.  When I do the things I shouldn’t, I get sad puppy eyes, whimpering, and the “please, no more” paw.  REALLY makes it easy to do the right thing.

2.   The handiest, most patient stepdad on the PLANET (sorry to all other stepdads out there).  Couldn’t take the back room the way it was, couldn’t make the time to fix it ourselves, resigned to hire someone, I realized that my stepdad had just finished playing GC on their fabulous bathroom re-do, and this job is easier (or so we thought).  Money stays in the family, I get to see my step dad more often, and the room is being redone by a guy that I’ve trusted with my life for most of it.  Does not get better than that.

3.   Craigslist.  I just got an early christmas present – a new-to-us dining room set.  6 chairs and a table with a leaf (can probably seat 10 if they’re friendly, 8 if they’re not).  Pretty wood, padded comfy chairs that also are covered in plastic (easy to keep clean!), all for a song.  Bought from a lovely couple who were moving and didn’t want to take it with.  When we’re done with them, we can likewise sell or donate them, and they’ll go to good use. (Also thanks to the hubby who “gets it” and found it!)

4.  Bob’s Service in Dravosburg. He works on VW’s, I have one that often needs work.  He makes it affordable to have an old but efficient car that I drive way too much.  He’s fast and cheap and does really good work, and I can actually trust him.  If I didn’t have him, I’d have had to trade in my car a long time ago, and finding another car that gets 45-50 mpg city for under $5k… never going to happen.

5.  Denis Papin, French physicist and mathematician (1647-1712).  Why?  Aside from being a physicist and mathematician (and thus inherently awesome), he invented the pressure cooker in 1679.  Yup, I’m still loving the frigging pressure cooker.  One pot meals have never been so tasty.

6.   Ikea.  Ok, more specifically, their glass canisters with silicon rings that come in a variety of sizes.  I have old ceramic canisters with rubber rings, but they are solid and… I need the clear.  Label all you want, I need to see what’s in there, and how much is there.  I need the visual reminder “cook me!” Was using mason jars, but the old rusty lids are just no good, and the sizes are not quite right.  Ikea’s canisters are affordable, durable, dishwasher safe, clear, glass… everything one could hope for in a kitchen storage device.

7.  Bacteria.  Just bought two books I’ve been oggling for two years or more, “The Home Creamery” and “Wild Fermentation“.  By spring, I want to be able to make my own mozarella and kombucha.  The more digging I do, the more I find that my favorite foods require bacteria or yeast (or both) do help out in the kitchen.  Yum.

8.  Goodwill and Construction Junction.  Without them, my decluttering process would be dismal and depressing.  Knowing “this erstwhile favorite thing in fantastic shape that I simply don’t want to own anymore” will go to a new home and the exchange will send money to a good place makes the process easier.

9.  People who donate cool clothes my size to Goodwill.  In slimming down my closet, I’ve found a handful of items can be replaced with single versatile pieces – if I can find those pieces.  Enter the good people of my community who drop off exactly what I need at Goodwill.  Without the donaters, I’d have to shop for real, and spend real money at it, blech.

10.  My job.  Ok, not expected.  But every day I get to go and work with people I really like, doing things that are interesting enough, and I actually feel helpful and useful.  I may not agree with a lot of the business, or the policies, and I may not like all the people, but the good now really does outweigh the bad.  With the re-configuring of the shuttle in January, it will, for the first time since I started, be a pretty sweet gig.

That’s my top ten.  Right now.  Like I said, I’ve got hundreds, probably thousands.  I’m a lucky gal, and I know it.

Bring it on, Jack Frost…

As I’ve previously written, the boiler that came with the house when I bought it reached its life expectancy last year.  I’d been told it didn’t have long, but nobody could tell me how long.  And everyone knows, heating systems never fail on the last chilly day in April, they go on the first frigid Saturday evening in January – preferably on a three day weekend, during a snow emergency.

So we chose a preemptive strike – a balmy Tuesday in early November to replace our poor beast. The guys doing the work are Ventec Heating and Refrigeration, and so far I can’t recommend them highly enough.  Their sales guy did a lot of work to figure out and quote precisely the right boiler for us, and the work is going quickly, quietly, and with little disruption to our lives.  Really nice.  And their quote is less than the other guys, not alarmingly so, but by just enough.

The boiler we went with is the next generation Weil-McLain GV90+3, a small cast iron PVC vented 80kBTU boiler with a 7 pass heat exchanger that gets about 91.9% efficiency.   Given that our old one, newly and freshly and perfectly installed (it wasn’t) may have once been as high as 80% efficient and was 150kBTU (the technical term is “ginormous”), the difference should be noticeable immediately (well, as soon as the heat actually gets turned on).

Cast iron because it has a longer life – that boiler has a warranty of about 20 years, its life expectancy is estimated between 35 and 50 years.  The other option is an aluminum heat exchanger, which can have problems with water pH (only an issue when you drain/refill the system), and typically has  warranties of 5-10 years but is expected to last 10-20 years (our old one is aluminum, and I’ve personally had to drain and refill the system three times – no pH monitoring, so who knows).  So I chose the longer lasting lower maintenance one.

But why did I choose a boiler that was only 91.9% efficient, when there are 98% efficient models out there?  The higher efficiency models are aluminum, for one, and they don’t come small enough for the house (I think the smallest they could find was a 96% efficient 105kBTU, which is almost twice what the house needs), and they’re way more expensive (like 25%).  Keeping the house at 60F when we’re there, 57F when we’re not, with such a small and well insulated house, the difference is peanuts, and the savings disappears with a boiler that will last twice as long, lowering the lifetime cost of heating the house in the long run.  Maybe I’m rationalizing, but it seemed pretty clear to me.

Bonus – we’re getting the house zoned.  So when you’ve got different radiator styles, or portions of the house that are occupied very differently, you can put in valves and multiple thermostats, allowing a single boiler to service the different zones and maintain different comfort levels accordingly.  The bulk of the house is big old cast iron radiators that the cat (and I) love to sit on and stare out the window or read a book (me, not the cat).  The back room, a former porch enclosed some time in the 1950′s or 1960′s, has aluminum fin baseboard heat.  We’re re-doing it, finally, and that’ll be another post, but the different radiators (and insulation levels, and the lack of a subfloor over the slab roof of the unheated garage), meant that room was freezing in the winter and made the whole 1st floor drafty.  Turns out the house WAS zoned, but at some point the valves broke, were switched manually open, and thus the zoning was no more.  Well, to the tune of a couple hundred dollars, we’re zoning it again.  Between that, the extra insulation, the new cork underlay and tile floor, and the new doors to enclose the room, that room will now have a chance at actually being comfortable.  I’m a little worried about cycling the boiler for such a small area, but I’ll ask the boiler guys about it.

I also recently did the numbers for the summer utilities, and discovered an interesting thing – the new hot water heater, the only source of gas use in the summer, theoretically, uses about half the gas as our old one did last summer.  What mystifies me is that we still used gas during the three months that the boiler and hot water heater were off.  Like more gas than we did this summer, with both being on.  I don’t get that.  I’m afraid of what I might find out if I investigated, and I don’t trust the gas company to sort it out at all (they have a vested interest in my using MORE, not less).  We’ll see how this winter’s numbers shake down.

Fall Back or Spring Forward

So with the extra hour today, I figured I’d catch up.  What I’ve been up to:

When vacation is a study in sustainability: 2 weeks in France, where mass transit and local organic foods are the norm.  That country is delicious.  Coming back was rough, made easier by 1) returning to the cutest puppy in the world and 2) we ran out of money half way through (and all we bought was meals).  Hubby is now a mass transit fan (could have cried when he out of the blue asked “so, why doesn’t Pittsburgh have a metro like this?).

When work gets better: the work shuttle is starting a new policy January 1, going on a ticket based system, with direct withdrawl and reusable tickets.  So even though it will cost $15 to get to/from work once, I won’t be paying for days I don’t use.  AND those two hours will be wi-fi powered work hours, rather than hours lost to sitting and listening to Lady Gaga’s latest creation (from two years ago, like all Pgh radio).  That all adds up to a cheaper, easier commute, and the bike will be coming back.  WOOT!

Daisy (our dog) is fast.  She’s wicked fast.  And she’s got stamina.  Our morning runs are for me, even she recognizes this now.  So we’ve been trying to get her to the dog park to let her really stretch her legs.  Result?  Happier, more social dog, happier more social me.  Win.

Upon returning from vacation I had several “mundane epiphanies”.  When put down on paper they are more “duh” moments than “aha!”s.  The results, however are fabulous.  I like my job much better than I have since I started, and I’m better organized and functional than before.  Sort of a “declutter” of the work life, the way I’ve been decluttering at home.  ”Inbox” is not a filing cabinet kind of thing.  Visual tricks to keep from getting overwhelmed.  When I’m supposed to be in meetings for 6 hours out of every day, and I get over 200 emails a day (not including the automatic distribution ones), something had to be done.  Life, for 10 hours a day, is now much, much better.

Speaking of decluttering, some home improvements we’ve been doing lately have helped me realize that we’re not done.  We’ve just finished round 1, and round 2 will not be easier.  We’ve temporarily lost the use of two of our rooms, so all that STUFF is now sitting in our unusable dining room, just in time for the holidays.  That’s the next project.

So I’m resolving, on this daylight savings time changing day, to fall back into those old decluttering habits, and spring forward with energy and vigor, attacking the detritus of life that has somehow built up over the summer.  That, and learn French cooking this winter.  It should be a very satisfying and delicious winter.  That’s the plan, anyway.

Furniture that Breeds Like Rabbits

There’s a tricky thing that happens when a young person finds themself in a long-term independent living situation, like home ownership.   Wonderful friends and family do their best to help the young person out with the odd piece of furniture or appliance.   Very soon, with very little to no effort on the young persons’ part, the dwelling is nicely furnished and the kitchen is complete.  This point in time, for me, happened some time ago.  Normal people seem to learn to say “why thank you, but I don’t think I need a fourteenth full sized book case” or “how lovely, this crockpot is larger than the three Aunties Julie, Judie, and Junie gave me, so I’ll take this and maybe find a cousin who can use an old one.”   I have never been normal.  I instead have collected and amassed.  Add a husband and his stuff and several downsizing grandparents and their stuff, and our house was stuffed to the gills.  And as the youngest in my family, I have nobody to hand down to (I married into a family whose younger relatives are all smarter than I am, so they won’t take any of my treasures). 

I didn’t realize how stuffed our house was until we started to try and empty it.  Monday at noon a Construction Junction truck, a big one, came and took away the better part of an entire single car garage full of stuff away (full wall to wall, floor to ceiling, FULL).  This is after what I’m guessing is over seven car loads (FULL) of stuff to Goodwill and Construction Junction, and I’ll admit several trashbags of stuff that wasn’t usable or donatable (unnecessary memories and aspirations taking up physical space and mental energy). 

And yet, do we live in an empty shell, a monument to minimalism and ascetism?  Nope.  Still Full.  I’ve identified at least three more pieces of furniture I’d like to get rid of and still have a basement of boxes to ditch.  I’ve got a car load or more of goodies for Creative Reuse, too.  And what on earth do I do with the Subaru Forester wheel, roof rack, and trunk space cover sitting in my garage?  They’re from two cars ago, still good, and taking up space.  And they have lots of friends.  The purging saga continues.

On the plus side, I’ve discovered another celery stubstitute.  Chard Stems.  So Lovage leaves/stems have the lovely Celery flavor, but not the Celery texture.  Chard Stems have the lovely celery texture, but not the flavor.  Both Chard and Lovage are easy to grow here with little effort or forethought or tending (and Lovage is perrenial!).  Celery is not easy to grow, and I don’t remember ever seeing any locally available in stores.  So combined Chard stems and Lovage leaves, I’ve got the perfect, local, celery stubstitute.  Very excited about that, especially since it seems that I’m the only one who knows it, so nobody else likes to eat Chard stems, but everybody else grows chard.  Fantastic.  (I don’t think that spilling the secret here will cause a run on chard at the stores.)

Last exciting thing is my new favorite trick for acquiring a lovely new habit – going for a nice run every morning.  I don’t know why, but my own health and well being simply wasn’t enough to do it enough to get momentum going.  But the health and welfare of a short-lived, innocent, previously mistreated creature, our “new” dog, somehow got me going enough mornings in a row to get me over the hump.  Previously it had been difficult to restart any running regimen – my neighborhood is small enough that I get bored almost instantly, and leaving it anywhere near rush hour on foot is a harrowing experience.  Alone, it feels pointless.  With the dog, I’m preventing hip displasia, I’m giving her a better chance at spending more time chasing squirrels and laying in creeks, bonding with her, helping her behave well, and building her confidence.  I like the company, makes it feel useful, fun.  And fun habits are easy to keep, even when they’re good for me.

No wheels, no way

So I got in my car one morning about two weeks ago, turned the key, and not much happened – including not driving to work.  Long story short, I was sans voiture for 10 days.

Which wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but I also had a bicycle with a busted valve (permanent flat), and no spare tube.  So no biking to the shuttle (which I couldn’t take anyway, when they started charging me I canceled).  Forty miles is a little much to walk.  Slim carpool chances, little difficult to set up.

Ok, so work has this fantastic thing called Virtual Private Network, turning my home office into my office office.  So I figured I’ll wait on the mechanic, but then it took way too long, so in the end I borrowed my husband’s car for the last day.  The place I live is not a place to run out of wheels with considerable mechanical advantage.

Really weird experience.  While working from home I found myself working longer hours, with no required break of driving home, the division between “on-duty” and “off-duty” had disappeared (how I lost all my opportunities to go get a replacement tube).  I got a lot more done for work, but less done at home.  I lost weight, without the lure of the junk at the cafeteria.  I felt less stressed in general, which was nice.  Also felt like I had more time, even though I was taking less time for non-work stuff.

But at the same time, it felt really good on that last day to get up and get dressed and go in, even the drive was kind of nice (and I hate driving).  Perhaps if I’d actually left the house other than to walk the dog during the two weeks, it wouldn’t have been such a pleasant shock to be amongst other people.  I don’t know.

But I do know that $1400 later, my car is repaired and runs better than ever before, and I used up all my good credit at work in working from home – I also used up all my desire to work from home permanently.  At least without some different kind of structure to my day, with a little bit more division between on/off duty.  Most of the people I know who successfully work from home have a seperate office in their home that they use exclusively for work, and they make other plans “after work” to create that key cutoff.  Grass is still greener on the telecommute side of the fence, though