The Real Problem with Solar Power

When we first moved here to Happy Hippie Acres about six years ago, I had visions of someday getting wind or solar doodads hooked up to help offset our power bill, be self-sufficient, and, equally importantly, reduce our carbon footprint a bit. We live in Northwest Iowa, so it’s windy all the time, and there are plenty of places to put solar panels to take advantage of the sun, so why not look into those avenues? After we got settled into our new home and had been here for about a year I e-mailed a few companies that specialize in solar power asking them for advice, prices, etc. Of the four companies I e-mailed only one responded.

“Why would you want solar? Energy is cheap where you live. It would take years for you to recoup the investment. I wouldn’t bother.”

Huh.

Well, it’s not all about money. It’s about a bit of independence and helping the environment. But the response put me off for several years. I looked at wind energy, but again I was waved off by everyone I contacted, “the technology isn’t ready for home use yet.” Sigh.

After about the 90th time I found myself airbrushing power lines out of photos of my acreage I started to wonder… If solar isn’t viable for my home, would it at least power my shed and garage so I could get rid of the ugly power lines? Hmmm. Not long after that, the local power company came and replaced the pole in our yard and I absolutely loved the way things looked when there were no power lines dangling about…

So just a few days ago I finally found time to do some research on the issue. Could I find an inexpensive solar system to power my shed? I started thinking about what I really use in the shed as far as power goes.

  1. The dogs’ “invisible fence.” (Very, very low power usage, but it needs to be on 24/7 365.)
  2.  A couple fluorescent lights. (I’d love to replace them with LEDs, but I haven’t the faintest idea how to go about that.)
  3. My old stereo from the 1990s that is plugged in about three times a year.
  4. A chainsaw sharpener – basically an electric grindstone. I use it about 15 minutes a month, if that.
  5. In the summer I’ll plug my power tool batteries in up there to keep them charged.

I occasionally toy with the idea of getting a small heater of some kind to put up there to keep the barn kitties a bit more comfortable and to offset the bitterest cold of an Iowa winter a bit, but that’s so very low priority that it’s not even on the table… The shed’s about two-thirds insulated and has plenty of holes in the walls.

When you add all that up, it doesn’t seem like I’d need much juice to power the shed. I’d need less for my garage – all we have in there are a few lights on a motion sensor and a garage door opener that gets used every couple days. So I was excited when the first solar power kit I saw online was a $150 setup – way, way more affordable than I thought! Huzzah! Visions of those power lines coming down danced in my head, along with the thought that maybe with solar power I really could put a passive heater in the shed during the winter.

Then I started reading…Output is 12 megapascals per hectare, the voltage is ohm with jelly, you need some sort of battery (I’m assuming double A size, I don’t really know), you need to put iodine on the kerjigger to make the farvel whoozit, snark morgle kerbam woof in parallel except on Tuesday but you have to buy a donkulator to carburate the flonk.

Evidently some of the words were English, but I have close to zero idea what any of it meant. I’m assuming the kit could power either a cell phone or Kiev in December, but I don’t really know. After reading the description I wasn’t even sure if it plugged into the wall somehow or if it was all some sort of battery-powered thing.

I'm pretty good with a screwdriver. How hard can this "electricity" stuff be?

I’m pretty good with a screwdriver. How hard can this “electricity” stuff be?

 

I looked up a different model – “The first complete home solar power kit on the market. Runs appliances, lights, and devices up to 800 watts. Plug and play, no installation required.” Sounds perfect to me, even though I don’t know what the “up to 800 watts” means! But once I read a little further it became apparent that this “complete home solar power kit” didn’t include solar panels, any mounting brackets, wires, or anything – it’s just some sort of a funky battery. You have to buy all the other stuff separately and hope it all works together by magic, I guess.

Which leads me to the main point of this article – the REAL problem with solar power.

The real problem with solar power is that I want to go online and find some unit or kit somewhere that says quite simply, “This will provide enough power to run the lights in your garage and the garage door opener. Everything is included, and this is how it works.” I don’t understand voltiwatts or ohmages, I don’t know how many electric kerjiggers I need by number, I just want to know how much gunk can I run with this unit. Plain English. I mean, c’mon, I’ve got a job, I don’t have a month of spare time to fiddle with this, I just wanna buy a thing that works with a description I can read without pulling a dictionary out.

Until some company comes up with a description that uses language that hippies, artists, and tree-huggers can understand, I’m afraid I’ll be left on the solar sidelines. Sadly.

“Whole Lotta Things”

Just me dinking around with “Whole Lotta Things” by Southern Culture on the Skids (SCOTS). When I need to learn a song in a hurry I always appreciate folks who post bass isolation videos like this, so I’m hoping to kinda pass the knowledge along a bit…

This song is off SCOTS 1995 album “Dirt Track Date,” which is wondrous indeed. I’ve enjoyed their stuff ever since I tripped over it a few years ago… The bassist, Mary Huff, has a great tone and style!

Huh.

Okay, so I normally stick with the $1.35 Totino’s cheese pizzas. I eat about five of ’em a week because they meet my body’s sodium and fat requirements and I’m choosy about that sort of thing. But I saw this in the grocery store for $4.99 and had to try one…

Photo of a DiGiorno Pizza box

The beautiful pizza, those wings! drooooool…

I mean, look at it. The photos on the box make it look sooooo good! Pizza AND wings! Ohhhh my! I put the pizza in the freezer and seriously had dreams about it that night. All night. And the next morning it was the first thing I thought of when I woke up. Pizza. Wings. It haunted my thoughts until FINALLY it was lunch time. Yay!

Hands aquiver with anticipation I opened the freezer and gazed lovingly at the box… That’s when I saw it.

A closeup of a DiGiorno pizza box

Seriously? Wings with no wing meat? What the what?

Oh no. They weren’t chicken wings, they were “white meat chicken fritters.” That’s not good…

Nonetheless, I’d been dreaming of this marvelous pizza for almost a full day now… I looked at the box, the photo of that crispy crust, perfectly round pepperoni, melted cheese, oh my oh my oh my! I made my way to the kitchen. I find that to be a convenient place to cook stuff.

Pausing for a moment to wipe up an errant puddle of drool, I opened the box, taking one last look at the wondrous photos on the front. This is what was inside:

DiGiorno Pizza and Wyngz photo

Nutritious AND well-presented – who could ask for more?

Oh. Hmmm. A lopsided pizza with random pepperoni, a bag of frozen chicken nuggets, and a bag of some sort of frozen… something. Maybe if I spread it out it’ll look better…

Photo of DiGiorno Pizza and Wyngz on the countertop

The pizza of my dreams!

Ah well. I’m hungry. I rearranged the pepperoni and tossed it on the Pizzazz, my dreams of a dreamy pizza fading, being replaced by dreams of something edible. I mean, for five bucks I wasn’t expecting miracles, but… But those pictures on the box! I wandered off to go cry in a corner while the mess of a pizza cooked.

Photo of a DiGiorno Pizza and Wyngz on a Pizzazz pizza cooker

I puffy-heart my Pizzazz Pizza Maker! I puffy-heart it!

In fifteen minutes or so the thing dinged. “Ding,” it said. “Ding.” Fighting off imminent depression and pizza-based gloom I made my way to the kitchen (which I find is a convenient place to cook stuff). Surprisingly, IT LOOKED GOOD! IT LOOKED GOOD! Yay and hurray!

I heated up the wing sauce quick and stirred it over the chicky nuggets…

DiGiorno Pizza and Wyngz

Hey, the pizza doesn’t look half bad! The wings, though. That color just ain’t natcheral.

After a few trepidatious nibbles I was pleasantly surprised – the pizza was actually pretty good for a five-dollar frozen… The sauce on the wings had a pretty vibrant color, one that’s rarely seen in nature. “White meat chicken fritters with a buffalo-style sauce packet.” Yeah.

Well, actually… Yeah. Not half bad!

Methinks I’ll buy this again!

Is there anything we can do?

Man, just let me know if there’s anything we can do…

You know, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that phrase I’d probably be a thousandaire by now. People wanting to help, or at least saying they want to help… And I understand that! I bet I say that phrase to friends three times a week myself.

My wife is ill. She’s been very ill for a number of years now. There’s no cure, she’s going to die (just like the rest of us, only a bit quicker). She has a number of problems, notably CVID, Sjogren’s Syndrome, and uncontrolled asthma. The three are related, and each one of the three illnesses also brings along a host of other secondary illnesses along with it.

Push comes to shove, my Beloved  Wifey is disabled, and there’s a good chance she may pass away before her time. We struggle to keep her working – her HR department keeps threatening to fire her. If she doesn’t go to work, she loses her job, we both lose our insurance. If she goes on disability it will take two years before they pick up her insurance again.

We’ve refinanced our mortgage, we’re paying ahead at the funeral home… She can’t get life insurance, so we’re trying to make things as comfortable as possible for her over the next few years and at the same time find a way I can live here on our acreage once she’s gone.

Beloved Wifey can go to work sometimes. Other times she has to stay here at home for days or weeks on end. We never know. Day to day. Hour to hour. She misses work, I need to make up her income somehow on my own. I’ve grown used to 18 hour working days over the years.

So, as my wife’s primary caretaker, when friends say, “just let us know if there’s anything to do,” it makes me flinch a little. “Oh, we’ll let you know if we need anything,” we always say. Then we put it out of our mind.

People often say things they don’t mean. And we know it.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Yes, can you clean the upstairs bathroom? We haven’t had time. The tub up there, the drain doesn’t close right. And we live in the country, so there are always dead flies on the windowsills no matter what we do. I’d get it myself, but I need to be tending to my customers – we need all the money we can get.

“Just let us know if there’s anything we can do.” Sure, it’s no secret we’ve been working on the basement for the last four years – we still need help getting the lights up, the ceiling done, some carpet down on the floor, some sheetrock needs to be hung… My brother-in-law is helping, but his time is limited. We can’t enhance our income by doing studio photo shoots until the studio is finished, and we can’t stop paying high utility bills until we can get a couple doors up to stop the draft… The basement is a liability right now, but it could be making me money – if I can find a way to get it finished. But I’ll never ask.

“If you ever need anything, just let us know!” I need to be working, to be sitting in front of the computer, to be learning a new technique with my camera… I need to be making money. But I don’t have time to take care of Beloved Wifey, tend to the dogs, AND get my ten hours of work done today. I could sure use some help – just someone to take the garbage out and feed the dogs, maybe throw the frisbee for SuperPup Buttercup.

“I really wish we could do more.” Well, I have twelve hours of work to do, and I also have four hours of laundry to get through, two dogs to tend to, and a sick wife to help – it’d sure help if you could just fold the laundry for me… Or straighten our prop room so I can find stuff when I need it in the spring. Anything. Any help is appreciated. Any little thing.

But those things are difficult to say. How does a person admit that he can’t care for his family without help? “Nah, we’re doing fine.” I have a grove full of deadwood that I can’t find time to deal with. I’ve offered to hire people to come and take the firewood away if they’d just cut it and take it… But that never works – I’ll be out in the woods for a good ten hours this weekend trying to clear the winter deadwood away, and another ten hours trimming the trees outside my grove so the neighboring farmer can get through with this equipment this spring. Those are twenty hours I could use working, or spending time with Beloved Wifey. But how do I say this?

How do I say that I really could use a load of groceries from town? It’s easier for me, somehow, to take three hours off work to go to the store myself then admit I don’t have time – then make up those three hours by working between two and five in the morning. (Five is when I normally get up so I can get a few hours work done before Wifey and pups wake up and demand attention.)

If you really do wish to help, we’d be VERY happy to accept – but it’s difficult for us to ask.

Do you have a few hours to help pull deadwood out of the grove? I’d be more than happy to let you! That gives me that much more time to catch up on work… Please don’t ask, I’ll say I can do it on my own. Just come and do it. I have a chain sharpener. Are you coming from town? If you ask, we’ll say we don’t need anything. In truth I’d be happy to pay for someone to grab some staples from the store… We’re always out of dog food, we can always use “real” food (we live on English muffins and frozen Totinos pizzas – everything else takes too long to cook. Every minute I spend away from my computer is a minute I’m not making money to help Wifey. Or spending time WITH Wifey.

If Beloved Wifey should need to go on disability, we’ll need to find means to pay for both our insurance coverages for a minimum of two years before Medicaid kicks in. Refinancing, paying bills ahead – we’re doing what we can to be ready for the time. But we sure could use some advice, someone to come over and explain how this all works. To me the words of finance are may as well be ancient Latin.

“Is there anything you need?” Yeah, I need a friend to stop over with a six-pack and some funny stories before I go crazy. We need someone to figure out if we need to insulate our basement (who has time to research that sort of thing?), we need people to stop over and play with the dogs… But if you ask, we’ll be too polite, too embarrassed, to “Iowan” to accept.

So, please, just DO it. We’d appreciate it more than you could know.

Past Perfect Future Tense

Such a simple request… But those are often the most difficult.

“I just want four photos of our doggies to hang in my office,” Beloved Wifey said to me a few months ago. Her slight Germanic accent makes every word sound just a bit more matter-of-fact than normal. But I immediately knew this was going to hurt…

I work as a photographer. Our dogs are my test subjects quite often… I’ve got, literally, tens of thousands of photos of our critter-kids, none of them labeled or tagged in any way. This was going to mean some serious digging for me… And I know my Wifey – she doesn’t want the best photography I have, she just wants fun pictures of the dogs. Snapshots. Photos that are attached to memories. This is gonna hurt…

Sure enough, I started to dig through the photos I have on file. Finding photos of Little Buttercup, our now-two-year-old happy-go-lucky Golden Retriever, only took a few minutes. But to find photos of our older Zoey-doggie took the rest of the afternoon…

Zoey-Dog in February, 2012

Zoey, 2012

I worked my way backwards in time. Tons of photos of Zoey and Buttercup playing around on our acreage, but Zoey’s almost always looking down, her sniffer to the ground, following a neat smell around… “Chipmunk? No, this is eau de squirrel…” I smile my way back through Buttercup’s puppy days – she was SO damned cute! I start to get a bit of a catch in my throat when I see a photo of our kitty, Fruitloop, looking frail and thin… He only lived here at the acreage for a little less than a year before he passed. Diabetes.

The photos of the days and months right after we moved to our dream home out here on our acreage, what full memories! A picture of Beloved Wifey poking about hopefully at a garden we’d planted… That stabbed, somehow. It took me a minute to realize why. She’s not been healthy enough to go outside for a few years now other than to get back and forth to the car. I’d sort of forgotten that at one point she went outside a bit… It looked wrong, in the photo, to see her outside, so far from the house.

Backwards to our old house in Sioux City… I’m skimming through the photos, looking for photos of Zoey-Dog, but I couldn’t help but notice patterns. Right there. In this period right here, between 2009 and 2010. A transition. Before about 2009 all the photos of Zoey Dog included a smiling Beloved Wifey, and were entitled “A Day in the Park,” or “A Walk By the River.” A happy woman with a happy doggie in a happy park.

Dagmar and Zoey, 2008

Dagmar and Zoey, 2008

After that date, the photo albums were titled things like, “House,” or “Acreage,” and didn’t have Beloved Wifey in them. Just a dog.

I kept going back… Almost every day a happy Beloved Wifey took a happy Zoey Dog out for a walk, and almost every day I took pictures. I hated my life back then – I was working a dead-end job, playing in a band with tensions, living in a cozy little house in the bad part of town, watching the homeless and unfortunate folks walking by day after day, hoping I wouldn’t ever be one of them.

The happiest dog in the world is the one who just found a Forever Home.

The happiest dog in the world is the one who just found a Forever Home.

I took my photo tour all the way back to the first day we got Zoey. We have about twenty photos of that day of smiling people petting a trepidatious but hopeful doggie taken with a cheap camera… Tears rolling down my face I looked back at photos of Beloved Wifey proudly and nervously walking the dog for the first time. Outdoors.

She used to dance barefoot in the snow every New Years’ Eve, talking on the phone to her Mama and her relatives back in Austria. We used to go watch bands play and dance until two in the morning. She used to walk the dog every single day while I sat at my computer working. (Boy, could I kick myself in the ass now for missing those mundane moments.) They’d come home, stomping snow off their feet as I’d drop towels and offer warm drinks. When I was in a band, Beloved Wifey would come and watch me until closing time, sometimes sitting by herself for hours in dive bars, but always there…

I’d forgotten all that.

Life for Beloved Wifey now is to wake up around 5:30 each morning, do her medical treatments and routines until 7:15, then out the door to work. At 4:30 she leaves work, by 5:15 she’s home and in the shower. By six she’s in bed, doing more medical treatments, asleep by seven. I see her about twenty minutes a day – and I’m always engrossed in some work problem and can’t seem to find the time to really talk. Work. Dishes. Laundry. Work. Mowing. Something always must be done. I’ll see her face peering out her bedroom window sometimes, “I vas vatching you, it’s fun how you play with the doggies. The frisbee is behind the shed… The vind blew it back there while you weren’t looking.” Tubes trailing from her midsection to a plasma pump… “Be sure to give Miss Mittens some tuna. Nitty-kitty will steal it all if you don’t vatch her close.”

Dancing in Omaha in 2007

Dancing in Omaha in 2007

I see a picture of her dancing back in 2007. I’d forgotten about those days when we’d go places, see people, there were no face masks, no tubes.

I sort of hope she has, too.

Controversial Opinions…

THIS IS POLITICAL. I know just a few days ago I railed against people making political posts… Now I’m doing it myself. I see the irony. But I’m going to talk anyway. Sosueme.

Some people have asked my opinion about the 35-year-war we’ve been waging in the Middle East. This is just my opinion. If you don’t care for it, please just move on…

I don’t care which one of you started it. Islam, Judaism, Christianity, you all profess peace, yet I’ve seen precious little of it from any of you. This is a religious war, not an ideological war, and that goes against everything I’ve been brought up to believe. You are all acting like children, so I see no reason not to treat you as such. Until you quit pointing fingers and acting like asses, I’m pretty much done with the whole lot of you. Each one professes peace, yet each one thumps his chest in outraged indignation and condemns the other.

You know, if I had a magic wand, I’d airlift the innocent out of the Middle East rather than airlift troops in.

  1. We can use our troops here at home. I was in the Army National Guard for close to a decade, back in the day. I’d rather see our reserves tending to their families, being active in their communities, and spending their drill weekends in a combination of training and community service than hanging around in a foreign country wondering where the next bullet is coming from…
  2. We can use the innocents from the Middle East here in the land of the free, the melting pot. Here, here’s this:

    “Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she
    With silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor,
    Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
    The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
    Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
    I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'”

These folks, the people in the Middle East who want no conflict, these folks have skills, imaginations, arts that should be cultivated – not suppressed by war. How many advances, scientific, cultural, musical, have we lost through war? People who yearn to learn, deprived a chance. America gave my grandparents, and great-grandparents a chance to come here and grow. In the years prior to WWII my grandfather was welcomed to America, and was allowed to enlist in the military and serve his new country. Could we do that today? Are we comfortable allowing Middle-Easterners in our communities the way our forefathers welcomed Germans into theirs? Probably not, and that’s to our detriment…

If your religious beliefs made you shudder a little at the thought of welcoming Muslim refugees into America, I wonder if you shouldn’t re-examine your religion. Peace? Love? Acceptance? Sound familiar? Or should we go with “boots on the ground” again, and see our children die shooting at their children?

I choose acceptance. Peace. Rather than punish, let’s choose instead to welcome those who seek refuge.

Am I an idealist? No. I know some idiot will accept our offer of friendship with an outstretched hand containing not goodwill but hatred, and will undoubtedly wreak havoc. But that doesn’t mean we should change our beliefs… I’d rather make a mistake offering friendship than offering malice.

The Prairie that Was My Yard

Yea verily, it has been a full week since I ordered parts for my beloved lawn mower. (I need a spindle assembly and a couple bolts. I ordered fifteen extra nuts and bolts just because they were like twelve cents each and why not.) I’m not saying my yard is overgrown, but I went outside and threw the frisbee for our golden retriever – she got lost in the weeds not fifteen feet from the house. I just saw a confused gentleman wander past mumbling something about, “Livingston, I presume?” The neighbor called and asked if I wanted him to bale my front yard. My wife took a machete with her to get the mail. I think there may be a family of bison living behind the garage.

ANYway, so I e-mailed the parts company and asked them if they’d shipped my stuff yet as I’d not heard anything from them. Turns out my order was being held as two twelve-cent bolts were on backorder… “Keep the two bolts! Ship the rest!” I cried. The guy agreed that they could probably do that.

So, with luck, the savannah shall be tamed.

My Beloved Six-Foot Scag

My Beloved Six-Foot Scag