It Worked Before

I have come to the realization that I have once again accumulated an inordinate amount of WIPS.  Once before, I challenged myself to complete every last one of my WIPS before casting on anything new.  I think I'm going to try that again.  I will need you, Gentle Reader, to keep me on course with this--as you did before.  To give myself a starting point, here are all the WIPS I have currently OTN.

1.  Conwy Socks, from Knitting On The Road by Nancy Bush  I'm still working on these, but unfortunately, they've fallen prey to the siren song of lace knitting.  But I'll get to that in a minute.

2. Pixie Dust Socks: The pattern is Bubble Wrap.  Yeah, these have fallen by the wayside.  They aren't hard, I'm just not feeling the love for this yarn.  It is Knit Picks Imagination, and it is very loosely spun.  It's totally not right for socks, but I've already finished one, so I'm determined to finish the pair.

3. Unnamed Scarf: Based on this pattern. I really should pick this back up. It was for charity and the yarn was donated.  I don't think I'd be knitting with it otherwise.  I cast on over a year ago.  Heck, it may be two years now.  I'd have to check back through the blog to see for sure. 

4.  Anniversary Mystery Shawl 10: The mojo for this one has gone on vacation, so I'm just going to let it marinate for a while.

5.  Orkney Pi Shawl:  The mojo for this one finally came home, and I picked it back up this week.  I really like this pattern so far.  The repeats are fairly short, making it easy to remember.  I don't have to keep looking at the chart while I knit.  Just one thing, though, the charts are difficult to follow and have some errors.  However, the written instructions are clear and so far, error free.

6.  Fruit of The Vine Scarf:  It's moving right along.  I was knitting quite well on it until the Orkney Pi mojo came a knockin at my door. 

I think that's all the active WIPS I have at the moment. I do have a couple of things in the planning stage, but I'm not counting those. I'm also not counting the two blankies, since they are more knit-when-I-get-yarn projects.

Speaking of getting yarn, Peaches and Cream cotton is coming out with some new colors.  I've picked up these two so far:

 They are Desert Sunset (left) and Yorktown (right).  They have another color called Coral Reef, which I absolutely love, but Wal-Mart only has it in a cone.  I don't really want that much of it.  Maybe when I head back up to Southaven, they'll have it at the Jo-Ann's there. 

One of the blogs I visit often--make that daily-- is Confessions of A Pioneer Woman.   She's got the kind of life I always wished I could have.  Except that she has more kids than I would ever want.  And she sits in the truck and watches all the fun...I'd be out there in the middle of it.  Calf nuts and all.

Anyway, in today's post, she shares some blogging tips.  I'm not going to repeat them all here.  You'll just have to go to her site and read the whole thing.  A couple of them stood out at me, though.  Her #1 tip:  Be Yourself-- write as if you are talking to your sister.  Little does she know that I couldn't do that.   Mainly because when one talks to my sister, one doesn't talk.  One just listens.  My sister talks.  So fast sometimes, I have to watch to make sure she's somehow taking breaths in all that chatter.  But when I first started blogging, I had blog buddies.  People who came by my blog, and who's blogs I visited every day.  When I sat down to write, I imagined that I was sitting with those people over a cup of coffee--or in my case Dr. Pepper, since I don't drink coffee --and just chatting about my day.  It's more difficult now.  Most of those people don't come around any more.  Many of them have quit blogging completely.  The rest, I guess, just found me boring and left for more interesting pastures.

The second point she makes is to blog often.  To consider your blog a precious bloom that requires daily nurturing.  I think this is where I began to go wrong.  Here lately, I've been spending more time on Facebook, and the blog has taken a back seat.  That is about to change.  Now that we're no longer working until the point of exhaustion, I'm going to make the blog a priority again.  I'm going to bring it forward from the back burner.  It will once again become a forethought, rather than an afterthought.  And if my Frontierville crops die, they just die.  That's a dumb game anyway.  I just can't stop playing it.

The final point that I'm going to repeat is to value every person who takes time out of her day to stop by the blog.  And I do value you.  Sus, who's been with me from the beginning, or nearly so.  Stephanie, who's been here nearly as long.  Ruth, who seldom comments, but I know you're out there.  And the rest of you who have me in your feed readers.  I value each and every one of you, whether you stop and leave a comment or not.

I love ya.  All of ya.

Squeaky says, "Hmmmm, what shall I blog about today?"

The Biggest Loser

It's almost time for all the new TV seasons to begin. Some shows I'm looking forward to watching again. Others I am not.

I'm not a big fan of The Biggest *** TV show.  I know that sounds heretical, but it's true.  People think it is a wonderful show, doing a wonderful thing.  It's helping people get healthy.

But it's really not.

My problem with the concept is that it puts the contestants into an artificial environment in which everything around them is strictly controlled by outside forces.  Think about it.  They take them away from their families, isolate them on The Ranch, and for most of the 16 weeks they are there, the contestants are not allowed to leave.  They field trips they do take are closely supervised--as is their daily life on The Ranch.  They are told when to get up, what and how much to eat, where to go, when to go there, and what to do when they get there.  Not only that, they've got somebody standing over them all day making sure they get their 6-8 hours (yes, hours) of exercise each day.

What they don't get are skills on how to deal with real life situations.  They don't get instruction on how to maintain their health when they re-enter the real world.  When they no longer have time to work out those 6-8 hours.  And they don't receive counseling to deal with whatever pain they were trying to numb with food in the first place.  They don't receive practical instruction on maintaining a healthy lifestyle.

As a result, most of them end up gaining their weight back--or at least a good deal of it.  I was watching a few weeks back, because Tony Romo was supposed to be on the show.  Well, they had the guy who won season 3 come back and talk with the contestants of the season that was on then.  This wasn't a guy who got voted off in the first few weeks, mind you. This was the guy who won, and he had gained nearly every bit of his weight back.  He was already back up over 300 lbs, and was trying to lose it all again.  They also had the lady who'd won only two seasons ago.  She was starting to gain her weight back already.

I would like to see them do follow up shows on the contestants from the previous seasons, just to see who was able to maintain their weight loss, and who wasn't.  Maybe then, people could get some real weight loss help, instead of turning to a reality show.

Music Monday

Let Your Light So Shine

It was kind of strange watching Texas play yesterday, knowing that Colt McCoy was no longer there, or Jordan Shipley. But what with Garrett Gilbert and Tra Newton spearheading the offense, I think they'll do just fine. I tried to somehow work my way up to posting a Gratuitous Garrett Gilbert photo, but --alliteration notwithstanding-- it just didn't have the same ring.  Still, kids can't stay in college forever, and life must move on...

A few weeks back, I was listening to The Rick and Bubba show on Ustream, since our local radio affiliate dropped the show. I really hate that, because I loved listening to it while getting ready for work in the mornings. My guess is that the sex toys store and the abortion clinic threatened to pull their advertising if the station didn't drop the conservative, Christian show which promoted patriotism, common sense, and good moral values. So now, if I want to listen, I have to go to Ustream and watch the show archives.

Be that as it may, I was listening one morning, and Rick started telling a story about how he was flipping through the TV channels and found on one of the sports stations a program which caught his attention entitled Two Fathers, Two Sons, A Story Of Raising Champions.  The show was a documentary type thing in which they were interviewing the fathers of Greg McElroy and Colt McCoy.  For those of you who don't watch football, those were the two quarterbacks of Alabama and Texas, which played for the BCS National Championship last season.  I tried to find the show online, but couldn't.  I tried all the usual places-- YouTube, Hulu, Ustream, but no dice.  So, what you are about to read is my re-telling of Rick's retelling of what he watched.

The show was talking to the fathers about what it was like to raise these two little boys to be young men playing for the BCS National Championship.  Greg McElroy's father was saying how proud he was, and how after the game, Greg came up into the stands and gave him his helmet.  As he was leaving to go back into the locker room, Greg turned and tossed his father the game ball, and he dropped it.  His son had just won the National Championship, and he dropped the ball.  He said he couldn't help it.  He played guard in college.

The interview with Brad McCoy was much more poignant.  He described what it was like sitting in the stands and seeing his son go down like that.  How Colt was trying to play it off like it was nothing, but Brad knew right away something was wrong.  They took Colt back to the locker room, then a few minutes later, came and got Brad.  When he walked into the locker room, Colt was asking for his pads, wanting to get back into the game.  Behind him, the medical staff were shaking their heads, and saying, "It ain't happening."  They'd had to hide his helmet, they said, to keep him off the field. 

"This is all emotion talking," they told Brad McCoy.  "There's no way he's going back into the game."  So, Brad did what any good father would do in that situation.  He put on his Dad face and was strong for his son, even though his own heart was breaking.

Later, back in the stands, watching the rest of the game, Brad had to admit that he was angry.  Colt had dreamed of this his whole life.  He'd worked so hard to get here.  He was a fine, Christian young man who'd stayed true to his faith. Yet, on only the fifth play of this game he'd worked his whole life to get to, he is knocked out, not to return.  Why?  Why would God do this to him?  Why would God allow this to happen?

When the game was over, and Colt was interviewed, Brad couldn't hear what he was saying because he was still in the stands.  As soon as the interview aired, Brad immediately began getting texts and messages about what a fantastic interview Colt had done, and what an impact his words had made.  When he was finally able to speak to him,  he told Colt that people had been telling him how honorably he'd handled the interview and asked him what he'd said.  Colt replied, "Dad, I don't even know.  I just hope I didn't make a fool of myself."  Of course, we know what he said.




As the days went by, Brad McCoy started thinking.  What a platform God had given to his son to make an impact for Christ.  Yes, he was still hurt by the loss, but his son had gotten to proclaim his faith in front of hundreds of thousands --perhaps millions-- of viewers on national TV.  He has been asked, "Well, wouldn't it have been an even bigger platform if he'd won?"  No, it wouldn't have been.  Everybody loves God when they win.  Everybody gives God the glory when they win.  It's expected.  But to love God when you lose, to give him glory in the face of crushing disappointment--that will truly make an impact.  

Brad McCoy is right. It's easy to give God glory when you win. It's a whole lot harder to say "I'm standing on the Rock" when you've just lost the biggest game of your career. It's a whole lot harder to say, "I don't question the will of God" when not only have you lost the biggest game of your career, but you didn't even get to play. It's a lot harder to say "I know God has a plan for my life" when your own plans were just completely and irrevocably shattered in an instant.

Colt McCoy will leave a legacy in the world of college football. Yet, his biggest legacy won't be the games he's won, or the records he's set, or all the awards he's received. It won't even be that he is the winningest college quarterback in history. No, his biggest legacy will point back to a game he lost.

To a night he stood with the eyes of a nation upon him, and with a voiced choked by emotion, he let his little light shine in a big, big way.

Autumn Saturday

I woke up this morning to a little bit of a nip, and a distinctive fall flavor to the air.  An eerie fog crept through the pastures,

 winding its tentacles through the hay bales.

 Off in the distance, repeated gunfire announced the opening of the first hunting season of the year.  It was chilly enough that this

hit the spot.  Instead of waiting for it to cool down enough to walk the dogs, today I had to wait for it to warm up enough. The temperature when I got up:  55'.   It was wonderful!

Last night was the first high school home football game.  I didn't go, but later on as the evening progressed, I wished that I had.  I missed it.  Next week, I just might go.  Who cares if the boy doesn't want me there?  Today is the first full day of college football. 

And, a sure sign that it's definitely fall:

Candy corn in the stores!

A few weeks ago, I'd bought Scarlett a new hide.  Well, she'd gone in and out of it, but still seemed to prefer hiding out under her water bowl.  Last night, I buried the hide and kind of sloped her substrate up until the entrance was right at ground level.  That seemed to do the trick.  When I came into the snake room this morning, there she was.  And she's hardly left it.

Thursday at work, we had some visitors.  I'm not sure who they were, but they were pretty important--as in high up in the Lennox organizations.  I mean really high up.  High up enough to give Greg (the Director of Operations) the jitters and have Jake (the Production Superintendent) positively soil his underpants.  They were all clustered around my brazing stand, when over on the assembly line, one of the line brazers lit her torch.  It made a little pop--not real loud--but loud enough to make one of those visitors nearly jump out of his skin.  I, of course, think such things are absolutely hilarious.  But this was an important person, so I tried not to laugh.  I really did, but I failed miserably. 

As I was standing there, about to blow my eardrums out trying to restrain my laughter, I looked up and the man was looking right at me.  I thought for a moment that I was in real trouble, but then he started laughing, too, and all was right with the world once again.

.

An Narrowly Averted Disaster

I was headed out to the store to do my weekly shopping, when this happened.

Thankfully, it was the bottom step and not the top one.  That could have been a very nasty fall, indeed.

I really need to take some time this weekend and sort through all the photos I have stored on my computer and just delete all the no good ones.  That will be a monumental task, and not one I'm all that anxious to delve in to.   

Still, like cleaning the cat pan, it's something that has to be done.

Later.

I Called It

I said that peak season was almost over.  Well, I got to work this morning, and my supervisor came by and said, "I forgot to tell you yesterday not to come in early any more, so don't come in early any more."  Yep, the overtime is over.  We're back to 40 hours a week.  I'm kind of glad, because boy was I tired.  But I will miss the extra money.

Squeaky says, "I notice you didn't spend any of that extra money on me."

Frogging Has Occured

I'd been thinking about frogging these socks, or rather this sock.

The yarn just wasn't right for it. It doesn't have nearly enough twist for a proper sock yarn. But it does have just enough fluff to make a really cozy scarf. So today, I finally did it. I frogged the sock. Here is evidence of said frogging:

Coming soon to a scarf near you.  Just to show that I've been somewhat productive, here's progress on the Conwy sock.

Word in the wind is that overtime is slowing down at work.  We haven't worked a Saturday in a month, and we're working more and more 9 hour days (down from 10).  My hope is that with fewer  hours, my brain fog might clear, and blog posts might become more interesting.  I've got half a dozen half written posts in my little notebook that I carry around, but once I get home, I just don't feel like typing them out.  They'll get done, eventually.

I'll tell you this, though.  It is getting so frustrating at work.  If you don't know, I work in a facility that manufactures evaporator coils for home air conditioners.  I'm a brazer, which means I use a gas flame and a silver alloy brazing rod to join together the manifolds (headers) and adapter tubes.  If you go look at your evaporator coil, you'll see a big copper tube with a bunch of little copper tubes sticking out of it.  That's what I make.  If you don't want to go crawling around in your attic, here is something very similar:

That big hunk of copper in the front is what I put together.  Well, they want the coils to be 100% leak free.  That is a good thing.  Leaks mean that they have to pay out warranty claims, so leaks are not good, right?  We do two different leak tests on our coils before sending them out.  If they leak at the first station, they are repaired immediately, and retested.  Then they are sent to the second station. If they leak at the second station, they are sent back to the first station, repaired, retested, then sent back to the second station, where they are tested yet again.  So, very few leaks should be leaving the plant.  Right?  So, what's the problem?

The problem is, they they want the coils to be 100% leak free before they are leak tested. And without leak testing them, we have no way of knowing whether they have leaks or not.  Sure, if there is a big, gaping hole in the joint, we can tell that it will leak.  Those we fix right away.  But those tiny pinholes...we can't see them with our eyes.  We don't know that they are leaking until they get to the test station.  Yet, somehow we are supposed to be clairvoyant enough to know without seeing which joints will leak. 

We have a big chart where the testers record how many leaks every brazer has each hour.  If we have more than three leaks in an hour, then we have somebody in our faces wanting to know what is wrong.  I guess today, I'd had enough.  When my supervisor got in my face wanting to know why I thought the coils were leaking, I replied, "You don't really want to know what I think!  You just want to hear me say that I was careless, or that I wasn't paying attention."

He said, "No, I don't.  I really want to know what you think."

So I said, "OK, what I think is that I don't know.  I don't know what is causing them to leak.  I'm not doing anything different [from the hour I got 0 leaks to the hour I got 6 leaks].  It's got to be something else--this cheap rod you're making us use, this gas (that none of us like), oil or dirt on the headers, copper burrs....it could be hundreds of different things.  I don't know what it is, but it isn't us!" 

Amazingly enough, I didn't get fired.  The next hour, the other brazer had quite a few leaks, and he asked her the same thing.  She told him basically what I did--that it isn't us.  And it isn't. If it were, we'd be consistently good or consistently bad. But to go from 0 leaks in an hour, to 13 the next hour, then back to 0--that's not us. Our brazing skills don't deteriorate that fast, then recover just as fast.  I think--I hope --that with both of us going off on him like that, maybe they're finally getting it through their heads that they can't just pin the blame on us.

All of these things that we as brazers have been complaining about for the last 15 years are finally hitting the fan.  Adapter tubes bent wrong--for years, we've been told to just make them work.  Gas not burning cleanly and consistently--for years, we've been told no excuses, just do it.  Burrs in the punch holes, jigs that look like they were put together by a kindergartner playing with Tinker Toys,  header assembly designs that are ridiculously complicated, even that we can't get clean gloves to wear.  All these things we've been complaining about, and were told to just deal with it.  Or in the vernacular of our plant management, "shut up and get back to work!"  Only now, some of the higher ups (and I mean really high up) within the Lennox organization have gotten wind of the problems, and the local management is finally being forced to address these things.  They don't like it one bit. 

For years, they've been saying that we just don't know what we are doing.  Now they're starting to find out that it isn't us.  It's them.  The management.  Engineering.  The tubing department.  They're realizing that the problems run much deeper than they thought. 

And they don't like it one bit.

Music Monday

We sang this song in church yesterday morning. I noticed that I was not the only one it really touched.

No power of ***, no scheme of man, can ever pluck me from His hand.

This past year or so, I've been feeling so alone. Even my family doesn't seem to want anything to do with me. But I know that I--even I--am secure in the love of Jesus. And that my mother was wrong. I am not such a horrible person that even Jesus can't love me. He can. And he does. And he will. With an everlasting love*.



This video has the lyrics, but it is the same song. I actually like both versions, though this arrangement is the one I sing (though not where anyone can hear me).



*Yea, I have loved the with an everlasting love. Jeremiah 31:3

A Year

It's been a year since we said goodbye to you.  A year today, and there's not a day gone by that I didn't think of you.  And my heart still aches.

In my crazy, chaotic, dysfunctional world, you were always there for me.  You were my one constant.  You were the one thing I knew I could depend on.  It hurt so much to say goodbye, but it hurt even more to watch you suffer.


I remember the day as if it were yesterday.  I'd walked out to the mailbox, and you followed, just like you always do.  Only this time, you didn't make it.  You couldn't even make it halfway across the yard, you were so weak.  Then, when I picked you up to help you up the stairs, you screamed and then you bit me.  That's when I knew.

You had never bitten anyone in your life.  Especially not me.  And I'd done all sorts of things to you.  I'd poked your eyes, and your ears.  I'd doctored cuts.  I'd pulled thorns out of your feet.  I'd pulled a fish hook out of your ear.  I'd even accidentally ripped an incision open trying put you into the car to take you back to the vet.  You flinched.  You whimpered.  You even yelped.  But you never bit.

I knew then that if you'd lost so much of yourself that you would bite me, you weren't my sweet Katie any more.  I knew then that it was time to let you go.


Now, a year has passed, and my hurt is still raw.  My wound is still as fresh as it was that day--the first day in my life I wept so hard I couldn't breathe.

The grass has nearly covered your resting place.  Soon, no one will even remember where we laid you.  But I will.  I will always remember where you lie.  I will always remember you.  Your spirit will forever run with me.

Run well, my friend. 

Run well.

.

I Forgot The Title

I bought these cute little sandals yesterday at Wal-mart. 

They were on clearance, marked down to $7.00.  I love these Earth Spirit shoes.  I've worn them for years, and they don't wear out.  Well, I haven't gotten a pair to wear out yet. 

The sky started off looking like this

It cleared off for a few minutes,

 but then clouded up again, and even rained for a bit.  It never stayed clear enough for me to feel comfortable taking the dogs for their walk, so this is how Rylea spent most of her day, sleeping on my knitting bag.

While I watched movies via Netflix and worked on the Family Blankie.

The knuckleheaded thing I did was to get up early and watch the last episode of Northern Exposure, so I could send the disc back today, but I forgot to put it out in the mailbox.  So, I thought I'd run into town and put it in at the post office, but never got around to it.  Eh, I guess it'll just have to go out Monday. 

**Note: Yes I did publish this post without a title. I didn't realize it until Sunday night, so I retro-titled it.

Friday Night

posted Saturday morning...

This weekend is supposed to be an adoption fair up at Petco.  I'd originally planned on going and finding myself another dog, but now I'm rethinking that plan.  Why?  Well, the neighbor's dog came over again and stayed until I shoved him out the door so I could go to bed.  It's almost like I have two dogs already.  Maybe I'll wait awhile -- at least until the neighbor's dog learns some manners.  I'm still working on that. 

They'll have more adoption days.  I just need to figure out what to do with this other dog.

Now, some of you may be wondering why I don't just go down to my local pound and find a dog.  Well, I check there from time to time, but it seems that all they ever have is pit bulls and pit bull mixes.  Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the breed, other than that I am just not all that fond of the real blocky, chunky breeds of dogs.  They are a good breed of dog that has been given a bad reputation by irresponsible owners.   

Ah, but the real reason I wouldn't want a pit bull is that city ordinance makes it so difficult to keep one.  They have to be kept on a chain and inside a fence at all times.  You can't even let them loose to run in the back yard.  If you take them outside the yard, they have to be kept on a chain leash and muzzled. All this was brought about by a combination of irrational fears, which are fed by the actions of irresponsible owners. 

Pit bulls were bred to fight, but that doesn't mean they are vicious, mindless killers. They can be calm, well adjusted, sweet natured dogs if just given the discipline and leadership they need.  Sometimes, I think people just want to be afraid of something. 

Before pit bulls, it was Rottweilers, and before that, Dobermans, and before that German Shepherds.  My daddy once told me that a German Shepherd is nothing more than a tame wolf.  Technically, he was right, since all dogs are just domesticated wolves.  Yes, even the fluffy Shih Tsu and the tiny Chihuahua are the same species as the wolf.  They are all canis Lupus.

Some people like to point to the existence of dogs as proof of evolution.  But truth is, dogs came about--dogs were designed by an intelligent higher being:  humans.  Without the intervention of humans, dogs would not even exist at all.  And without human control,  the different dog breeds would not remain pure.   A Pekingese does not think, "I must keep my breed pure.  I'm only going to breed with other Pekingeses."  On the contrary, a Pekingese will breed with whatever is in heat, as will a Labrador, or a Dalmatian.    It is only through the careful monitoring of an outside force that the dog breeds remain pure.  Left to their own devices, different breeds of dogs will mix and mingle, and left to their own devices long enough, they will return to their wild form. 

Now that I've thought about it, I don't think I'll get another dog any time soon.  They'll have more adoption days. 

Our Evening Walk--A Pictoral Essay

Top to bottom:

Rylea and the neighbor's dog
Blue sky with just the right amount of clouds
Deer tracks
Horse Tracks
Bird tracks
Cotton Bolls
Rylea--What is that there in the kudzu?
Military Aircraft
Neighbor's dog
Soybeans (I think--I'm not 100% sure on this)

Stirring up Hornet's Nests

I'm just a wee bit bummed.  I'd wanted to watch The Book Of Eli again before I returned it to Netflix.  I got my notification e-mail today, and that's when I discovered that I'd mistakenly returned it instead of the Macguyver I'd meant to send back.

My consolation came in the form of a new disc of Northern Exposure.  I want to be Marilyn when I grow up. 

We had a meeting at work (yes, another one) this morning.  During the meeting, the Director of Operations --hereafter known as the Boss Hoss --said something about someone getting his hand caught in a machine and nearly losing a finger.  The Boss Hoss said that the operator had known the machine had been malfunctioning but hadn't told anyone.  My first thought was that he probably had told someone --most likely again and again, but they just didn't listen.

I know how it is out there.  When I used to work on machines, I'd report that they'd be messing up, only to be told to run them until they wouldn't run any more.  Then they'd get someone out to fix them.  So, when the Boss Hoss made his afternoon rounds of the shop floor, I called him over to show him something on my brazing stand.


My hoses.  My gas hoses.  They are supposed to be dark red and smooth.  As they get older, they fade to a light red, then to a pale pink, and eventually they turn white.  They also develop what can be best described as alligator skin.  The instructor in yesterday's brazing class said that when they get like that, it is very, very bad.  Mine are like that.  One of them even has a hole in it.  It is plugged with dried flux, but it is a hole nonetheless.  I've been complaining for I don't know how long that they need to be changed out, but no one had done it.  The last time I talked to maintenance, I was told that nobody had the time to do it.

So I called the Boss Hoss over, showed him the hoses, told him that I'd been reporting them, but nobody was listening.  Then I said, "Now you can't say that I never said anything when I get burned up." 

Guess what?  I opened that can of Whoop-*** on the right person.  Maintenance suddenly found time to change them out, and the job was done before the end of the shift.  One of the maintenance guys came by later and told me that they weren't even the right type of hoses for the gas we are using.  They were for acetylene only, and we'd switched to propylene a year ago.  They should have been changed out then. They just weren't.

Hmmm, maybe I need to talk to the Boss Hoss about that chocolate milk shake Rod owes me.

.P.S.  The neighbor's dog came over at 6.  I had to shove him out the door at 9, so I could post this and get ready for bed.  I think he wants to move in with me.  Heck, if he's gone for 3 hours and they don't even notice...

One Of Those Days

I knew it was going to be one of those days the moment I woke up thinking it was Wednesday and wondering why I hadn't washed my hair.

It took a few moments to realize it was Tuesday. The good news is that it was actually kind of cool when I walked Rylea this morning.

I went to work and spent most of the day in a brazer training class. There was a lady in there from another plant. I'm not sure where, but she kept saying "In my plant, we do this. In my plant, we do that." Finally, one of the guys from our plant asked her how many units they ran per day.

She said, "Well, we've slowed down a bit because our peak season is over, but over our two shifts, we are running about 450 units."

I like to have choked.  Good thing I didn't have any liquid in my mouth, or I would have sprayed it all over her. In my plant, we run 450 units per line.  If I had 16 hours to run 450 units, I'd have time to do all those time consuming quality checks, too.  Our plant will never stand for it.  They give plenty of lip service to quality, but when it comes right down to it, the bottom line is getting the units out the door. 

But I am now an AWS certified brazer. 

And after 10 hours of work, I came home to find cat puke in the middle of my living room floor. 

The day wasn't all bad.  By 6:15, the temp had cooled off enough that I was able to walk the dogs.  I came home, took a shower, had some ice cream, and now am watching the first episode of 24. 

Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about.  I'm not that impressed.