Apples to Oranges!

  The Gods of Power Consumption are at it again. 

I recently received yet another of those periodic mailings from the local power company, purporting to tell me how well (or not) I’m doing in managing my power consumption.

Uh….

Their mailing states that my power usage is being compared to “100 similar” homes within the area, and then continues on to state ways in which I can reduce power consumption and so (one presumes) my bill.

Now those 100 similar homes… Hmmm. I suppose The Gods of Power Consumption are looking mostly at square footage. Well, not to put too fine a face on the matter, this is simply stupid. Idiotic. Worthless. Comparing apples to oranges.  Let me count the ways…

Just a few of the factors which that “how you’re doing” memo is (I think–depending upon how hard Big Brother is watching!) to take into consideration, are, for instance, the number of individuals in the household, and, more specifically, their ages and states of health. Elderly people notoriously need higher temperatures to be comfortable, due to the loss of insulating fats in their skin layers; newborns, having just come out of a 98.6º environment, ditto.  Heavily pregnant women lap up air conditioning like a kitten with a bowl of cream. People who are ill with any number of diseases may very well feel best in either exceptionally cool or warm settings, while many desperately-needed home medical devices consume power as they operate.

Are the people in those 100 houses living in groups of two or three (the highest number that would fit comfortably into my small home), or is there only a single inhabitant? Are all those people out of the house for ten or more hours most days, attending work or school, or are they often home for long periods of time—retired, as I am, or stay-at-home parents of small children, and thereby using lights and stoves and microwaves, TVs and computers, at times when the empty homes are sitting idle, evincing little draw upon the power grid?

Then let’s consider those “100 homes” themselves. Are they two-story, as mine is, or one? And, if two-story, is their second story a partial area, with a balcony opening into a large cathedral ceiling overlooking the lower floor, and altering air flow significantly?

Were those 100 homes built over two decades ago, when air vents and ducts were being built to smaller dimensions? Or are some of them brand-new, tightly constructed, with recent, energy-efficient furnaces or air conditioners and lots of wide air vents and ducts that are heavily insulated?

Apples to oranges.

And then there were those irritating commercials shown last winter by the power company, providing suggestions for reducing power consumption. (As my 90-year-old father grumps, “Why the hell do they need to advertise? They’re the only game in town!”) One of their more idiotic winter suggestions was to turn the heat down or even off completely when leaving one’s home temporarily. I’m sure my elderly rescue cats would have been greatly unappreciative of that action—especially as I keep my heat set to only 67° in the first place. Not to mention how much power would have been consumed by bringing the heat back to bearable temperatures upon my return—or the possible icing up of water pipes during that time of absence with little to no heat during some of our Siberian winter conditions. Their summer recommendations (which also include that confusing suggestion to “turn off the air conditioning when you leave your home”–are none of these people pet owners?!) are even more hilarious. Being at home most days, I’m in the habit of placing big box fans in open windows on cool mornings and evenings in the spring, summer and fall; I prefer fresh air. Far from setting my thermostat to their recommended temperatures, at the height of the summer I do not even turn my air conditioning on until the lower floor of my home reaches 77°–which means that the upper floor is at least 80° or 81°. Only then do I remove the fans, which I presume draw so much less power than the central AC unit, from the windows and switch on my air conditioner. And were it not, again, for my elderly animals, not to mention my own asthma, I would probably allow the room temperatures to rise slightly higher. I grew up without air conditioning, and although I appreciate it, I do not consider it essential except during the direst times of heat.

Their recommendation is, of course, to set one’s thermostat on 78º or 80º in the first place, and to then run fans if one is uncomfortable.  The logic of this escapes me; don’t fans run on electricity?!

No, the next time I receive one of those irritating little “How Are You Doing?” mailings from the local power company, I won’t waste my time rolling my eyes and tearing it in half to be tossed into the wastebasket. Instead, I’ll just print out this blog post, attach it to their nonsense, and mail it back.  And may everyone else reading this irritated little diatribe feel free to do the same!

Heavenly Weather

§   “Oh, but it’s a dry heat,” I hear you saying. Well, so is an oven, but I’m not going to stick my head in one.   §

I have lived in only two States in my lifetime. After barely three years in Charleston, South Carolina, I returned home to Indiana. There were many reasons for the return move, not the least of which was family and friends, but the weather played a role, too.

Living in Charleston was akin to living in a tropical fish tank lodged inside a sauna. It was bright, colorful, endlessly interesting–and hotter than the hinges of hell. It was step out on the sidewalk and collapse from heat stroke hot. To add insult to injury, I lived there in the years immediately following the volcanic eruption of Mount St. Helens. Ash in the atmosphere somehow did nothing to reduce the glaring heat of summer, but gave South Carolina some of its coldest, nastiest winters ever during the years I resided there. (Climatologists will argue this fact, but, remember, I was living there with the Rebels. I saw how shocked they were at the winters of ’80, ’81 and ’82.)

No, much as I loved other aspects of that lovely city, the weather in Charleston was hardly my idea of heaven.

My idea of divine weather is days of temperatures no higher than the low 70s—75°F is optimal—and nights in the 50°F degree range. I call this “sweatshirt weather”, and I love it. I enjoy sunlight in moderation—a sun-and-clouds variation day is delightful to me, as are soft rainshowers and even an occasional mild thunderstorm. Breezes, too, are important; a windless day is anathema. Living in Indiana means that for at least two seasons a year, spring and fall, I get plenty of these preferred days and evenings. That’s six months, sometimes seven, with numerous days, occasionally even weeks, of the type of weather I favor. I’m willing to endure Indy’s less pleasant variants–the humid heat of July and August, and the bitter temperatures and snows of January and February, for the pleasure my lovely, perfect spring and fall days, with the windows of my home thrown wide open, and with the occasional white noise of a window fan whirring softly in the background.

Almost as important to me as the temperatures, though, are those variations. As dreary as the Midwestern world might be at the end of March, with trees still stripped of leaves tossing bare limbs in strong winds, it is merely a lead-in to the incredible bursting forth of spring buds. Daffodils, crocus, tulips. Forsythia blazing out. Trees softly cloaked in green lace. Nothing satisfies a hunger of the soul like the riotous colors of early spring following the dreary end of winter. Conversely, nothing is as welcome after the humid heat of July and August as the first hint of fall chill; of autumnal color in the leaves, and their crunch beneath one’s feet as they begin to whirl down, cloaking the ground in colors brighter than Joseph’s coat.

That is why when a dear friend moved recently to Sun City, Arizona, I wished her well and godspeed, but declined even the faintest notion that I might ever be visiting there. A city where the mean temperature in the summer months is 104°F is, I explained to her, quite seriously akin to my idea of Hell.  (“Oh, but it’s a dry heat,” I hear you saying. Yeah, well, so is an oven, but I’m not going to stick my head in one.) And please, please, PLEASE don’t give me that, “Oh, but in the winter…” nonsense, either. Yes, temperatures in midwinter might (emphasize might) drop to my preferred range for a month, perhaps even two, but by very early spring they are going to spiral back up into the 80s. The only thing temps in the 80s are good for, in my estimation, is hanging out at the pool…and I’m not one to hang out at the pool. Leaving entirely aside the un-pretty sight of me in a swimsuit, chlorinated water just isn’t my thing. Oh, I like to jump in and splash around a bit with the kids of the family, but, as I am prone to sunburn (as in, I step outside, say, “Hello, Sun!” and walk back into the house having turned the approximate shade of a boiled lobster), a sunworshipper I am not.

I know without question that my beloved “big sis” is having a glorious time in her chosen environment, but, nope-nope-nope! It’s just not for me. Barring, of course, a total backflip of that whole desert environment montage due to global warming!