Living In A Wooden Tent

.
The Antecedents:

I’ve been going to bed pretty early lately. I’m about to tell why, but it is a rather long story that begins with some disassociated thoughts.

My dog has a very nice coat of medium length fur, similar to a collie. It is a variegated reddish brown with highlights of black and some white on her belly. But more pertinent for the present cogitation, her coat seems to warm her, or not, as needed. She never takes it off and appears to be equally comfortable in a house that it heated to around 70 degrees or lying on the porch for hours at a time in temperatures in the 30’s. Her range of comfortable temperature appears to be at least 40 degrees.

My comfort range is probably something less than 20 degrees. If I were dressed so as to be comfortable sitting quietly at 70 degrees and the temperature were to fall 10 degrees I think I would soon feel cold and if it rose to 80 I believe I would be uncomfortably warm. I’ve never tested this idea, but my hunch is that my temperature comfort range is something less than 20 degrees.

From time to time as I have passed my life here on the shores of Puget Sound I have paused to reflect on how a given moment might have felt to the indigenous population living here before European contact. It might happen when Mt Rainier is particularly spectacular, or during an intense rainfall, but most often I have such thoughts on one of those few days each year when the temperature drops below freezing so that ordinary clothing and shelter might be less than desirable. How, I have wondered, did the native people cope with such days?

Through forty some years of marriage my wife and I have had a little disconnect on the subject of the proper thermostat setting, she preferring a bit more warmth, I a bit more thrift.

To the best of my recollection I have never felt chilled while vacuuming.

The Inception:

In the middle of one night early in March, I got to thinking about the spot in my bed that slightly stings my flesh with cold at the moment I slip between the sheets, but within a couple of hours feels like some kind of soft, malleable oven gently toasting my body. But of course the bed and blankets are not warming me. I am warming them. With the aid of their insulation my body keeps itself warm. As it happened my aforementioned wife was in Washington DC at the time. The above thoughts and others came together and formed into the realization that I had an interesting opportunity at hand. There was nothing stopping me from turning off the furnace and living for a few days without its benefits. How would that be? Could I come up with some combination of personal insulation and activity that would keep me comfortable? Apparently sheets, a bed spread and a down comforter were adequate to insure my warmth while lying still for eight or more hours. But what would it take during a day of normal activities? Did I have clothes at hand that would keep me comfortable, but not interfere with whatever it is that I do all day? When I arose in the morning I opened the windows and turned off the furnace.

The Event:

I am now in about the 7th day of this exercise and I must say I am a little disappointed. My objective is not to live a few days in some hardy fashion demonstrating personal resolve, but to live in normal comfort by a combination of dressing warmly, - and more warmly still as my activity level drops. Though I have quite an array of clothing lying about the house I have not yet fully achieved my aim. From head to toe my options include:

A polypropylene fleece head band

A knitted hat

A collection of neck scarves and knitted ski masks – not yet resorted to

Arm warmers

Long and short sleeve light weight polypro shirts

Cardigan style fleeces and vests, one of which is supposed to be wind proof

Two heavy-weight polypro pullover fleeces

Some wool and cotton sweaters

An array of coats and jackets - one heavy wool, one light cotton, several rain coats, three biking jackets, and several jackets made of Tyvek (a wind proof material used to insulate houses)

A cotton and a polypro sweat suit

Light weight polypro long underwear, 2 sets

Leg warmers

Carhart work pants

Two pairs of sports warm-up pants

A pair of Coast Guard issue heavy polypro long underwear

Wool, polypro and cotton socks

Running shoes, hiking boots, work boots, after ski boots, Keene sandals (open but actually pretty warm) and some street shoes

About 300 pairs of gloves – but that’s a different story

And a sleeping bag modified some years ago to be worn like a moo moo – not resorted to yet

                                  The author modeling his sleeping bag moo moo

It is now about day nine. My wife will return in two days and this little adventure will be over. The reported temperature in Seattle over the period has ranged pretty consistently between the low 40’s and low 50’s. However for the first several days the temperature in the house stayed mostly in the mid 50’s. At first I didn't bother to reprogram the thermostat so twice a day the target temperature would go from 50 to 58.  The furnace would then come on until I manually lowered the target to 40.  Eventually I reset it to 45 degree at all times. I think the other factor in keeping the house temp above the outside temp was that the walls, furniture, floors, ceilings, etc. held their heat and released it slowly thereby maintaining the ambient warmth for a while even with the doors and windows open. The latter day temperatures have been down around 50 degrees in the house and at the very end 48.

Conclusions:

It is now about day 11. Activity, is very important. It did not take very much movement to stay comfortable using reasonable amounts of the clothing listed above. The heavy underwear and a couple of fleece tops and the knitted cap or head band were pretty adequate and way more than adequate during vigorous activity. At times just standing up was sufficient. But to be comfortable while being still, watching TV or reading required at least a blanket over my legs and perhaps a jacket. Living without home heating does create an odd reversal of behavior that took me a while to get on to. When a person is outside he or she is mostly active. Sitting still tends to happen indoors. Therefore the right thing to do is to put on additional clothing when coming inside and to take some off when going out. This feels very queer. Surely if one were to live without heating for an extended period of time, an entire winter for example, useful accommodations would be discovered and old habits and expectations would erode. Some lined pants with zippers up each outside seam, in the style of basketball warm up pants that eliminate the need to push one’s feet down the pants legs, would be a great garment. I presume that eventually what was an unusual experience for me, and something that was constantly on my mind, would become routine.

Long ago I was told by someone whom I thought credible that the common cold is not caused by being cold, (name and folk wisdom not withstanding). I feel I should report that I slept naked as is my usual habit, until about the 5th night during which my bed covers let me down and I felt chilled the whole night through. In the morning I arose with a head cold. After that I’ve slept in long underwear.

If I could heat only one room in a house I’m pretty sure it would be the bathroom. That’s the place where in order to accomplish the mission one must become at least partially undressed. I had no rule against taking a hot shower and fully intended to do so on my regular schedule, but the thought of getting out of a hot shower into a 50 degree room kept me unshowered for nearly a week. As for the other, I can testify that at 50 degrees a hard surface such as a toilet seat is chilling to the touch.

I must admit that in general wearing less clothes is more comfortable than wearing more, so even though I was able to achieve reasonable comfort without the help of a furnace, it might be a little much to expect my beloved to put up with an unheated house. For prospective guests, I think it will be safe to visit us anytime she is in residence. As a matter of fact, her plane will be arriving in about two hours. I think I’d better do something to warm this dump up.

Afterword:

All this thinking about temperature caused me to go on line to read about such things as metabolism, body temperature, etc. There’s research that indicates that rats whose body temperatures were artificially lowered lived longer than their brethren who were left alone.

Live long. Kill your furnace!

A Bit of Duckerel

Racoon crept out on a rainy night.

He needed no moon to give him light.

Had less than a mile to go, that’s right,

Before he reached the pen o, the pen o, the pen o,

Less than a mile to go, that’s right,

Before he reached the pen o.



Then sure enough he got to the pen,

Where the ducks and chickens were kept therein.

He said, “One of you critters gonna grease my chin,

Once I get in that pen o, that pen o, that pen o.

One of you critters gonna grease my chin,

Once I get in that pen o.”



Now Gramma Beth was tucked in her bed.

With nary a care in her ol" grey head.

She knew within her perfect zen,

All her birds were in their pen o, their pen o, their pen o.

She knew within her perfect zen,

All her birds were in their pen o.



Good dog Kodi was in bed too,

Dreaming she was named ol’ Blue

She was chasing raccoons all night long

While making up a song o, a song o, a song o.

She was chasing raccoons all night long,

While making up a song o.



Now Racoon is a wily beast

And on his mind he had a feast

He was not worried in the least

When he got to that pen o, that pen o, that pen o.

He was not worried in the least,

When he got to that pen o.



He started going around that pen,

Up and down and back again,

And once he found a hole in the wire

The po’ duck’s future was dire o, dire o, dire o.

And once he found a hole in the wire,

The po’ duck’s future was dire o.



He did not bother with a knife,

When he ended good old Donald’s life.

Because he is a cultured coon,

He ate him with a spoon o, a spoon o, a spoon o.

Because he is a cultured coon,

He ate him with a spoon o.



Now Racoon isn’t very tall,

But he ate up Donald feathers and all

And though he’s just a little twerp,

He finished with a burp o, a burp o, a burp o.

And though he’s just a little twerp,

He finished with a burp o.





Donald had a wife named Daisy,

Who’s lonely now and going crazy.

She’s pines away for her old beau,

Who’s never on the pond o, the pond o, the pond o.

She pines away for her old beau,

Who’s never on the pond o.





Now if you think this story’s sad,

There one thing more that I could add.

Though nature’s hard and life is mean,

Racoon goes well with vino, vino, vino

Though nature’s hard and life is mean,

Racoon goes will with vino.

Why My Wife Is Pissed Off At You Guys

.
A Letter to Click and Clack & A Puzzler


A senior couple accepted an invitation from old friends to come for an overnight visit. When they arrived and took their things to the guest room, which they knew very well from past visits, they found that it had been remodeled and the furniture rearranged. It was very nicely done and on each side of the bed was a bedside table with a reading lamp, reading material, and other appropriate items. The bathroom across the hall was also redone and featured a new, very artistically designed and tasteful sink.



The visiting husband often wakes in the small hours of the night. Perhaps it is due to his age, or perhaps it is the fact that during the day, at the slightest sign of fatigue, he immediately flops down for a nap. This usually occurs about four times a day. As usual that night, after a few hours of sleep, he awoke and opened his eyes. He lay still on his left side for ten minutes and then rolled over and shook his wife awake saying in an excited whisper, “I’ve got a great puzzler to send to Click and Clack. I’m going to be on the radio.”



What the fellow had thought of was the following series of letters and digits. The puzzle is, of course, what comes next in the sequence and for extra credit how did the series occur to the dunderhead.



SEE                 A verb

9EE                 A shoe size

LEE                A name

8EE                A shoe size

6EE                A shoe size

OhE                An exclamation

IhE                Nothing

5hE                Again nothing, but you should have it by now.

EhE                A Canadian expression with a bonus E









The Solution



Ehh                Come again



The critical clues are that he knew exactly how long he lay thinking about the puzzle and that he had to roll over to wake his wife. That he had to roll over means that he was lying facing away from the center of the bed, that is, toward the bedside table. There his eyes fell upon a digital clock. He saw that the time was 3:35. Because he was on his side the digits of the clock were turned 90 degrees from normal. Instead of running from left to right in his field of vision, they ran downward from top to bottom. This led him to notice that upside down at 3:35 the block numbers of the clock formed the word SEE. An inverted three is an E and an inverted 5 is an S. The rest of the series is the times between 3:36 and 3:44 each turned upside down.



Get a digital clock. Check it out.

Rat in a Trap

The pictures in this posting pertain to the posting below this one which was done yesterday.

 

Here's a fellow who went out to eat at the wrong restaurant last night.

Now he's waiting for a paint job.

And here he is about to go to his new home.

A Pretty Good Rat Trap

We live in a port city, in a house adjacent to about ½ an acre of woods.  In addition we keep and feed chickens and ducks in an enclosure that, while picturesque, is hardly rat proof. Rats therefore are a constant presence. Besides eating a significant amount of poultry feed, if they move into the house, as they occasionally do, they are quite smelly and never clean up after themselves. Because they are very smart and very agile, getting rid of them is a real challenge. Snap traps are effective somewhat less than half the time. Mostly when I return to them I find the traps sprung, but no sign of either rats or bait. Glue trays have never held an animal long enough for me to get there and dispatch the creature. Usually if Mr. Rat does tread in the glue the ensuing struggle ends with the tray stuck to a wall or chair leg or bed spread with no prey to be found. Poison disappears soon after placement, but the general rat population never seems much impacted. Following are pictures of a trap that works pretty well for me. While the trap captures the rats, it doesn’t actually dispose of them. That part remains to be done in step two.

The boot is just there for scale. The cage is 12" x 12" x 24".

The cage open for baiting.  2 x 2's add weight and stability to the unhinged edges of the cage.  The base was once a door on a kitchen cabinet.

 

The bait basket is mounted on wire legs and connected to the trip mechanism by a stiff wire.  When the basket is disturbed the trip mechanism fires.

 

The trip mechanism is a conventional snap trap

The firing pin is a 9" bolt.  It supports the cage in a raised position.  The bottom of the pin is within the path of the snap rod on the snap trap.  When the bait basket is disturbed the snap trap releases and the firing pin is displaced allowing the cage to fall.  The rat survives, but is trapped in the cage.  (See photos above posted on January 31.)

The Set Trap

Step Two: Disposition

A rat dumped into a large garbage can will die of exposure in a couple of days.  They can jump about 18 inches and I'm sure could pull themselves up if they got hold of the lip of a bucket.  Water at the bottom of the garbage can would no doubt speed up the rat's demise.  Although my wife doesn't like it, I prefer to take the captives to a nature preserve a couple of miles from our home and let them go.  She thinks they might return to us so now I spray paint them green before the release.  I am allowed to practice catch and release until such time as we see a green rat around the house.

Cultural Voyeurism

My wife and I have now lived about 7 decades each. In that time expertise has been developed by only one of us, in only one field. My wife was a better than average pediatric occupational therapist. Except for that we have lived totally superficial lives. As an example of our lack of knowledge neither of us could say if merlot is white, pink, or red. Rather than delve at length into anything we have sought variety in our experiences. We have skimmed lightly over the surface of activities. We are dilettantes. We think of ourselves as cultural voyeurs. We have played bingo on a Saturday night at the fire hall in a small town on the Oregon coast. We have been supernumeraries in a production by the Seattle opera company. We have passed a New Year’s Eve putting flowers on a parade float in Pasadena, CA. In two days we will host a cultural voyage for some friends into the realm of professional American football. People not often found at sporting events are coming to our house to watch a playoff game between the Chicago Bears and the Seattle Seahawks.



From the participants' perspective professional football combines strength, speed, agility, conditioning, honed skills, and brains. Not withstanding the myth of baseball as the intellectual’s game, football is clearly the most cerebral of American sports. I would guess that the average football play takes 10 or 15 seconds to run. The teams then have 30 seconds to plan what they will attempt next. Though they seldom use all 30 seconds, it is clear the actual time that play is going on is less than half the minutes in the game, not counting time outs. Football is mostly a planning activity and of course the planning that goes on between plays is nothing as compared with the planning, and study that happens between games and between seasons. This is true for both offense and defense. Football contains a very highly refined intellectual component.



Football is also the king of the team sports. In baseball where there are nine players on the field only one or two are doing anything most of the time. The rest are just waiting. Even when the ball has been hit and is in play many field players will not really have anything to do while at least five members of the team at bat will necessarily be seated on the bench. Always. Basketball is the same. Most of the time not more than two or three players on each team are involved in the action. Frequently only one offensive player is active with only one or two defensive players opposing his efforts. In football every player is active on every play and the actual outcome of any given play is dependent on the success or failure of most of the players on both teams. What players know in a deep visceral way as the game advances and what fans barely glimpse is how each guy is doing against his immediate opponent. Are you mostly winning those small battles or are you mostly getting beaten? Football games are won and lost by the blockers and those who would be blocked, or not. The spectators, with their eyes on the drama of where the ball is, miss most of the real show.



Our cultural voyage on Sunday will not be into the realm of players and coaches. It will be into the realm of the fans. From the fan’s perspective football involves sitting (mostly), snacking, and vocalizing. We can surmise that the intensity of the fan’s experience is substantial given the time and money devoted to it. That intensity is related to two things. One is identification with the team. It is apparently possible for people of ordinary intelligence to ignore the fact that nobody on “their” team has ever even heard of them, let alone actually cares about them. There is a curious asymmetry between fans and players. While the fans know something about the players, the players know nothing about the individual fans. Somehow fans manage to overlook the fact that they have almost nothing to do with how well the team does and instead feel personally fulfilled by success and chastened by defeat. This remarkable suspension of disbelief underpins the modern sports industry. Billions of dollars are spent on account of it, I am sure.



The other pillar on which the sports industry stands is gambling. In this case caring about the outcome is at least sensible. My father was a lifetime gambler, mostly on sporting events. Although he had a couple of good scores over the course of 70 or 80 years he must certainly have been a net loser in the long run. In any case he never got into trouble from his gambling. I now see his gaming as a savings program which paid a negative interest rate and provided random withdrawals. Almost every night he had a handful of “tickets” on one or more games. Each ticket had possible scores for the competing teams and when the end result of the games matched his ticket, he won. Buying the tickets was his “savings account deposit". Winning represented a “withdrawal”. Though the effective interest rate was negative, the randomness of the withdrawals made it way more fun than any bank account. Typically when a withdrawal occurred he would use the money to buy something he wanted. Thus he saved up for many of the tools I now have.



Our friend Ellie, who knows a lot about a lot of topics, including that brevity is the soul of wit, replied to our invitation as follows. I will come “as long I don’t have to either KNOW what a tight end is, or HAVE one.”

Happy Just Being Alive

I have biked the twelve or so blocks from the Montlake bridge to my home many many times; certainly hundreds, possible thousands. Recently I have come to think of it as completely dead time. Not always of course. Occasionally there is some curiosity or good looking dog, or cute child or a new idea to take note of. But mostly it is just a matter of turning the pedals until I get home. I now often day dream of an instantaneous bodily transportation that eliminates the dead time and drops me at my door. I don’t want to change anything in the universe. I just want to skip the mindless minutes and be home. If I could just become unconscious for the few moments needed to make the ride, I suppose that would work.

Yesterday I rode to town. It was raining and because the ride starts with a climb I chose to wear only a bike shirt with arm warmers under a rain coat. It doesn’t take much climbing to be warm even in cold wet weather. When I had done my chore downtown I rode to Ballard on another task. That ride is basically flat and the rain had increased. I soon realized that it was quite cold. After passing some 20 minutes standing in conversation in a bike shop I faced about 4 miles of flat ride through the cold rain to get to the warmth of my house. I have often affirmed that there is no such thing as a bad bike ride. Riding is always good. Etc. etc. That is of course pure bull. There are unpleasant bike rides and I had one yesterday. But we come now to point. That ride led to a new state of mind. One not previously explicitly recognized, but once so noted, found in my memory.

On arriving home I shed my wet clothes, built a fire, and sat. No thinking. No reading. No eating. Not really warming especially at the fire. Simply, as near as I could tell, just being alive. And it was a pleasure. Just to be alive was enough.