Keeping Windows Dry

Air is a fair insulator, and one of the ways of insulating windows in a cold climate is to fasten clear plastic inside the windows, generally a couple of inches inside the pane. The problem is that moisture is frequently trapped between the window and the plastic sheet, leading to condensation on the window. Especially when the temperature outside reaches 40 below.

If you can get a tight enough seal that room air cannot get between the plastic and the window, there is a solution.

Ever heard of silica gel? You’ve probably run into it, in the form of the little packets used to keep things like pills dry. It’s also available in craft stores, for drying flowers. The kind I’ve gotten has tiny crystals in it that turn blue when dry and pink when moist. It soaks up moisture from the air when dry. When moist, it can be dried in the oven.

Have a small dish handy, of a size to fit comfortably on the windowsill between the plastic and the glass. Make sure the gel is thoroughly dry, and pour a few inches into the container. (I use small plastic glasses.)

The plastic I use has double-sided tape that is applied to the window frame, and I do the final drying while the tape is being applied. I then place the container of dried gel on the windowsill and apply the plastic, making sure I have an air-tight seal. The result? Windows that stay dry, even in the plant room.

Of course if the air is humid enough, condensation will still form on the plastic or the walls. But the window will stay a good deal drier with the gel than without it.

Jarn’s Journal Day 398

This is an excerpt from the (fictional) journal of a human-like alien stranded on Earth, in southern Africa, roughly 125,000 years ago. His journal will eventually become the Holy Book of many planets in the Jarnian Confederation, which is where my two science fiction novels, Homecoming and Tourist Trap, are set. The parts of the journal that have been blogged to date are on my author website.

The northern solstice has passed!

I have made a calendar of sorts, with Songbird’s aid. There is a particular flat rock I stand on, at the top of the rise where I have built my shelter. I can see the sunset move around the horizon from that point, and though the horizon is not flat, the hills are constant. Songbird goes out with me at sunset every day, and moves until the stake she holds is just lined up with the sun on the horizon. Then she drives it into the ground. If it will not go in (which sometimes happens) she holds it while I pile loose rocks around it.

The last few days the stakes have been almost in the same place, but this evening the position of the stake was definitely south of yesterday’s stake, if by only a fingerwidth.

I think the actual solstice was two days ago. At any rate that is what I will assume in figuring the year length, and in trying to estimate when the rains — and Songbird’s people – will be back.

Songbird was not very enthusiastic about helping me at first, though she was obedient enough to do as I said. More of this “god” stuff, I suppose. But when I explained that I wanted to use the sticks to help me know when to go look for her people’s return, she rapidly started reminding me when it was almost sunset. Her leg has healed without a trace of a limp, and I must admit that I feel rather proud of my skills as a doctor!

Of course I have not been here long enough yet to know exactly when the rains will start and the game and Songbird’s people will return. But both should occur as the sun’s course moves back south.

I want to see that shaman!

Conversation Piece

This is a bit of flash fiction, written in the Summer Arts Festival. The assignment was to write a conversation between two people who don’t understand each other, one of whom has some kind of dominance over the other. I’d call this a dysfunctional school, but this sort of incident can happen–we’ve had similar accounts on the insulin-pumpers e-group.

The small office was too warm, but Cyril never thought of shedding his coat.  Instead, he straightened his tie, pulled himself up in his chair and glared at the student standing in front of him.  “Well?”

The boy–what was his name?  Jerry?   Jimmy?  Jimmy, that was it–refused to meet his eyes and scuffed his right foot on the floor.  “I ain’t done nothing.  What you want to go pickin’ on me for?”  He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his head, pretending to study the books on the wall.

“Speak properly, boy, and stand up straight.”  Damn kids today.  No respect.   Snotty twelve-year old, thinking he knew more than an adult.  And his hands were tied.  Couldn’t touch the little bastards, no matter how much a good spanking would straighten them out. “Trying to use a cell phone in class isn’t nothing, boy.  Now hand it here.”

Jimmy backed up a step, and his hand tightened around the phone in his pocket.  “Don’t have a cell phone.”  Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Cecil stared at the boy, outraged by the lie.  “So what’s that in your pocket?”

“None of your business.”

Cyril stood up, lips compressed.  “Give it here.”

“No!”  Jimmy backed away another step, his eyes flickering to the closed door.

Furious, Cyril lunged toward the boy, grabbing the object the youngster held and pulling it away.  It was tethered by a cord to the pocket, and he jerked it free and threw it down.  He heard it smash as it hit the floor.

Jimmy screamed.  “You bastard.  He ran to the broken plastic case and picked it up, crying openly now.  “My mom’ll kill me.  I made her promise not to tell.  New school–I thought the other kids didn’t need to know.  And since the divorce…”

Cyril took the smashed electronics from the boy’s unresisting hands, and suddenly saw the words in the back of the case.  Insulin pump.

Mercedes Lackey Quotes

The quotes during the last week were again mostly from Mercedes Lackey, for the same reason as two weeks ago: they’re easy to find and Shin’i’an proverbs are just the right length to tweet.

“Just because you feel that an enemy is lurking behind every bush, it doesn’t follow that you are wrong. Mercedes Lackey, Winds of Change. Elspeth, quoting Kero –another Shin’i’an proverb. Elspeth is worried by the apparent malevolence of the K’Sheyna Heartstone.

“In these times, it was no longer possible to hide behind a veil of politeness.” Mercedes Lackey, Winds of Change. Starblade has invited Tre’valen to his ekele for a purpose, and the normal verbal dance between the two is being curtailed.

“Fire can warm you from a distance, but it burns when you get too close to it.” Mercedes Lackey, Winds of Change. Elspeth’s comment on Firesong.

“People were often like rabbits; frighten them, and their minds ceased to work.” Mercedes Lackey, Winds of Fury  An‘desha reporting Falconsbane’s thoughts to the Avatars, and thinking that Ancar has some reason behind merely frightening his subordinates.

“Love is worth fighting for!” Mercedes Lackey, Winds of Fury. Stephen’s ghost to Skif and Nyara

“Knowledge is good! History is better! Tell me! Tell me all!” Mercedes Lackey, Winds of Fury. Who else but Rris would put that many exclamation points into one utterance? Of course once the destruction of Ancar and Falconsbane is over, he wants to make it into oral history.

“The planet’s name must have been picked out by a publicity agent.” Sue Ann Bowling, Tourist Trap. Marna’s initial thought about the planet Eversummer, which has its rotational axis perpendicular to its ecliptic, and hence no seasons.

The Johnson Afrt Museum

Japanese garden as seen from the new entrance foyer.

The Johnson Art Museum, at Cornell University, had the grand opening of its new wing Saturday. Being in the area and not having visited it before, I went to see their collection.

I tried to avoid flash, and most of my handheld pictures came out too blurry to use, The museum does have an excellent Asian collection, and I was also very intrigued by some of the cut paper work in the lowest level. Most of my attempts to photograph anything indoors, however, were failures.

The small stones represent the water in the gorge.

While I enjoyed all of the museum, I found myself most drawn to the Japanese garden just off the new entrance. The museum as a whole has a great deal of Asian art, including a new scroll, Three Laughers of the Tiger Glen. To quote from the Museum’s newsletter:

“One day the Daoist priest Lu Xiujing and the Confucian poet Tao Yuanming visited the Buddhist monk Huiyuan, who had become a recluse and vowed never to leave his mountain temple. As they concluded their visit toether, the three friends became so caught up in conversation that Huiyuan inadvertently crossed the bridge over the Tiger Glen, a ravine that formed the boundary of the temple precinct. As soon as they realized what had happened, the men burst into laughter at the absurdity of this transgression. The parable teaches that true wisdom is gained when boundaries of difference are overcome through mutual understanding. ”

Museum Lobby

The scroll shows the three men laughing together at the end of the bridge. But the design of the Japanese garden also follows this story, with three upright rocks for the three men, the cleft in the field of moss for the gorge, and the plank bridge over the cleft.

The opening was well attended, with activities such as brush painting for the children. Too bad more of my pictures didn’t come out better.

Weather in Fairbanks and Ithaca, New York

Leaves in Ithaca. Back in Fairbanks, they're all brown and on the ground.

In Fairbanks, the sun rose this morning at 8:49 and it will set this afternoon at 6:22, for 9 hours 32 min of daylight—6 min 42 seconds more than yesterday. The sun at its highest is less than 16 degrees above the horizon, so we’re not getting much solar heating.  I’m not in Fairbanks right now, but according to the weather service, there probably won’t be snow on the ground this week. They are calling for rain and snow showers at night, though.

Here in Ithaca, New York, the trees are turning color (including red) and the view is brilliant when it isn’t raining. This morning the sun is even shining, Back home in North Pole, it’s 32 degrees F and snowing, according to my iPhone. The lawn here and many of the leaves are still green. It’s going to be a bit of a shock getting back home, where the leaves are on the ground but will probably be under the snow by the time I get back. There was enough to whiten the ground in the shade when I left, last Wednesday. Here, though, the sun is up 11 hours a day. It’ll be up even longer for me next week, in Sierra Vista, Arizona.

Six Sentence Sunday

This is a continuation of last week’s post from my work in progress, working title Rescue Operation.

His blue eyes widened ingenuously.  “How long’s it been since the dam gave on Tilson’s stock pond?  Looked pretty shaky to me last time I rode by.  An’ the trace is right downhill.”

“Anybody live downstream now?” asked one of the more responsible members of the self-styled Horizon freedom fighters.

“No,” Buck said firmly.

Visit the other Six Sentence Sunday participants.

How Dry I Am

Suppose you live in a cold climate, and it’s winter. Paint is flaking off the walls. Your sinuses feel as if they were lined with a thin layer of concrete. House plants long for a vacation in the relatively moist Sahara. You stop slathering goop on cracking skin long enough to listen to the weather report, only to hear, “current temperature minus twenty degrees, relative humidity seventy-five percent.” Obviously, the weather service’s humidity has very little to do with the humidity where you live! But why?

Actually, if you measured the relative humidity outdoors, as the weather service does, you’d probably come up with about the same value they get. Contrary to general belief, Alaska north of the Coast Range complex does not have a particularly “dry” cold in winter. The only reason the humidity is not closer to 100 percent is because of the way relative humidity is defined. It’s the amount of water actually in the air divided by the maximum amount the air could hold if it were saturated, that is, if it had an endless reservoir of liquid water to supply moisture. This is a perfectly good definition at temperatures above freezing. Ice, however, turns out to be less effective as a moisture source than supercooled water (water which stays liquid below freezing temperatures), and in Alaska we tend to have an endless reservoir of ice in the form of snow, rather than water, in the winter. Our normal winter humidities near the ground are generally close to the maximum possible in the presence of ice.

Why, then, are we and our houses so dehydrated through most of the winter as to threaten spontaneous combustion?

The amount of water that a given amount of air can hold depends on the temperature of the air as well as on whether the air is in contact with ice or water. The air in a moderate size house — about 1325 square feet with eight-foot ceilings — would hold almost a gallon and a half of water at 68 degrees F. At 32 degrees F, the same amount of air could hold only about a quart and a half of water. As temperatures drop, the amount of water gets less — one and a quarter cups at zero, less than half a cup at twenty below, and a couple of tablespoonsful at forty below.

Now suppose we are maintaining the house temperature at 68° F. The air in the house is capable of holding almost a gallon and a half of water. But the same amount of air at outdoor temperatures is able to hold much less, especially if the effect of snow is considered. At forty below, for instance, an amount of outdoor air sufficient to fill the house, with an official relative humidity of 68 percent, will contain less than half a shot glass of water. When this outdoor air is brought into the house and warmed up to 68 degrees, it will still contain only half a shot glass of water, but will now be able to hold a gallon and a half, so the relative humidity of the outdoor air brought in and heated with no change in its water content will be about half of one percent. No wonder it is dry indoors in the winter!

Of course normal human activities — cooking, bathing, even breathing — are constantly adding water to the air indoors, and generally considerably more than is brought in with fresh air from outdoors. But beyond a certain point this extra water is removed by contact with cold windows and insulation. That, however, is a subject for a future column.

This article and its follow-up were originally published in the Alaska Science Forum. Next week I’ll talk about a way of insulating windows so they don’t fog up too badly.

Jarn’s Journal day 390

Songbird has decided I need new clothes.

Not that I really need them for warmth, unless I go out at night. It cools off fast in the dry season. But there are an awfully lot of thorny plants, and while I don’t sunburn easily, I do sunburn. And the few clothes I had with me are falling to pieces.

That didn’t stop Songbird from close examination of my one-piece shipsuit (or what is left of it) and my woven tunic. Or my crude shoes, for that matter.

She herself is wearing a kind of tunic made of two gazelle skins, beautifully tanned, fastened together at the shoulders and sides. I am not sure whether the purpose is protection from thorns, a sunshade, or simply local cultural mores – I didn’t get a very close look at the females of her people. The men, at least when running down game, wear very little.

But this morning Songbird presented me with a new tunic. It is very coarse of weave, but it is woven – much like the baskets she has woven to hold foodstuffs. It seems to be woven all in one piece, like the baskets, but of softer fibers than grass. When I asked her what the fibers were, she showed me one of the plants she has asked me to gather for the seeds. She then explained that when allowed to soak in water, the fibers could be separated from the stems. Her people use it only rarely, because of the work involved, but she thought that since I am a god it would be appropriate for me.

I have given up on trying to convince her I am not a god.

Skyscape

The assignment, from Summer Arts Festival 2009: Take lines from one or more existing poems and rearrange them to form a poem of your own. The result?

Skyscape

A hawk high in the soft sky,
Silly with light
As the trumpets of Mahler
Is only a smudge of motion.

And the clouds moved,
And the grass growing fast below,
And the volcanoes haven’t yet awakened,

And so on the long day of the summer solstice,
For their small Chinese brushstrokes arrowing blue
She dances messages.

(There’s a bit of wishful thinking today, with the days becoming rapidly shorter.)