The drive home had been treacherous. Three inches of new snow fell during the afternoon, on top of the foot and a half from yesterday. I opened the back door and shook it from my shoes before stepping into the warmth.

All thoughts of snow left my mind. The kitchen was filled with the unmistakable smell of peach cobbler fresh from the oven.

“Hi Dear”, I said, looking around for the peachy treasure.
“Bad roads?” she asked

There it sat on the kitchen island, all nine inches by fourteen inches by who knows how deep, still hot in the pan.
 
“Getting worse”, I replied.
“A little snoverkill if you ask me.”

She emphasized the “s”. She had probably overheard this verbal atrocity sometime during the day and had been waiting to drop it on me. Any other day I would have chuckled. But with this wonderful smell in the kitchen, she deserved more. I laughed out loud.

“Snoverkill! Now that’s funny!”

Her satisfaction palpable, she floated to the island.

“I made some cobbler.”

Now I’ll be the first to admit I have an intense love for fresh peaches. I love the smell as it passes my nose on its way to my mouth. I love the acidic sting on my tongue. I even love the way the fuzz makes my lips buzz. Come to think about it, I have a weakness for anything that is peach flavored. My favorite wine is a rather girly peach and my favorite soft drink is sparkling peach flavored water. But for me the epitome of peachy is and always has been peach cobbler.

“Smells wonderful”, I said.

I went directly to the fridge. Yup. A brand new tub of Cool Whip. The perfect topping for the perfect dessert. I glanced at the clock. 5:30. Another hour till supper.

“Maybe we should eat early tonight?”
“You can wait.”

Well, obviously I would.

I went to the study and busied myself with some unfinished writing. I could still smell the cobbler. I don’t know how she expected me to concentrate. But I did. I was lost in the subject when she stuck her head in the door.

“Dinner’s ready.”

I’m proud to say I didn’t run. The table was set, and there it was, a generous portion on a small plate beside the main dish. Even better, she had piled on the Cool Whip. She usually made negative comments about how much I used. This time she had put on even more than I would have. I decided to laugh at her wordplay more often.

I managed to eat the main dish at a civilized pace. I pushed aside the empty main plate and pulled the dessert plate front and center. In a single swift cut I forked a hefty portion, carefully balanced to be precisely half Cool Whip and half peachy goodness and sweetened crust. Perfect. Just the way I like it. Awash in anticipation, I put it in my mouth.

Now what I experienced wasn’t in words. It was far too brief for that. Perhaps the mental equivalent of texting OMG! WTF!

I had to be careful. If I just blurted out what I thought, I might jeopardize all future chances of getting cobbler. And maybe not just cobbler.

“Mmmm, good”, I said.
“Thanks. I used Lite topping instead of regular. You can have as much as you want.”

I never thought of dessert as a duty, but that’s what it was. I cleaned the plate.
__________________

Making a change is never a good idea without testing. A thorough comparison of the old and the new can help avoid surprises. Take a look at our paper, Pool Heater Insulation Comparison to see an example of how we can participate.

Greg Gorby, Editor
RefractoryBlog.com
Refractory Specialties, Inc.

There was a time when I would simply pull out my trusty Webster’s Tome. I would efficiently thumb to the desired entry, proudly making full use of the alphabetical skills acquired through years of primary education. Voila! Having quickly located the desired term, I would faithfully and obediently parrot the appropriate definitions. But times have changed, and I have kept up with them. I now depend, as I’m sure is true for most of us, on Google and Wikipedia for my primary didactic guidance.

So I Googled “Refractory”.

Webster could never have anticipated the boundless diversity of definition declared relative by Google’s algorithms! You may enjoy looking for yourself, but let me assure you that for our purposes, refractory is not “the recovery phase after orgasm during which it is physiologically impossible for an individual to have additional orgasms” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Refractory_period(sex)

And did you know that in the religion of the Vedic period in India, there are certain words that, when used as a Mantra, affect a spiritual transformation in the individual repeating them? Om (or Aum) is perhaps the most well known. The meaning of the words (and the self) becomes lost in the rhythm of repetition. The void that this loss creates invites change and hopefully an accompanying enlightenment. http://www.bhagavadgitausa.com/TIRUMANTIRAM-TMTM04.htm

How in the world did I get from “Refractory” to refractory Karmas? The Six Degrees of Separation of People states that each person on Earth is only 6 acquaintances from every other person. I’d like to be the first to declare a similar relationship for information, my just conceived and soon to be famous Six Clicks of Separation of Information theory, each topic searched for is only 6 clicks away from all other topics

I’m tempted yet again to abandon this new hyperlink knowledge fest and dust off my trusted old tome. But I never do. I love this new world of fast and easy information. I love having the world’s largest library sitting on my desk. Maybe I won’t become famous for my theory, but I’ll bet one day I’ll learn to use technology as efficiently as that old dictionary.

In the mean time, you’ll have to read more of the blog to know what our discussion is all about. Since I already know, I’m just going to go practice my mantra. “Aum refractory, Aum refractory, Aum refractory…”

Greg Gorby, Editor
RefractoryBlog.com
Refractory Specialties, Inc.

Yesterday, sitting at the kitchen table enjoying the last few bytes of a BLT on wheat I was having for lunch, I watched my wife remove another pan of cookies from the oven.

“Is that a new oven mitt?” I asked.
“The old one died”, she replied.

You may think of her reply as odd. I, however, am no longer surprised by her casual anthropomorphizing. Everything we own “lives” with us, and has its own distinct personality and lifespan.

“I understand”, I said with only the slightest hint of mockery. I began to think of all the things I’ve “lost” since our marriage began. Then, as is usually the case, the engineer in me pushed to the rescue. (I do, after all, have an excellent analytic mind.)

“With use the pads become compressed. The resulting increase in density raises the thermal conductivity. The pad becomes less efficient at slowing heat transfer. Did you notice the old mitt burning your hand?”

She turned to me, hot cookie tray in mitt protected hand. Her expression was of unveiled sympathy. Her eyes were doing the talking. They told me I didn’t have a clue.

“No, Dear”, she said, “It was just getting on in years.”

…Of course it was. She didn’t throw it away, she put it to rest.

If you, too, have an excellent analytic mind, and want to know more about how density relates to thermal conductivity, I recommend our paper on Thermal Diffusivity.

I’m going to have a cookie. I’ll need it. She’s gone to sweep the living room, and the sweeper hates her.

Greg Gorby, Editor
RefractoryBlog.com
Refractory Specialties, Inc.

My wife and I were watching the Super Bowl when Janet Jackson revealed her shield. A few moments of silence passed before anything was said.

“Did you see that?” she asked.
“Just a problem with their statistical analysis”, I said.

Now I knew this was a mistake as soon as the words left my mouth. You see, I wasn’t really watching TV with her. I was thinking heavily about a situation at work. But I didn’t want to let her know that a dumb answer had just popped out of my mouth. She wouldn’t let this lie. I would have some explaining to do. I needed a cover story, and fast.

“Statistical analysis?” she harrumphed. “What in the world does statistical analysis have to do with a half naked girl in front of the whole world?”

I had nothing. I could only let fly and see where it went.

“Well, that part of her outfit is probably held in place with a metal connector, like a clasp.”

Yes, that was good.

“The manufacturer of the clasp has made a contract with its customers to maintain a certain level of quality.”

It was coming together now.

“There is range for strength, with an upper and lower specification limit that they have to stay within in order to honor their contract.”

I could feel the rush of success.

“The tool the manufacturer uses to make sure the clasp stays in that range is statistical analysis!”

I was deafened by my own applause. I was the maestro, a man of rare talent, indeed.

She sat back in her lazy-boy. She would never know what a dumb answer I had given her. Then she muttered her response in a voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Well, her dressmaker knows doodly-squat about statistical analysis.”

For a quick look at the mechanics of using Excel for your analysis, I suggest you read our report, Quick Guide to Statistical Process Control with Excel.

Greg Gorby, Editor
RefractoryBlog.com
Refractory Specialties, Inc.