Another half of a year has passed, marking 4 1/2 years of Saturday Morning Home Repair Blogging, SMHRB for short. As I said last week...
Good morning. A little respite from the turmoils of the world as we bring our focus in for a moment, in to where we live, our homes and how we keep them homey and comfortable.
Many of us repair and do our own improvements, out of dire necessity (no dough to hire a pro) or for the sheer perverse joy of doing things ourselves. So we gather, hang out and gab about our stuff, and offer up help and encouragement to those likewise inclined.
We might have just the clue you need to solve an emergency in your own space, or the inspiration that leads you to trying it for yourself, be it an emergency repair, or a long-wished-for improvement.
So this week we had our very own "extreme" weather event, a cold snap the likes of which haven't been seen in 40 years. I watched as the temperature here dropped 70 degrees Tuesday from near 60 degrees at 2 pm to minus 12 the following dawn. Wednesday night records fell as we experienced 16 below zero and nearby communities saw a jaw-dropping 36 below zero.
As I write, New Mexico is under a "State of Emergency" as natural gas deliveries have been unable to keep up with demand. How bad is it? Kirtland AFB, in Albuquerque, the third largest repository of nuclear warheads in the world, is closed, due to natural gas shortages, as is every public school and government facility in the State.
Then the dominoes started falling. (h/t Miep). See also reportage in this morning's Santa Fe New Mexican
And here we are; New Mexico, a net producer of energy, with abundant natural gas wells, the production of which is sold on the open market, for which the State (us folks who live here) receive a pittance in "royalties" from the extractors of this resource, reduced to shivering misery because the "for-profit" corporate industrial system of essential service providers couldn't deliver the goods when the chips were down.
(observe vast yawning gap of things that could be said...)
Here at the rural High Desert Caravansary, where all of our utilities are provided by consumer-owned not-for-profit Cooperatives, we had no interruptions of service. I was delighted to see that the water line I had to re-do last year did not freeze under this severe test.
I had an interesting conversation at the feed store yesterday. We, along with what seemed like everybody else in San Miguel (St. Michael) County, NM, got out today to shop after being wintered-in for the past few days. Our last stop was the aging feed facility, where they not only sell various animal foods, but actually formulate, there on the premises, the cattle, horse and other livestock feeds that the local and long-established ranching community depends on to supplement the range-grass and such hay as they can harvest that they stockpile to get through the often-harsh high desert winters. A bastion of the Old West, still standing despite the economic onslaught being waged by the WalMart SuperStore on the other side of this small city of 12,000 on the edge of the Great Plains.
In rare form, and somehow feeling comfortable in that venue with the clerk who has been there at least for the past 15 years, I let loose with the 3-minute DFH-Socialist recap of the past several generations of US economic history.
This gentleman agreed with me that things were seriously out-of-balance, given that all the present problems were seen coming 40 years ago. He even offered his own anecdote about realizing, years before, that the consolidation of energy suppliers into a few mega-corps would lead to exploitation.
To top off our feed-store experience, we made the acquaintance of one of the resident pooties, a young orange tom tabby that the young men at the loading dock were cuddling; said young tomcat deigning to allow me to pick him up and visit a moment (he was purring), before returning to his appointed and genetically-programmed-by-10,000-years-of-human-pootie-interaction job of guarding the Grain stores from the Rodents.
I find myself profoundly moved by those young men on that loading dock on the edge of the Great Plains, young men who were not ashamed to be seen loving that kitty in the brief moments they had when they were not having to sell their labor, their raw muscle-power, all they had to offer, for their sustenance.
I am, in fact, desperate for any manifestation of our common humanity that I can encounter out here in Meatspace. I am nourished by that which I can find.
This is the last SMHRB diary to be offered up under the familiar regime of DK3. If I can, I will have an offering for next Saturday under the new regime of DK4. If not, I will be here the following Saturday morning for those that bravely join hands with me and make the leap forward into the future.
SMHRB will be a "group", and you are all invited to join it with me, and help, in our small way, Kossaks venture into the future.
I hope this appears coherent in the morning when I get up to post it at the usual time. (not too bad, if a little rambling, for ethanol-enhanced late-night raving.)
Welcome. It is a balmy 26 degrees this morning and the woodstove is keeping us cozy. I hope you are warm and content also.