Let’s Buy Electric Vehicles We Cannot Afford

1905 electric car

I’ve been trying to purchase a new Toyota hybrid car for quite a while. The dealer lots are quite empty.  Customers are told that they must “reserve” a car in order to purchase. That never happened before in America in any previous administrations.  In the meantime, Toyota recalled a few thousand electric cars before they rolled out to the dealers.

The environmental “Green” politicians and our government have tripled the price of gasoline through its anti-fossil fuel economic policies from day one of this disastrous administration, in hopes that Americans will rush to buy their expensive and unaffordable electric vehicles (EVs) as mandated by the Green New Deal which is neither green, nor new, nor a deal.

To use a phrase that the globalist left and the United Nations have concocted in 1992, “sustainable,” to describe just about everything we do in life and in any economy, EVs are not “sustainable” for many reasons. They are just a toy for the rich and for young Americans with trust funds or money to burn on the latest fad.

You don’t have to be an engineer to realize that there are huge problems with the total replacement of fossil fuels and combustion engines with electric cars powered by lithium batteries.

Young engineers claim that the United States would only need to increase its energy production by 30 percent to accommodate all the possible EVs Americans would drive. But the theory of energy needed is quite short-sighted and leaves out a large swath of our giant economy and its commercial needs. The calculations only take into account private driving and not our industrial and transportation needs, i.e., big trucks, ships, airplane fleet, military, hospitals, schools, businesses, etc.

Few mention our aging grid that needs huge upgrades in order to prevent crashing. The patch grid currently in use fails frequently during power surges and larger needs due to inclement weather and heat/cold waves.  Blackouts are already occurring without millions of EVs in use and in need of charging.

Lithium batteries have a lifespan of 7-8 years and the cost of a new battery is $10,000. The rare metals are not in endless supply and lithium must be mined in certain countries where pollution is rampant and child labor is used.

Construction and disposal of lithium batteries is controversial as they are seldom recycled, they must be buried.

Producing such lithium batteries is certainly not carbon neutral at all even though the engine of an EV may not pollute the environment.

We know that time is money and the downtime between charges, somewhere along the highway, is certainly an issue that must be taken into account. There is a huge opportunity cost to such collective downtime that nobody has bothered to calculate.

Gas stations service hundreds of cars a day, filling the tanks quite rapidly. In order to have a large electric station that could charge even a fraction of cars in much longer time, one needs acres and acres of space to accommodate EVs sitting there for half hour or more at each station terminal.

People living in high rise condos and apartments would be unable to charge their EVs overnight unless they run electric cables out the windows which is totally impractical or park in garages that are retrofitted with electric chargers for each parking space, a cost that would be collectively astronomical to invest in.

EVs draw serious amps to charge, thus popping transformers like corn in a kettle.

The electricity for charging stations is generated mostly by fossil fuels, not carbon neutral fairy dust as claimed by proponents.  To say that solar panels could provide the electricity needed for EVs is ludicrous when you consider that a town of 45,000 people would need 15 square miles of solar panels to support its electricity needs.

Owners of EVs, if they can afford the high prices, will become slaves to a designated dealer for service. Insurance rates for EVs are certainly higher, and first responders to an accident would need specialized equipment to deal with a crash or the ensuing lithium battery fire.

Are there enough rare earth metals such as lithium, cobalt, nickel to produce just batteries for EVs?

Without fossil fuels, how do the “Greens” propose to mine the metals for the EV batteries, with picks and shovels?

What happens when the metal resources for EV batteries dry out?

Until all of the above problems are solved, hybrids are a good interim solution to cut back on air, water, and soil pollution.  

Until such time that the grid is seriously updated and not patched, and the proper infrastructure to accommodate EVs is established, EVs are just more expensive toys for rich people and millennials to virtue signal what good earthers they are and what dangerous polluters the rest of us are.

 

 

 

Phone Conversation with Maria*

A few days ago, I talked to my childhood friend about our shared fifteen years in the same communist apartment block built in a hurry in the 1960s by the communist party regime. The activists were eager to move into that drab concrete and steel building as many villagers and urbanites as possible, farmers whose property they stole and whose homes they demolished, and poor proletarians who had no home of their own as everything of value they had ever owned had been confiscated by the Communist Party for the “good of the people.”

We reminisced about our fifteen years in the same government schools but different classrooms, and what our parents tried to do to help us survive and even in some cases, make our existence better. Her life was much nicer, we did not understand why at the time, but we gathered around her mother’s tiny kitchen as often as she would allow us.

Maria* told me that her dad used to be the communist apparatchik in the factory where he worked. As payment, for reporting on what other workers said during casual conversations at work, and for his efforts to indoctrinate others during daily discussions and weekly mandatory “syndicate” meetings, he received a monthly monetary stipend and rations of food from special stores dedicated to the loyal communist party members and activists.

Not all workers were permitted to be members of the communist club, they had to earn that distinction. And having an unacceptable background that was considered “bourgeois” was not exactly a ringing endorsement for membership in the rarified club of Bolsheviks. It did not take much to be considered “bourgeois,” a larger plot of land, or a nicer home inherited from parents and grandparents who worked hard to build it.

Bolsheviks welcomed snitches and convincing activists like her father who sported grey hair at an early age, making him look more distinguished, like a wise sage who could be trusted. When he died of old age, Maria threw away all his rubbish books he had in his communist activist library.

Maria had a rare rotary dial telephone in her home, something we only dared to dream. Most apartments had to wait 14 years to have a phone installed and bugged. Maria had better and abundant food, nicer clothes, medicine and proper medical care, finer furniture, and a black and white TV long before our parents were able to afford one.

Today, 33 years since the “fall” of communism in Romania, we were able to talk openly about our lives from long ago and laugh about it. That is not something we could have done during the oppressive socialist republic regime.

Another friend who lived on the same fifth floor as my parents did, right across from our apartment door, had a better life than ours as well, thanks to their father, a trucker, who lifted items regularly from whatever shipment he was hauling that day, and brought them home to feed his family. When he had an excess of whatever was in his cargo, he bartered with others. Decades later, his son, with a sweet but toothless grin, was still living in the same apartment with his family and elderly mom.

As kids, we did not understand the implications of why those two families’ lives were better. We just saw more food and we were hungrily envious. Nobody brought food to our door but, as we played games or did our homework in her apartment, sometimes we would get morsels of whatever desserts the lady of the house prepared for her family. The wonderful smells would waft up the concrete block’s stairwell and people knew who was cooking tasty food that day.

My daddy, an honest man to a fault, despised these people who stole to survive. Daddy knew bartering with stolen food was against the law and punishable by long jail sentences, but these people were desperate to keep their families alive any way they could in the absence of welfare. One neighbor went to jail for several years for simple theft at his factory. Daddy always said that he would rather we starve than steal from the oppressive regime that kept us so thin and dependent on their food rejects and bones scraped off meat that the inept communist party economic planners brought to the market daily.

My mom always shook her head in disapproval at how much food Americans squandered each day, not realizing how close to food shortages they are. In the end, the abundant system in this country failed her just as miserably as the communist system in Romania had failed her decades ago. Mom’s favorite phrase for everything not run properly was, “this is a village without dogs.”

 

*This is not her real name

Niculina Apostolescu's Obituary

Today, we are honoring the life of our beloved Niculina Apostolescu, born in the Ilie family in Tirgosul Vechi, Romania, on March 17, 1932.  She was one of 6 children raised under a tumultuous time in our global history, World War II. Although not formally educated beyond eighth grade, Niculina (Bibica) had an innate sense of intelligence that stretched far beyond that of textbooks and school; she understood how to survive and prosper.

The light of our lives was extinguished on June 9, 2022. Her happy smile, love, devotion to family, boundless generosity and love are gone forever. Our hearts are inconsolable.

Niculina Apostolescu is survived by her only child, Ileana Johnson, her granddaughters, April J. Jones and Mimi Eileen Johnson, her son-in-law David Paugh, her great-grandchildren, Holt Jones and Hardy Jones, her youngest sister Elena Gheorge, several nephews and nieces, Dragu Ilie, Carmen Ilie, Monica Adam, Rodica Zamfir, Stefan Zamfir, Adi Carpen, Cornelia Ilie, Mircea Apostolescu, Vasile Apostolescu, Lioara Apostolescu, Ionel Apostolescu, and Gigi Apostolescu.

A natural homemaker, Niculina loved to cook, took care of others selflessly, and was one of the best bakers in the family. Her bread and “sarmale” (stuffed cabbage) were legendary.

At the age of 48 she escaped communist Romania and defected to the United States where she became a permanent resident. She helped raise her granddaughters in the U.S. and lived a much better life than she would have lived under the oppressive communism.

When she defected in 1980, the communist government confiscated all her property left behind, personal belongings, her savings, the apartment she co-owned with her husband Florin Apostolescu, and her pension. She owned nothing anymore and was never happy about that. But she lived a happy life in my home until she was struck with dementia and needed nursing care around the clock.

Niculina’s crocheted doilies in the shape of grapes were famous. People loved her stitchery and her macrame artwork painstakingly done with a thin crocheting needle. A few people in Mississippi display her work in their homes to this day.

Her green thumb was revered by everyone; how she could bring plants back from the brink of death and give them new purpose and life. She was a calming presence in the lives of so many, never having met a baby or an animal that she did not love, and always wanted to entertain and host people in our home.

Although raised in a very stoic generation, she had such an ingratiating sense of humor that would make a sailor blush. It was dry and subtle, but impactful. This brought joy to so many.

Although native English speakers could not readily communicate through language with Niculina, she communicated through the love and kindness she showed others. She never learned English but she taught her granddaughters to speak Romanian fluently.

Some people think that she was so fortunate to have lived such a long and full life, this is true, but to those who knew and loved her, it will never be enough. Love cannot be quantified in years, but in experiences and memories. Even in death, her spirit and legacy are not extinguished, but remembered so fondly in the lives of those she touched in so many positive ways.

Her earthly body may have reached its final sunset, but her endearing soul remains ever present in her family, and in nature; the flora and fauna she loved so dearly.

Niculina was extraordinarily strong in her Orthodox faith and strived to live her life by those principles daily, reading scriptures each night before going to bed. She never feared death or talking about what comes after our physical body has ceased functioning.

For many of her family, she was the glue that kept them together, helped pick up broken pieces, help mend back together broken relationships, and comforting broken hearts.

Niculina, our beloved Maia (grandmother) and Mom, we are eternally grateful for having been a part of your family and life, and thank you for loving us unconditionally, even when sometimes we took it for granted. May God grant you Eternal peace and Rest!

“Her children rise up and called her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her. Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” Proverbs 31:28-29

My Beloved Mother, Niculina Apostolescu

My mom, Niculina Apostolescu, gave me a mantel clock thirty-five years ago that chimes every hour. The melodious sound used to annoy me at times when I tried to take a nap, but now it gives me comfort, as if she is still here.

I look for things that she left behind for me, anniversary gifts, a birthday ring from forty years ago, her beautiful, crocheted macramé in the shape of grapes and intricate doilies, and all her little porcelain figurines and tiny coffee cups she loved to bring back from Romania. The maroon crystal vase, a wedding gift, holds colorful carnations that my husband always brings home from the grocery store every three weeks.

Yesterday we gave away most of her personal belongings from the nursing home to the residents who don't have families to cherish them like we loved my mother, and we kept a few things. It was so hard to be in her room and bathroom, seeing all the things as if she was still living there.

A few outstanding employees hugged us, and we thanked them for their dedication and care for my mom.

Today we took a walk in the woods by the Potomac River and an unusual butterfly flew close to my daughter's face and to mine, but not my husband's. We thought, it was her soul, telling us that she is still around, watching over us, and it was a moment of happiness. She was our light, our heart, and the glue that held the family together.

Mom lived her life fully and happy, embracing others with her generosity and care. My daughters and I are who we are today thanks to her dedication and selfless hard work. She lived almost three months past 90 and she would have lived longer had her life not been cut by the careless and abusive staff at Manor Care in Fairfax, a nursing home facility owned by Pro Medica of Colorado.