Dallas Bike Works

Dallas Bike Works. Thanks, Guys!

A big thank you to the guys at Dallas Bike Works for the use of their screwdriver on Wednesday. A simple tool that was needed for a ten minute job saved my day!! Thanks guys! Great Appreciation goes out to all of you for your help and you kindness. For sure, the sign of a great bike shop that gives customer service in the smallest of ways.

Wednesday was errand day before Turkey Day. While in Kroger's for a few last minute items, the thought occurred to me that my car registration was also due. At the customer service counter I presented the form to the lady behind the counter. Then with some surprise, she said, "I can't do this here". She turned the form around on the counter and pointed to a little box that said, " NEW PLATES REQUIRED." She then told me that I could get them at the Dallas Tax Office in Garland.

When I got there, the lines were fairly long with only two windows open. It was according to Murphy's Law--lunch time. Never-the-less, the line moved fairly quickly. I got my plates and sticker and headed to the parking lot. I pulled the car forward to the boon-docks of the parking lot and took off the old sticker and carefully put on the new sticker on my windshield. I placed the plates in my trunk with the full intention of putting the plates on when I got home as I only had a set of sockets in the little tool kit--no screw driver because I had taken it inside the house a month ago to tighten up a loose screw on my sound system. I know. I should have taken it back and put it were it belonged right then, if not then, at least the next trip to the car. But, I had a Senior Moment! I don't fight the phrase any longer. I find it very helpful to use it frequently, lately!

After making one more stop, when I came out to the car, I was checking the sticker to make sure that I had put it on straight when the license plate number jumped out at me. "Oh, no!" Here I am driving around doing  errands and I have old plates on the car that don't match the sticker! I did not panic but I was uncomfortable. So immediately, I'm thinking, here I am across town, where can I borrow a screwdriver to change my plates so that my plates agree with the new sticker? As I drove, I was looking for a landscape truck, or a park and recreation truck, but not luck.Any one that had a tool belt on would have been a God Send.  I was about three miles from the bike shop. I made a bee line straight to the bike shop. One of the guys had just made a trip to the dumpster and I rolled own my window and ask him if I could borrow a screwdriver for a couple of minutes. Thanks to him, I was able to change my plates in his parking lot so they agreed with my new sticker.

The Final Step I Forgot----

I have long known about the seven steps of grief. When the Dawg looked at me  with that look of, "what's happening to me" , I knew that she was really sick.The attack had come on suddenly. I got her to the vet and the other two post tell that story, but when I lost her at the vets, the shock was ever-present. The pain came as I stood by her until the very end. The anger came almost instantly as did the depression and loneliness.

By the end of the first week, I was beginning to make that much needed turn of putting a house, with a loyal pet as a member of that household back on the daily routine. The reconstruction and working through the grief process was finally coming to a close, but something just didn't feel right. There was still a void that had not been filled and I could not figure it out.

This morning, while drinking my coffee, my thoughts raced like the cartoon character, Roadrunner. Then my head cleared and I reached for the phone. After a phone call, I made  another call from the information gathered on the first call. The lady on the other end was nothing less than an angel. She called me back in about ten minutes and gave me the information that I needed. Within the hour, I was on my way up US 75. It didn't matter the miles. It didn't matter the gas. There was one thing that I needed to do that I  had failed to do after the Dawg's death. I had not accepted the fact that the Dawg was gone because I didn't know where she had been taken. I had to see where she was before I could accept the  fact that she was gone. It wasn't final yet and I needed to have that final acceptance knowing the general vicinity of where her remains had been scattered before I could accept that she was, indeed gone and I could finally move on.


It turned out that much as I had expected, a landfill was involved. I could accept that. There is controlled methods even in a waste management facility. Some, I suppose, could not accept that fact, but in reality, it is a much more sane method than most realize.

Before leaving the house, a big old burly man broke down and cried like a baby. I had not done that  process either. The people that became involved were all caring, compassionate individuals.Not once, did anyone display anything but compassion and care. They talked to people I could have never reached on my own and when the process was done, even the truck drivers in line at the scale were not displaying any signs of being mad or angry having to wait in line as the line grew because of me.  It was as if the universe was working together for a common cause, as it should.

It was a bit more of a drive than I had expected, but a drive that had to be made never-the-less. On the way home, there was a much different emotion than I had experienced earlier in the day. There was no question, being able to accept the fact that the Dawg was gone and I knew where her spirit could be free-spirited, was a comfort that I had not had over the past two weeks. The final step of the grieving process had been completed and the relief it brought was like a fresh wind in the county side.  My Dawg was home once again and I could let my heart mend. The pain would grow less over time, although it will never be totally gone. But now, the grief process could begin to finally end. The Dawg is now resting in peace.

Do you see the face in the clouds in the left corner?

The Manager's Line Is The Same, But The Chicken Is Not

Shopping at the neighborhood grocery's deli can be a good thing as to time, cost and flavor. If I can take an item and enhance its flavor with gravies or sauces or some noodles or vegetables, I will choose the deli item at least once a week. I've been doing that since I've had to do my own cooking again for the past twenty-five years. I've gotten pretty good at it, I might add.

I'm geographically in the middle of four Kroger stores that I like to shop. They all are laid out a bit differently, too. Don't you just hate that when you go into a chain and the layout is backwards to the one you shop at the most?  Well, that should be your first clue that the store really doesn't give a hoot that you like them or not. The old numbers game has already indicated that they are going to get so much business from a location when they sign the lease. So, I really don't care about letting them know that they are not being very customer friendly when they are not.

The manager at my Kroger's last year said to me in the isle of the very store he managed that "Kroger's have given him two million dollars and said, 'now go [screw] the store up.'"  And, yelp! He did just that. Every since that conversation, I have noted a big change at Kroger's. First, like all others in the industry, their prices started going up. Two, they put in a new brand in between the name brands and the Kroger band products. My 50 calorie per slice smoked ham is now gone. My 50 calorie per slice wheat bread is now gone. My taste buds are screaming to my head, "don't buy this garbage again". The new brand has higher caloric counts, too! A noted higher caloric count.

In Kroger's defense, I do like their electronic coupons and free Fridays that they email me weekly The savings do add up. Once you learn the system and how it works, you just have to watch the receipt at check out to make sure that it records the savings and deducts from your total. I can do that.

Now, however, comes the part where Kroger's did me wrong. I don't lie and I take offense to others that do. It's just as easy to tell the truth in the beginning. Sometimes, it hurts. Sometimes, it feels it feels good, but in the end, it is just as easy to tell the truth. So, when a manager starts his spiel about,"we get  all our chicken from one vendor," or, I used to manage 23 stores in the region and I can tell you this....."
I've been there. I've heard the line before. And as they say here in Texas, "This ain't my first rodeo, either." What I'm referring to is the size, the rubberness, the unappealing look, the over cooked pieces of hot chicken in the Deli at my Kroger's. But mostly, it's the size of the pieces that have shrunk like a pair of Levi jeans!  I've gotten hot deli chicken pieces at all four of my geographical locations. The one to the north of me, the one to the east, the one to the south  and the one farther west than mine, which is west of me as one of the geographical four.

Yes, as a consumer, I have complained to the tall manager that is usually in the store when I shop. There is another manager that I see who is a little rotund and  almost as regularly in the store as the tall one. In fact, I have walked both of these managers over to the deli counter and pointed out to them my issue with the chicken. The tall one now, when he sees me just grins, waves and that's it. The rotund one gave me the line about the 23 stores Yesterday, he gave me the line about  the vendor is the same for all the deli chicken.

After I left the store, I drove over to one of the other geographical location stores. I went in to the deli and low and behold ( I saw the light) the chicken pieces were stacked up like a mountain and  it just said to me...... "come on and start shopping my store".  And so I did. But not before I got a picture of the big, juicy and plump deep fried chicken breast! As a bonus.....the price was lower for the two pieces at this Kroger than at my own Kroger that is driving their deli customers away.

No, excuses, the picture is a bit dark.

Hot Deli Chicken Pieces

21/11/2014. Updated dropped characters in piece.

HMS 1 & 2 80/20 Is Down

It's been a long time since I checked the daily scrap prices in the Wall Street Journal. New billet steel was directly tied to the price of scrap and before going to the mills to negotiate a deal for tonnage, you better know what the price of scrap was fetching.



It is almost like the routine of," on the way to the doctor, I discovered --"  scrap was scrap and it pretty much looked like the image that I took several months back of a loaded gondola car full of HMS 1 &2. That's steel talk for pieces of scrap steel of a certain thickness and length.The HMS is Heavy Melting Scrap for electric arc furnaces that makes most of our new steel today. Yes, scarpers have been recycling since our Jewish ancestors hand pushed a cart down alleys picking up old pieces of steel that no one else wanted. I don't know a scrappy today that isn't a millionaire. Let me rephrase that. I don't know a scrappy today that isn't a millionaire several times over.  There, that's more close to the ones that I do know.

At any rate, The Iron and Steel Institute  melt down all the statistics. Steel is one of those rare commodities that actually has a birth certificate. It is an ASTM-number and a heat number that follows that steel until it is in finished product  (American Society of Testing and Materials). That ASTM certificate tells every thing you want to know about that steel. The lab in a steel mill is fascinating. It's like your grandmother making cookies; add a little of this, a little of that; taste, stir a little more and presto, it's just right.

 It's one of those things that you will never use unless a situation like the I-35 bridge in Minnesota falls again and you can bet the contractors, architects, DOT guys all were looking for those ASTM certificates on that bridge moments of learning about it falling!

Airplane tail numbers and vehicle Vin numbers are the other two. Oh, for you old sailors, yes, your ships got a keel number, but the registration was kept under flags of a country. Sorry. Nice argument made.

When I think about the old days when I walked tours on mill floors, it isn't far back in the memory for  those that lost their lives from accidents. You never wanted to be on the mill floor when a mill cobbled. The sound of a cobble is instantly recognizable. Cobble, especially in a structural mill, is when a billet is coming down the rolling line orange hot at speeds to match freeway traffic; the billet hits one of the rolling stands and instead of the orange hot billet taking the shape of the stand dye,  it shoots up through the rafters and into the roof of the mill. Hopefully, without taking  an impaled  employee with it. Gory? Yes. Industrial accidents are not a pretty thing and thank goodness, we have OSHA, even with all the regulations and paperwork and fines and every nightmarish aspect of an inspection gone bad,

Several things brought this image to mind. The window washers dangling from the 68th floor of the new World Trade Building; the arrival of the first two pieces of steel fabricated for the Margaret McDermott Bridge; the awesome Union Pacific commercial that shows the UP train coming into downtown Dallas in the commercial.It's all related to commerce, steel and ASTM numbers. Funny how things like that can be classified by your brain in the best filing system in the world. The cable used in the window washing buggy must be of a specific standard for cable, which is wire, which comes from new billets that comes from scrap metal.

It is still an awesome history to think about the Rockefeller oil men, the Andrew Carnegie steel men, the Vanderbilt railroad men, the J.P. Morgan bankers, the Henry Ford and Alfred P. Sloan and the  Dodge Brothers. These Magnates of Industry were all pretty ruthless but gave back many times over for the good of the American people. While things have moved on forward in industry, there still remains gondola car after gondola car heading to steel mills in the country every day to produce our bars, pipes, structural beams, angles, channels plate and much more.

On the Upstroke of the Hour

It's been a week almost to the hour when my Dawggie and I parted ways at the vet. It's been a hard week to get through. Things are different now. Little reactions that were taken for granted produced an empty chair for the first time in nearly fourteen years. It has been sad. It has been lonely at times. It has been heart-felt pain--the kind that comes from deep within emotionally.

The sub-freezing weather this week has helped as much as it has hindered. I haven't been outside. The last time I was outside, it was nearly 80 degrees. Today, it will still be in the low 30s. When I checked the hourlys on the National Weather Service Website this morning, It had gone down officially to 25 degrees (F) at DFW International at the 03:53 reporting time. By 04:53, mother nature had pulled up the blanket and the temperature rose to 29 degrees (F). The blanket, of course, is the cloud deck. It acts as a blanket to stop the radiational cooling.

 By now, the Dawg's cremains have been scattered, I suspect. Mom had Murray's cremains returned to her and she scattered them herself. He was a beautiful snow white American Eskimo. While I would be the first one to tell mom that what she did was the best decision, when it came time for me to make that decision, I choose someone else to do it for me. I didn't want that transition between  life and death to be passed to me in a little tin box. I wanted to remember her as I had seen her on the towel-- at the vets-- as she was so peaceful at the end.

So, a week of grieving comes to a close. My Dawggie  has moved on to a better life and I must return to moving my life forward as well. She will forever be in my memory as the greatest pet that I ever shared my life with in devoted  time, energy, care and  my love in the animal kingdom. Of course, the Dawg was more than just an animal. She was a living breathing creature that held exceptional understanding and love, sharing it unconditionally.

The Beloved Hotdog

Letting go of a beloved pet is an emotional thing that I have experienced before. But this time, it was so different. Hotdog came to me when she was 10-weeks old. My mother, and her mother, conspired together and  when I saw this Abyssinian I could not say no. With her long legs and skinny body, pointed ears, triangle face and beautiful tiger grey and black striped fur; with the solid black hind legs, I fell in love with her instantly. We traveled together. When I went home to bury mom and again when mom's marker was set on her grave, the Dawg became a high-mileage road dawg. Each trip was 1,000 miles. Dawgie loved  road trips. But most of all, she liked her territorial domain, especially where ever there was a chair that I sat in at home. Dawgie claimed that chair, as every other chair that I owned.

After a precursor with a lung infection two years ago, she had returned to normal activities until 10-days ago. She went down hill fast and it became very obvious that she labored in pain. The vet thought that she might come out of it but when she didn't she leveled with me that she had suspected cancer in the lungs. She went to sleep peacefully before the vet administered the final dose. It was painful to watch but I was not leaving the Dawg's side.
After leaving the vet's office. I could not go home. I spent the afternoon on a hillside at White Rock Lake. There was excitement at the lake because a bald eagle  had been sighted about a half-hour before I got there. I had first seen two bald eagles at White Rock three years ago. Today, of all days, the eagle was back shortly after the Dawg entered eternal sleep. The Dawg was still working her magic! She is enshrined in my heart for ever and I miss her deeply.