I had a dream when I was young that still surfaces to this day--even after all these years.
Growing up in a fairly large family in a tiny house, I have always been in love with the warm feeling that comes from a little cubbyhole of comfort. To be in a little corner, isolated by couch cushions surrounding me, or enveloped in blankets or quilts on an overstuffed chair--it didn't matter.
I have fantasized about having a special place--a place where I could escape to a book, sit and doodle on a notepad, or just take a nap. It should have regular walls, but only up from the floor to about 2 or 3 feet. At that point they would be glass all the way to the ceiling. The glass would go all the way around, affording me a 360° view. I would have shaded places--maybe under towering plants--that would provide me with respite from the sun's glare during the middle of the day. It would be small and cozy, and would have a couple of chair choices--one for sitting, and one for reclining. It would be toasty warm, carpeted, and strewn with brightly-colored, over-sized pillows of interesting patterns.
It would be a place where I could gaze out at rain streaming down the outside of the glass. Where I could sit with coffee and watch the sun rise in all its glory. Where I could sit with a glass of wine and watch the sun as it faded into night with a last blaze of color.
And here's the kicker: It should be 50 feet in the air. It should be like a small tower or crows nest, with a spiral staircase leading to the top. No sound up there unless I created it. An escape. Sanctuary.
Even though I am 59 years old and can easily be with my thoughts any time I want to, the dream of that special place continues to make special appearances in my thoughts.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Sunday, February 7, 2016
The Cigarette Cool Factor
I wish smoking cigarettes wasn't so fucking sexy.
I'm a product of the vintage hot rod/motorcycle world of yesteryear. My dad was a child of the rebellious 50's, and naturally it rubbed off on me. I'll be 60 next year, and I adore primer black, stripped down, thumb-your-nose-at-the-Status-Quo things. Vintage is cool. Old black and white is cool. The 50's were cool. Face it--the coolest, sexiest, I-don't-give-a-shit guys portrayed in any pictures related to 50's primer-black hot rods or Harleys are doing that smoking sneer. You know the sneer: one eye is almost closed and the other one is looking right into the camera--challenging you to be that cool. Never mind that one eye was probably closed because the smoke that was yet to be filtered by still-working lungs was burning the hell out of it. That didn't matter. What mattered was the eye looking at the camera. It was saying, "Come on pussy... see how cool it makes me look? What are you waiting for?"
When I'm browsing the internet for ideas about things I'm still swayed by pictures of guys with "the look." I'll be browsing for something to do with my Harley, some sort of apparel--hell, even when I was browsing possible hair styles they were there. The ads persist. No wait--they weren't ads, they were just pictures. They may as well be ads though--because they were selling the aura of cool.
I remember a comic in Playboy decades ago--a young boy standing on a chair in front of the bathroom mirror with a cigarette in his mouth. Reflected in the mirror was a cool, rugged, handsome man staring back at him. It was who he saw himself as with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I did the same thing. I fell victim to the "cool" factor. I started smoking because it was cool and rebellious. When I realized it didn't add a bit of cool, I saw the light and bowed out of smoking. That was decades ago, but still the mystique of "cool" is still out there. The allure, the draw, the power of suggestion.
It pisses me off because everybody wants to look cool. I'm no different. The difference is that I know it's only an illusion. But damn, it's a strong one.
I'm a product of the vintage hot rod/motorcycle world of yesteryear. My dad was a child of the rebellious 50's, and naturally it rubbed off on me. I'll be 60 next year, and I adore primer black, stripped down, thumb-your-nose-at-the-Status-Quo things. Vintage is cool. Old black and white is cool. The 50's were cool. Face it--the coolest, sexiest, I-don't-give-a-shit guys portrayed in any pictures related to 50's primer-black hot rods or Harleys are doing that smoking sneer. You know the sneer: one eye is almost closed and the other one is looking right into the camera--challenging you to be that cool. Never mind that one eye was probably closed because the smoke that was yet to be filtered by still-working lungs was burning the hell out of it. That didn't matter. What mattered was the eye looking at the camera. It was saying, "Come on pussy... see how cool it makes me look? What are you waiting for?"
When I'm browsing the internet for ideas about things I'm still swayed by pictures of guys with "the look." I'll be browsing for something to do with my Harley, some sort of apparel--hell, even when I was browsing possible hair styles they were there. The ads persist. No wait--they weren't ads, they were just pictures. They may as well be ads though--because they were selling the aura of cool.
I remember a comic in Playboy decades ago--a young boy standing on a chair in front of the bathroom mirror with a cigarette in his mouth. Reflected in the mirror was a cool, rugged, handsome man staring back at him. It was who he saw himself as with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I did the same thing. I fell victim to the "cool" factor. I started smoking because it was cool and rebellious. When I realized it didn't add a bit of cool, I saw the light and bowed out of smoking. That was decades ago, but still the mystique of "cool" is still out there. The allure, the draw, the power of suggestion.
It pisses me off because everybody wants to look cool. I'm no different. The difference is that I know it's only an illusion. But damn, it's a strong one.
Winding Down
[...I found this draft on my computer that never got posted from last June. Better late than never!]
As I neared home from my 2+ weeks of vacation road trip I had this idea to have a "vacation from my vacation" so to speak. My epic journey of driving was nearing an end, and I was in dire need of some true relaxation. The trip had not been as fun as I hoped it would be. I formulated the idea of taking this little camping trip as an afterthought... before I even got home. When I did get home I did what chores I needed to do, like laundry and lawn-mowing, and purposefully left half of my stuff in the car so I wouldn't have to repack it. This was not a well-planned camping trip. It was almost as if I were in a hurry. My food was poorly-planned, my beer ran out of ice, but you know what? I didn't care.
I love a good camping trip. It's fills me with solitude and the feeling of being completely off the grid. It's a time to reflect. It's a time to notice the little things around you--the smells, the sounds, the creatures. I'm not talking about camping in a campground with other campers (which is most people's definition of camping). You know the ones: each camper with the designated spot that they are renting for the night, and with kids and dogs running around everywhere and music blasting. That's not camping--that's just living like they normally do but with no walls. I'm talking about driving patiently and investigating each road in hopes that it leads to something promising until I finally find that spot--that special spot--that makes it all worthwhile. It's about being in a remote place in perfect weather with no clothes, no cares, and no rules. The only sounds are the wind, the occasional bird, and maybe the sound of an airplane in the distance every now and then. Taking walks wearing nothing but sandals and a smile--a smile that will not go away.
I took out my iPad at one point to do a little reading and found it to be so low on battery it was near death. Did I let that bother me? Nope, I'm camping, remember? That was just another way of driving the point home.
Last night one vehicle drove by. Today, one vehicle drove by. Somehow I ended up spraining my left thumb at one point. I think it was during a session of firewood gathering. I have numerous scrapes and scratches--again from firewood gathering. Do I care? No. I'm naked in the great outdoors. I'm camping. It's worth it.
The various bugs didn't really bother me either. Whether it was the miniature ants that were constantly exploring, the occasional biting insect that wanted to feed, or the just plain stupid winged ones that crash into me because I'm in their flight path. I don't care though. I'm naked in the great outdoors and I'm off the grid.
As I neared home from my 2+ weeks of vacation road trip I had this idea to have a "vacation from my vacation" so to speak. My epic journey of driving was nearing an end, and I was in dire need of some true relaxation. The trip had not been as fun as I hoped it would be. I formulated the idea of taking this little camping trip as an afterthought... before I even got home. When I did get home I did what chores I needed to do, like laundry and lawn-mowing, and purposefully left half of my stuff in the car so I wouldn't have to repack it. This was not a well-planned camping trip. It was almost as if I were in a hurry. My food was poorly-planned, my beer ran out of ice, but you know what? I didn't care.
I love a good camping trip. It's fills me with solitude and the feeling of being completely off the grid. It's a time to reflect. It's a time to notice the little things around you--the smells, the sounds, the creatures. I'm not talking about camping in a campground with other campers (which is most people's definition of camping). You know the ones: each camper with the designated spot that they are renting for the night, and with kids and dogs running around everywhere and music blasting. That's not camping--that's just living like they normally do but with no walls. I'm talking about driving patiently and investigating each road in hopes that it leads to something promising until I finally find that spot--that special spot--that makes it all worthwhile. It's about being in a remote place in perfect weather with no clothes, no cares, and no rules. The only sounds are the wind, the occasional bird, and maybe the sound of an airplane in the distance every now and then. Taking walks wearing nothing but sandals and a smile--a smile that will not go away.
I took out my iPad at one point to do a little reading and found it to be so low on battery it was near death. Did I let that bother me? Nope, I'm camping, remember? That was just another way of driving the point home.
Last night one vehicle drove by. Today, one vehicle drove by. Somehow I ended up spraining my left thumb at one point. I think it was during a session of firewood gathering. I have numerous scrapes and scratches--again from firewood gathering. Do I care? No. I'm naked in the great outdoors. I'm camping. It's worth it.
The various bugs didn't really bother me either. Whether it was the miniature ants that were constantly exploring, the occasional biting insect that wanted to feed, or the just plain stupid winged ones that crash into me because I'm in their flight path. I don't care though. I'm naked in the great outdoors and I'm off the grid.
Here it is--7:00--and I continue to sit without regard to putting my clothes back on. I think it is a little warmer than yesterday, plus I have a much better fire than yesterday. The wind in the trees now has the relaxing pop & snap of the fire going well competing with it.
It doesn't get much better than this.
It doesn't get much better than this.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Cheyenne and Wine
I was hanging out at Wendy's place next door yesterday when I shot this with my phone. I think Cheyenne was contemplating whether her mom's glass of wine was half empty or half full. Or maybe wondering if anyone would notice if a little bit went missing. I just loved the shot:
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Missing the Sun
I'm a little disappointed today. Actually, I have been for a few days.
Everyone knows you can't change the weather, and if you could it would be incredibly selfish to monkey with it, right? We have had a very, very warm spring and summer here in Washington State this year, and I have enjoyed the hell out of it. I am solar-powered, so unlike most people I talk to, I like it hot. It means less or no clothing.
Which brings me to the topic of my disappointment.
Every year I look forward to the end of August for a particular event called Nudestock. It's an amazing day in an amazing place, with a lot of very laid-back people. The forecast for the weekend this year? Cool and rainy. Argghh. Sure, they have a nice, heated pool, a couple of nice hot tubs, and a fire pit, but what about the in-between times? It's funny to see nudists wearing shirts and nothing else, but it happens a lot during those cool times. It's like a refusal to give in and admit defeat. Don't let the weather win.
Click here for my coverage of last year's event. It was stellar!
I'll hope for a last-minute reprieve in the weather, but I doubt it will happen. It's close enough to Saturday right now that the weather nerds will likely be dead-on with their forecast. Oh well. I'll hope for next year. In the meantime, I guess I'll try to make use of any nice weekends that happen from now on.
If warm sun on skin I feel
my clothing I must quickly peel.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
R.I.P. Dad
Dad died the other night. Just like that. One day he was there, spewing his disconnected train of thought at full volume to everyone within earshot, and the next day not.
My phone rang at 2:01 this morning, obviously rousing me from my slumber. When I saw who the call was from I knew. She confirmed it when I answered.
"The medics are here with your dad.” She said simply.
"Okay," I answered, "are you going to follow them to the hospital?"
"He's not going anywhere," she said, simply.
"I'll be right there."
I rushed down there as fast as I could, covering the 8 miles in record time. Traffic is very light at a little past 2am. As soon as I turned the corner onto their street I saw the flashing red lights four blocks down. When I walked into the house, mom was sitting fairly calmly at the table. There were two EMT's and two policeman there. As I walked in the door they greeted me with looks of solemn respect, knowing I must be a relative. He was already gone by then of course. He died peacefully in his chair–the chair he ate, slept, and did pretty much everything else in. It was his 'home base.'
The cops were going through the necessary ritual of writing everything down, when they came to the point where they had to take some pictures.
"You might want to leave the room," the officer said gently, "We have to take some file pictures, and we'll have to to roll him over." he said, apologetically. Mom went into the bedroom while they did their work. I stayed. I don't know why, but is felt I had to stay. It was weird. I felt a sort of detached pity for him as they turned him the best they could. Then they they opened his eyes for a picture. That must have been the part that disturbs people. It was definitely a weird sensation to me. I could have done without it.
The EMT's left first, followed not long after by the two policemen. With everyone gone mom and I sat down at the table, just a few feet from dad lying peacefully beneath his old scruffy orange and black Harley throw with only his feet showing. We sat talking and waiting for the fellows from the funeral home to show up. It was strange. We both felt it and commented on it. It was like if we made too much noise we would wake him.
She seemed at rest with the notion that he was finally gone. She had wondered several times in these past months how he had managed to survive the ravages of cancer and dementia that had plagued him. But as comfortable and strong as she tried to portray herself while she was sitting there she also seemed very vulnerable.
I watched the two guys from the funeral home transfer dad's body over to the gurney as mom again retreated to the safety of her bedroom. I gazed at him sadly as they went about their business. That is, until the zipper. The long, drawn-out zipper of finality. The sound I had heard on so many television shows. It seemed so different here. It seemed suddenly very, very real… As if I had been in denial up until that time. I wasn't stricken with a sudden wave of grief, but rather, the situation before my eyes suddenly seemed underlined and italicized. It was real and it was happening.
I sat with mom for another hour or so. We talked and drank coffee. During that time I started contacting everyone. She didn't want to have to deal with it and I couldn't blame her. I didn't want to do it either, but better me than her. Little by little, I got hold of everyone at the “base” of the family triangle, some by phone, some by text. By this time Mom was getting tired. She seemed anxious to have some time to herself. She didn't say, but I sensed it.
I left and went home. R.I.P. to the Old Man on the Porch.
My phone rang at 2:01 this morning, obviously rousing me from my slumber. When I saw who the call was from I knew. She confirmed it when I answered.
"The medics are here with your dad.” She said simply.
"Okay," I answered, "are you going to follow them to the hospital?"
"He's not going anywhere," she said, simply.
"I'll be right there."
I rushed down there as fast as I could, covering the 8 miles in record time. Traffic is very light at a little past 2am. As soon as I turned the corner onto their street I saw the flashing red lights four blocks down. When I walked into the house, mom was sitting fairly calmly at the table. There were two EMT's and two policeman there. As I walked in the door they greeted me with looks of solemn respect, knowing I must be a relative. He was already gone by then of course. He died peacefully in his chair–the chair he ate, slept, and did pretty much everything else in. It was his 'home base.'
The cops were going through the necessary ritual of writing everything down, when they came to the point where they had to take some pictures.
"You might want to leave the room," the officer said gently, "We have to take some file pictures, and we'll have to to roll him over." he said, apologetically. Mom went into the bedroom while they did their work. I stayed. I don't know why, but is felt I had to stay. It was weird. I felt a sort of detached pity for him as they turned him the best they could. Then they they opened his eyes for a picture. That must have been the part that disturbs people. It was definitely a weird sensation to me. I could have done without it.
The EMT's left first, followed not long after by the two policemen. With everyone gone mom and I sat down at the table, just a few feet from dad lying peacefully beneath his old scruffy orange and black Harley throw with only his feet showing. We sat talking and waiting for the fellows from the funeral home to show up. It was strange. We both felt it and commented on it. It was like if we made too much noise we would wake him.
She seemed at rest with the notion that he was finally gone. She had wondered several times in these past months how he had managed to survive the ravages of cancer and dementia that had plagued him. But as comfortable and strong as she tried to portray herself while she was sitting there she also seemed very vulnerable.
I watched the two guys from the funeral home transfer dad's body over to the gurney as mom again retreated to the safety of her bedroom. I gazed at him sadly as they went about their business. That is, until the zipper. The long, drawn-out zipper of finality. The sound I had heard on so many television shows. It seemed so different here. It seemed suddenly very, very real… As if I had been in denial up until that time. I wasn't stricken with a sudden wave of grief, but rather, the situation before my eyes suddenly seemed underlined and italicized. It was real and it was happening.
I sat with mom for another hour or so. We talked and drank coffee. During that time I started contacting everyone. She didn't want to have to deal with it and I couldn't blame her. I didn't want to do it either, but better me than her. Little by little, I got hold of everyone at the “base” of the family triangle, some by phone, some by text. By this time Mom was getting tired. She seemed anxious to have some time to herself. She didn't say, but I sensed it.
I left and went home. R.I.P. to the Old Man on the Porch.
Friday, January 9, 2015
The Hot Tub is Fully Operational!
As we speak the hot tub has been in full operation for a couple weeks. It works awesome! Let's back up...
I spent a week staring at it as it sat on the back of my truck, staring at me like a roadside billboard. Every time I looked out my bedroom window, my living room window that's what greeted me. Driving home from work and turning into my driveway, there it was, like a beacon of WTF... wondering when I was going to do something with it. I'm sure it got more than its share of looks from passersby, too. I couldn't wait to get it off my truck and into place. I wanted to try it out!
That's where friends come in.
I put the word out and got my helpers all lined up for the following Saturday afternoon. As I tend to be somewhat of a "Nervous Nellie" about things, I fretted over it--hoping it would come off without a hitch. My anxiety ramped up a notch when Wendy said the landlord would be showing to fix her toilet (oh no--what if he shows up and sees this giant tub on the back of my truck!) that afternoon. Well, everything went super. Everyone showed up right on schedule, and there were enough of us that it made the move super-easy. It was done in 15 minutes. To top it off, it was in place a full hour before the landlord showed up next door, so that ended up being a non-issue.
It sat in its new home, staring at me out the back door. Now it was time to figure out the wiring and try to find a decent cover for it. At first I was going to put the cover on hold until such time as the tub was fully operational. I just wanted to make sure everything worked before I invested in a new cover. Then I said to myself, "Self... If there's something on the tub that doesn't work you're going to fix it anyway, right? Find a damn cover!" Makes sense. I contacted the place in Seatac where Sue and I bought the new cover for her hot tub. The guy says, "You're in luck. This is the time of year when all our covers are on sale!" Well, believe me--the term "sale" is relative. That became obvious when he told me the price: $350. I'm pretty sure the last cover I bought from them was less than that and it wasn't even on sale. He says, "They're normally $420. Everything went up pretty substantially a couple years ago." Jeez. That's only $80 less than I paid for the hot tub! I thanked him after confirming I had until the end of December to still get that price. Then, after hanging up the phone I remembered Craigslist. I had been checking for covers but hadn't checked for a few days. Imagine my surprise when up popped an ad for an unused (new a year or so ago) cover my exact size! That was a Friday night, and the guy said they were leaving on a trip and wouldn't be back in the area until after Christmas, adding that if I could get there that evening he'd give it to me for $90. The ad had it listed for $125, so I hopped in my truck right away. A gloomy, rainy, dark evening drive to the outskirts of Renton/Issaquah to get it, and the guy let me have it for $80. Score!
I managed to get a little done each day on the installation. Changing the control box over to 110, putting the conduit boxes up, making a power cord--that sort of thing. Then I got to a point where I couldn't string the wiring through the conduit without some sort of fish tape thing. I tried everything too. I didn't want to buy one for one-time use, but fortunately, Wendy's daughter is an electrician, and she dropped one off for me to use a few days later. I got all the wiring strung through and hooked up to a new breaker. I already had the hot tub all cleaned out and ready to fill, so when the power was all hooked up and everything had juice, I put the hose in it and filled it up. It took about 50 minutes to fill... not bad.
When I turned the power on it took right off, humming smoothly. Cool! I went into Nervous Nellie mode again as I fretted over how slow it was heating up. When it powered up the water showed 48. After running for a couple hours it was only up 3 degrees. Seemed awful slow to me! Throughout the evening it ran, making progress, creeping up slowly. The next day I unplugged it when I got home from work--knowing something must be wrong. It seemed like Sue's hot tub got hot way quicker than that! (Of course, I think it was always summer when we filled it.) I did some electrical testing on its circuitry (I found a service manual online) and found nothing wrong. Then I got on the internet and did some more digging and found that it is just slow to heat due to it's heater. Apparently, it's standard 4.0kw heater all right but it only operates at 1.5kw when it's running on 110. Hmm. Okay, I decided to give it another chance. When I got home from work I plugged it back in. I gave it a little time, and a couple days later it was up to temp just fine. I wasn't finished yet though because then I fretted because it kept running. Seemed like too much. Come to find out, it has a default "filter mode" setting that automatically turns the pump on low every 12 hours. But get this: The default is 4 hours! WTF? That means it defaults to running for 4 hours every 12 hours just for filtering?! After digging around, I finally found out how to manually set the filter mode and have it down to running 1 hour every 12 hours. Much, much better.
For those that wonder, it's a Nordic Sport model. It's not your typical hot tub with angled, reclining-type seats built in, so it's not a "fall asleep comfortable" hot tub. It's just got what is basically a circular bench as you can see from this picture (not mine). I guess most of their tubs are geared toward entertaining and conversation. The manual says it's good for 5 people. You could probably put 6 in it if you were really close friends, but the water might go up too high and overflow. That's okay--I don't have that many friends anyway.
I've been in it several times, morning and evening, and I love it.
I spent a week staring at it as it sat on the back of my truck, staring at me like a roadside billboard. Every time I looked out my bedroom window, my living room window that's what greeted me. Driving home from work and turning into my driveway, there it was, like a beacon of WTF... wondering when I was going to do something with it. I'm sure it got more than its share of looks from passersby, too. I couldn't wait to get it off my truck and into place. I wanted to try it out!
That's where friends come in.
I put the word out and got my helpers all lined up for the following Saturday afternoon. As I tend to be somewhat of a "Nervous Nellie" about things, I fretted over it--hoping it would come off without a hitch. My anxiety ramped up a notch when Wendy said the landlord would be showing to fix her toilet (oh no--what if he shows up and sees this giant tub on the back of my truck!) that afternoon. Well, everything went super. Everyone showed up right on schedule, and there were enough of us that it made the move super-easy. It was done in 15 minutes. To top it off, it was in place a full hour before the landlord showed up next door, so that ended up being a non-issue.
It sat in its new home, staring at me out the back door. Now it was time to figure out the wiring and try to find a decent cover for it. At first I was going to put the cover on hold until such time as the tub was fully operational. I just wanted to make sure everything worked before I invested in a new cover. Then I said to myself, "Self... If there's something on the tub that doesn't work you're going to fix it anyway, right? Find a damn cover!" Makes sense. I contacted the place in Seatac where Sue and I bought the new cover for her hot tub. The guy says, "You're in luck. This is the time of year when all our covers are on sale!" Well, believe me--the term "sale" is relative. That became obvious when he told me the price: $350. I'm pretty sure the last cover I bought from them was less than that and it wasn't even on sale. He says, "They're normally $420. Everything went up pretty substantially a couple years ago." Jeez. That's only $80 less than I paid for the hot tub! I thanked him after confirming I had until the end of December to still get that price. Then, after hanging up the phone I remembered Craigslist. I had been checking for covers but hadn't checked for a few days. Imagine my surprise when up popped an ad for an unused (new a year or so ago) cover my exact size! That was a Friday night, and the guy said they were leaving on a trip and wouldn't be back in the area until after Christmas, adding that if I could get there that evening he'd give it to me for $90. The ad had it listed for $125, so I hopped in my truck right away. A gloomy, rainy, dark evening drive to the outskirts of Renton/Issaquah to get it, and the guy let me have it for $80. Score!
I managed to get a little done each day on the installation. Changing the control box over to 110, putting the conduit boxes up, making a power cord--that sort of thing. Then I got to a point where I couldn't string the wiring through the conduit without some sort of fish tape thing. I tried everything too. I didn't want to buy one for one-time use, but fortunately, Wendy's daughter is an electrician, and she dropped one off for me to use a few days later. I got all the wiring strung through and hooked up to a new breaker. I already had the hot tub all cleaned out and ready to fill, so when the power was all hooked up and everything had juice, I put the hose in it and filled it up. It took about 50 minutes to fill... not bad.
When I turned the power on it took right off, humming smoothly. Cool! I went into Nervous Nellie mode again as I fretted over how slow it was heating up. When it powered up the water showed 48. After running for a couple hours it was only up 3 degrees. Seemed awful slow to me! Throughout the evening it ran, making progress, creeping up slowly. The next day I unplugged it when I got home from work--knowing something must be wrong. It seemed like Sue's hot tub got hot way quicker than that! (Of course, I think it was always summer when we filled it.) I did some electrical testing on its circuitry (I found a service manual online) and found nothing wrong. Then I got on the internet and did some more digging and found that it is just slow to heat due to it's heater. Apparently, it's standard 4.0kw heater all right but it only operates at 1.5kw when it's running on 110. Hmm. Okay, I decided to give it another chance. When I got home from work I plugged it back in. I gave it a little time, and a couple days later it was up to temp just fine. I wasn't finished yet though because then I fretted because it kept running. Seemed like too much. Come to find out, it has a default "filter mode" setting that automatically turns the pump on low every 12 hours. But get this: The default is 4 hours! WTF? That means it defaults to running for 4 hours every 12 hours just for filtering?! After digging around, I finally found out how to manually set the filter mode and have it down to running 1 hour every 12 hours. Much, much better.
For those that wonder, it's a Nordic Sport model. It's not your typical hot tub with angled, reclining-type seats built in, so it's not a "fall asleep comfortable" hot tub. It's just got what is basically a circular bench as you can see from this picture (not mine). I guess most of their tubs are geared toward entertaining and conversation. The manual says it's good for 5 people. You could probably put 6 in it if you were really close friends, but the water might go up too high and overflow. That's okay--I don't have that many friends anyway.
I've been in it several times, morning and evening, and I love it.
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