An Expensive Day on the Water (and the Ones That Got Away)

25 Saturday Apr 2026

Posted by in Diabetic, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Uncategorized

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{Eidited:) This post was supposed to go out last night (Friday), but I had fallen asleep in my recliner while editing. I woke up at 3:30 this morning and decided it was time for me to go to bed.

I’ve been “offline” for several days now, and honestly, I think life has finally caught up with me.

Between attending both of my Bible study groups, keeping up with my Tuesday night training sessions, trying to stay on top of my craft work, and dealing with ongoing back pain, it’s been a lot. Probably more than I should’ve been trying to juggle all at once.

To make matters worse, I’ve been trying all week to get in touch with my doctor’s office. I’ve left several messages with his nurse and haven’t heard anything back. I know they’re in a tough spot—my doctor passed away, and his daughter is doing her best to keep the practice going—but at some point, I’d just like to know what my MRI results are and what the next steps look like.

This back pain? It’s not subtle.

If I sit with a heating pad or lie down, I’m fine. But standing, walking very far, or trying to get up out of a chair without armrests feels like I’m auditioning for a role in a slow-motion action movie… except there’s no action. Just pain.

Now, what I’m about to say might make you question my judgment. That’s okay—I’ve been questioning it myself.

Most of you know I have an early Bible study on Tuesday mornings. After that, I usually meet up with my fishing buddy for breakfast, and like clockwork, the conversation turns to one thing: When are we going fishing?

We both love it. Probably more than we should.

We’re also not exactly the healthiest guys around. He’s got heart trouble, and I’ve got my own collection of “maybe don’t do that alone” conditions. So, logically speaking, kayaking on a river by yourself probably shouldn’t make the list of good decisions.

But here’s the thing…

Before he ever got a kayak, I used to go fishing alone all the time and never thought twice about it. No worries. No hesitation. Just me, the water, and whatever fish were willing to cooperate—which, let’s be honest, wasn’t many.

After we started fishing together, though, I began to realize maybe going alone wasn’t the smartest idea. These days, I do carry a satellite tracking device that keeps up with me and lets me send messages, which sounds impressive until you realize it doesn’t paddle the kayak for you if something goes wrong.

There’s also something I hate to admit: I actually enjoy fishing alone.

There’s a peace to it. No talking. No coordinating. No “what spot do you want to try next?” It’s just quiet… and the occasional sound of me getting frustrated.

But I know if I go without him, it bothers him. Which makes it feel like I shouldn’t.

Well, this week gave me an opportunity.

He had a doctor’s appointment on Thursday, and I didn’t have anything planned. Wednesday and Friday were already booked, so Thursday became the perfect window.

And I took it.

I went fishing alone.

Now let me tell you… It was peaceful. It was quiet. It was relaxing.

It was also expensive.

Not “grabbed breakfast on the way” is expensive. I’m talking, watch your money sink into the river while you sit there helplessly, expensive.

First to go was my measuring board—about a $40 piece of equipment that decided it no longer wanted to live on this earth. One small slip, and it vanished into about 10 feet of murky water like it had been training for this moment its entire life.

I barely had time to process that loss before my brand-new fishing reel—yes, the one I had just received the day before and proudly put on my rod—decided to malfunction.

So there I am, sitting in a kayak, performing what I can only describe as back-alley surgery on a fishing reel, when suddenly the drag knob pops off.

Time slowed down.

It slipped out of my hands…
bounced once on the side of the kayak…
and with perfect aim… dropped straight into the water.

Gone.

Just like that.

I sat there for a second, staring into the water, thinking, “Did that really just happen?” Followed immediately by, “That was expensive.”

At that point, I hadn’t caught a single fish. Not even a bite.

To say I was discouraged would be an understatement. I seriously considered paddling back to the launch and calling it quits. In my mind, catching a fish had become less about enjoyment and more about trying to justify the expense of being out there.

So I stayed.

And eventually, I started catching fish.

I officially brought four bass to the boat. It took from about 6:30 in the morning until 3:45 in the afternoon—but who’s counting? (Me. I was definitely counting.)

Now, unofficially… that number should be higher.

I had several fish on the line that apparently took one look at the kayak and decided, “Yeah, I’m not doing this today.”

One by one, they shook loose like they had somewhere better to be. No goodbye. No apology. Just gone.

Honestly, my total would be a whole lot higher if I could count the ones that “got away.” But as every fisherman knows, those are always the biggest ones anyway. If you ask me tomorrow, I’m pretty sure at least two of them will have been record-breakers.

By the end of the day, I was worn out, a little sore, and slightly poorer than when I started.

Was it worth it?

Financially? Not even close.

Physically? My back has been filing complaints ever since.

But somehow… I still had a good time.

I’ve already ordered a new measuring board, and it should be here before my next trip. The reel? Well, we’ll just say I learned some valuable lessons about fixing things over open water.

I’m not entirely sure there’s a clear moral to this story.

Maybe it’s that sometimes things don’t go your way. Sometimes they go really wrong. And sometimes they cost you more than you planned.

But even then, you can still find a way to enjoy the day.

Or maybe the lesson is this:

If you’re going to lose expensive equipment… at least catch a few fish to make yourself feel better about it.

And maybe—just maybe—next time I’ll tie everything down.

…or bring my buddy so he can watch it happen.

Hidden in Plain Sight

19 Sunday Apr 2026

Posted by in Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Uncategorized

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The mind can play some terrible tricks on you.

Sometimes it convinces you that you saw something that wasn’t there. Other times, you can look straight at something—multiple times—and somehow never actually see it. I can’t explain it, but I’ve experienced it enough to know it’s real.

The other day, I wrote about my wife and I panic cleaning the house. In the process, I moved several things to what I thought were “safe places.” You know the kind—those spots that make perfect sense at the time but completely betray you later.

One of those items was a set of red flags I bought for the back of my kayak. They’re there to warn drivers that I’ve got a load sticking way out past the truck bed. Bright red. Hard to miss… or so you’d think.

Well, those flags disappeared.

I tore this house apart looking for them. I knew exactly where I put them. I knew the room. I knew the box. I checked that box more times than I can count. Opened it, moved things around, looked carefully… and every single time, nothing.

Gone.

Now, I’ve been down this road before. When I can’t find something after a while, I usually just give up and buy another one. That’s the reason I own more tape measures than any one man should. Same goes for hammers. I’m pretty sure I’ve got at least 15 scattered throughout this house.

At any given moment, I can find four of each.
At other times… not a single one.

It never fails.

So while packing for my fishing trip, I gave up on the flags and moved on. I grabbed my Nikon camera, put a fresh battery in it, set the time and date, and placed it in a Ziploc bag along with a notepad and pen so I could keep everything together.

Or so I thought.

Because when I got to the river… the bag and the camera were nowhere to be found.

Now I’m standing there wondering how something can vanish between my house and my truck. Later on, I start searching again—this time for the camera.

And guess what I found?

The flags.

Right there.
In the same box.
In the same room.
In the exact spot I knew I had already searched.

I didn’t just glance in that box—I looked in it. More than once. And somehow, I never saw them.

But the moment I stopped looking for them… there they were.

At this point, I’ve just accepted it. There’s no explaining it. The mind sees what it wants to see—and sometimes, it refuses to see what’s right in front of it.

So tomorrow, I’ve got a plan.

I’m going to look for something else entirely. Maybe a missing tape measure or one of those fifteen hammers. And if history repeats itself, I’ll stumble across that camera and Ziploc bag like it’s been sitting there the whole time… just waiting for me to notice it.

Because apparently, that’s how this works now.

Not Skunked, Not Sold Out… Just Another Day at the Booth

18 Saturday Apr 2026

Posted by in Arts and Crafts, Life, Pets, Retirement, Uncategorized, Weather, Woodworking

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I didn’t get skunked at today’s show—but let’s just say I wasn’t exactly loading up a wheelbarrow full of cash either.

The event was the first annual car show to benefit Paws for the Cause, and I’ll give it this—it had a good heart, even if it didn’t have much of a crowd. Vendors started trickling in, slowly… very slowly. In fact, I had enough time to sit and watch them arrive like it was a parade with no audience. The classic cars? Even fewer. I think I saw more empty parking spots than chrome bumpers.

Each vendor paid $30, car owners paid $20, and everyone had to bring a large bag of dog food. That part, I genuinely liked. Knowing the food would go to the Humane Society made it feel worthwhile. At the end of the day, even if I didn’t make much, at least some dogs are eating better tonight—and that’s a win you can’t really argue with.

Now, about the selling…

It took me about two hours to make my first sale. Two hours. I had time to rethink my entire inventory and briefly consider whether the guy selling kettle corn was onto something. Then… nothing. Not a single sale until the final minutes before packing up. It was like the universe said, “Let’s keep him just hopeful enough to stay.”

If you don’t count the cost of the dog food, I broke even. So technically, I didn’t lose money… but I didn’t exactly win either. I’m still chasing that one product—the one that people see and immediately say, “I need that.” So far, that magical item remains as elusive as a full parking lot at today’s show.

Looking around, though, I think I did all right compared to some of the other vendors. A few of them spent most of the day parked at a picnic table nearby. At one point, I wasn’t sure if they were selling products or just holding down the table so it wouldn’t blow away.

Speaking of blowing away… the wind showed up late but made a dramatic entrance. By the end of the day, tents were starting to lift and shift like they had somewhere better to be. I’m pretty sure that’s what convinced the organizer to shut things down about an hour early—and honestly, nobody argued.

For now, I don’t have any shows lined up, which might be a blessing in disguise. It’ll give me time to reorganize, take inventory, and figure out what needs restocking—and maybe, just maybe, stumble across that one item that actually sells consistently.

In the meantime, I’ve got a couple of orders to finish up, and that feels like progress.

No, it wasn’t a sellout.
No, it wasn’t a disaster.

Just another day behind the booth… and another story to tell.

Caught in the Act… and Given a Chance

17 Friday Apr 2026

Posted by in Boy Scouts, Diabetic, diet, Life, Uncategorized

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Earlier today, I stopped at a convenience store I don’t usually visit. I could feel my blood sugar dropping, and I needed to grab something quick to bring it back up.

Funny how priorities can shift in an instant.

As I was scanning the shelves—trying to find something that would help but still be somewhat healthy—I noticed a young kid. He couldn’t have been more than 12 or 13. Something about the way he was moving caught my attention.

Then I saw it.

One item… then another… quietly slipping into his pockets.

Just like that, my low blood sugar wasn’t the most important thing anymore.

I glanced over at the cashier, but she was tied up with another customer. So I grabbed a pack of crackers and headed to the counter, waiting for my moment. When she finished, I motioned like I needed help with something and quietly told her what I’d seen.

We both stood there, watching.

And as we watched that young man, I couldn’t help but think back to something that happened years ago during a Boy Scout Winter Blast trip.

Every year, right after Christmas, we’d load up and head out for five days of camping. One year, the boys were working on the Railroad merit badge and took a trip to a train museum. On the way back, they stopped to get gas, and while the leader was pumping gas, one of the boys decided it would be a good idea to steal a can of snuff.

Not only that—he went back in multiple times. And somehow, others encouraged it.

We didn’t find out until later that night when one honest scout came forward, wanting to come clean.

When we got back to the scout hut, we handled it.

We searched bags, found everything, and then made a decision that stuck with me to this day.

Instead of calling the police, we made other plans. A couple of weeks later, with the parents’ approval, we drove those boys over an hour back to that store. They had to face the manager. Look him in the eye. Own what they did.

Then they spent the afternoon cleaning bathrooms, picking up trash, and sweeping the parking lot. Let me tell you—nothing builds character faster than a public restroom and a push broom

It wasn’t fun.
It wasn’t easy.
But it mattered.

Those boys learned something that day. And years later, I still see some of them—and they turned out to be good men.

Back in the store today, the manager approached the young kid and asked him to empty his pockets. He hesitated, but eventually did.

Then something interesting happened.

The cashier asked him what he thought he should do.

He didn’t have much to say. Turns out pocket-stuffing confidence doesn’t translate well into public speaking.

Then she turned to me and asked for my opinion.

I told her what I had seen work before—that maybe giving him a chance to make it right, to work it off, might stick with him more than anything else.

I don’t know what they decided. Maybe he spent the afternoon sweeping. Maybe he just got a warning. Maybe he swore off convenience stores forever.

Maybe I’ll never know.

But I do know this—sometimes the best lessons don’t come from punishment… they come from accountability.

From being given the chance to face what you did and make it right.

I just hope that young man takes this moment and carries it with him the way those scouts did.

Because one decision doesn’t define you…

But what you learn from it just might.

Three Fish, No Paddle, and a Power Line… What Could Go Wrong?

17 Friday Apr 2026

Posted by in Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Photography, Uncategorized

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I survived the day on the river.
Well… define survived.

I caught three fish—two bass and one respectable catfish. Now, before you start picturing a highlight reel, let me bring you back to reality. One bass weighed a solid 0.84 pounds… which I’m pretty sure still qualifies as “aspiring fish.” The other came in at 1.61 pounds, which officially made it the “big one” of the day.

Not exactly bragging rights, but hey—it beats going home empty-handed and lying about the one that got away.

It was a long day on the water with not much to show for it, but honestly, that wasn’t really the point. Sometimes you just need to get out there, clear your head, and enjoy the quiet… even if the fish aren’t cooperating.

Now, my back?
My back has a completely different opinion about how enjoyable that day was.

This morning, it feels like I tried to wrestle a gator instead of fish for bass. I’ve been eyeballing a muscle relaxer like it’s the answer to all my problems, but if I take it, I might as well cancel the rest of the day—and I’ve got a craft fair to prep for. So for now, I’m choosing pain and responsibility over relief and a nap. Questionable decision.

My fishing partner had a better day—at least numbers-wise. He caught six fish: two panfish and four bass. Of course, he forgot his scale… again. At this point, I’m starting to think it’s intentional.

And the pictures? Let’s just say if blurry fish photos were a sport, he’d be sponsored. Half the pictures cut the fish off, and the other half look like they were taken during an earthquake.

But the real adventure didn’t start until we tried to leave.

I got back to the launch first and was greeted by a couple of contractors from Alabama Power. They had seen me pull up and came over to talk. Between the language barrier and a lot of hand gestures, I gathered they were stringing a new power line right where I was and wanted me to move.

I explained I was waiting on my buddy… who, by the way, had forgotten his paddle.

Now, before you panic, he’s got a pedal kayak, so getting around wasn’t the issue. Getting out of the water, however, would require a little teamwork—and preferably someone who actually had a paddle.

The contractors weren’t thrilled, but they had little choice but to wait.

When my buddy finally showed up, I filled him in. We got him out of the water and were told it would be about a 20-minute delay.

Forty-five minutes later, it became clear that “20 minutes” was more of a suggestion than a timeline.

So we did what any tired, slightly irritated fishermen would do—we handled it ourselves and loaded up anyway. I noticed the line they were stringing didn’t even have power running through it yet, which made the whole situation even more confusing. But at that point, we were done asking questions.

We loaded up and hit the road.

And immediately got stuck behind a slow-moving truck hauling what looked like half a construction site.

What should have been a 45-minute drive home turned into an hour and a half. Because apparently, the universe decided the day just wasn’t quite long enough yet.

Now here I am the next morning, back aching, truck still needing to be unloaded and reloaded for the craft fair, and wondering why all my hobbies seem to come with a recovery period.

Yesterday had its share of hiccups, but it was our first trip of the regular season. Gear was misplaced, things were forgotten, and clearly, we’re a little rusty.

But now that we’ve got the first trip out of the way, everything should be back where it belongs.

At least… that’s the plan.

And next time, we might even remember the paddle.

The 4AM Gamble: What Did I Forget This Time?

15 Wednesday Apr 2026

Posted by in Arts and Crafts, Fishing, Kayaking, Photography, Retirement, Uncategorized

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The long-awaited day finally arrives tomorrow.

At 4:00 a.m., my alarm will go off, signaling the start of a long—but hopefully rewarding—day. I’ll roll out of bed, grab some breakfast, and head out to meet my fishing buddy at his place by 5:30.

But before I ever get to the water, today was about preparation.

After spending hours out in the heat working on crafts, I came home and shifted gears—loading up the kayak, rods, and every piece of electronics I’ll need. I made sure batteries were fresh, gear was in place, and all safety equipment was accounted for. Or at least… most of it.

Ever since the great Easter weekend cleanup (or “panic clean,” if we’re being honest), there are still a few things that seem to have vanished into thin air. I had a feeling that once I started moving everything around, I’d forget where I put something important.

I was right.

A few weeks ago, I bought some proper red safety flags for the back of my kayak—bright, reflective, and actually visible. In Alabama, anything over 12 feet is supposed to have a red flag attached, and my old solution—a once-red rag—is now so faded it looks more like a tired brown surrender flag than anything useful.

And of course… I can’t find the new ones.

I know how this story ends. I’ll stumble across them one day while I’m tearing the house apart looking for something else I can’t find. That’s just how it works.

But missing flags or not, I’m determined to make the most of tomorrow. A good day on the water doesn’t come from perfect preparation—it comes from being there.

Somewhere in between all of that, I’ve also got a craft fair coming up Saturday. Today, despite the heat, I managed to put together a couple of new trial pieces—a rustic serving tray and a small hanging planter. I didn’t go all in on them just yet. No sense in making a dozen of something if nobody wants one.

But if they sell? I’ll be making more.

There’s something satisfying about working with your hands—whether it’s shaping wood into something useful or casting a line and waiting on that tug. Different kind of work, same kind of reward.

Tomorrow, I’m hoping for both.

A Night I Didn’t See Coming (But Won’t Forget Anytime Soon)

13 Monday Apr 2026

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Photo courtesy of the BJCC

Last night, I did something I honestly never thought I’d get the chance to do.

Thanks to one of my daughters, my family and I went to see Martin Short and Steve Martin live at the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Complex—or as most of us around here call it, the BJCC.

And let me tell you… I haven’t laughed that hard in a very long time.

Now, the night almost didn’t turn out quite as great as it did. The original tickets were way up in the nosebleed section—you know, the kind where you’re just hoping the big screen works because the stage looks about the size of a postage stamp. But thanks to my daughter being persistent (and apparently a pro at ticket stalking), she checked again later and found stage-level seats for the same price.

Same price. Better seats. That kind of luck doesn’t happen often.

The show itself wasn’t just comedy—it was storytelling, history, and two guys who clearly enjoy every second of what they do. They talked about their childhoods, how they got started, and even the first time they met—which, as it turns out, was during Three Amigos. I had no idea that Steve Martin actually wrote that movie, let alone that it played a role in their long-running friendship.

One of the highlights of the night for me was hearing Steve Martin play the banjo. That alone would’ve been worth the price of admission. He was joined by the incredibly talented Steep Canyon Rangers, and together they added a whole different layer to the show. It wasn’t just funny—it was genuinely impressive musicianship mixed right in with the comedy.

It made the whole night feel a little more personal, like you weren’t just watching a performance—you were getting a glimpse into their lives.

Now… I’d be lying if I said every single moment was comfortable.

Between the body suit Martin Short wore—where absolutely nothing was left to the imagination—and the two clearly over-served ladies sitting behind us providing their own running commentary, the night got a little more “eventful” than expected. At times, it felt like we had a bonus side show going on right from our seats.

Let’s just say… There were moments I didn’t know whether to laugh at the stage or turn around and laugh at what was happening behind me.

But honestly? That just made the night even more memorable.

From start to finish, the show was well worth it. Great seats, great laughs, live music, and time spent with family—those are the kinds of nights you don’t take for granted.

And for me, it was one of those rare experiences where you walk away thinking,
“Yeah… I’m really glad I got to do that.”

The Craft Fair Gamble

11 Saturday Apr 2026

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If there’s one thing I’ve learned doing craft fairs, it’s this: never expect the same market twice.

This is my third year setting up booths, unloading tables, and hoping today is the day I finally figure out “the one thing everyone has to have.” So far… that mystery item is still in hiding.

For those who don’t know, I do laser engraving and cutting. I’ve engraved just about anything that will sit still long enough—wood, concrete, glass, mirrors, slate tile, even white tiles. I’ve also tried to think outside the box, turning scrap wood into pieces that are a little different from the usual.

There is a market for this kind of work—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. One weekend I’ll sell just about everything I brought, and I go home feeling like a crafting genius. Then I spend the next week busting my tail trying to restock… only to show up at the next fair and sell absolutely nothing.

Today was one of those “nothing” days.

Now, to be fair, there is a small upside to not selling anything—you don’t have to rush home and panic-build inventory for next weekend. So I guess that’s my silver lining.

I had some interesting neighbors today. The lady to my left was selling handmade pot holders. She had a steady stream of people stopping by, but I couldn’t tell if they were buying or just admiring her work.

To my right was a lady selling crocheted items, and I can confidently say—she did just fine. I heard her more than once explaining which forms of payment she accepted, which is always a good sign you’re making sales.

Somewhere nearby was another gentleman doing woodcraft like me, mostly engraved oak charcuterie boards. I couldn’t see his booth very well, so I’m not sure how he did. But from what I’ve noticed over time, the charcuterie board craze might be cooling off a bit. Seems like what was once the hot item isn’t quite as hot as it used to be.

And that’s the challenge.

I’m still trying to find that one product that flies off the table every single time. So instead, I bring a little bit of everything. One fair, something random sells like crazy. The next fair—like today—it just sits there looking back at me.

I’ve walked other booths, watched what people are buying, and followed other makers online. They’ll tell you, “Make this—it’ll sell all day long.” Maybe for them. For me? Not so much.

It can get a little discouraging.

But here’s the thing—I actually enjoy the process. I like being out in the garage, creating something out of nothing. I like experimenting, even if it doesn’t turn into a best-seller. And truth be told, I enjoy the craft fairs themselves… even the slow ones.

Because when the crowds thin out and the sales aren’t happening, that’s when the conversations start. You meet people. You swap stories. You laugh a little. And sometimes, that ends up being worth more than a table full of sold-out inventory.

So no, I haven’t found “the one thing” yet.

But I’m still looking. And in the meantime, I’ve got a garage, a laser, and another craft fair next weekend… which means I’ve got another roll of the dice.

Test Results Pending… Floors Not So Much

09 Thursday Apr 2026

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I’ve got a couple of updates since the last round of chaos, and like everything else lately, it’s a mix of “well, that’s good news” and “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

First off, I saw a post from my doctor’s office saying they plan to reopen on Monday. Now, I’ll be honest—I don’t know how they’re going to be mentally ready for that. After everything that’s happened, I can’t imagine just flipping the sign back to “Open” and jumping right back into caring for patients like nothing ever happened.

I do have some test results I need to get, but at this point, I’m not too worried about them. I could call, but something tells me they’re going to be completely overwhelmed. Phones are ringing off the hook, patients are trying to reschedule, and emotions are still running high. I think I’ll give them a few days. If they call me, great. If not, I’ll check in later when things settle down—at least a little.

They also mentioned they’re looking for another doctor to take over the practice. That could take some time, and honestly, who knows how that’s all going to play out. But I’ve got a backup plan. There’s another doctor I’ve seen before, someone I actually know pretty well outside of the office. We crossed paths a lot through Scouts—he was a scoutmaster in another district—and we’ve stayed in touch over the years. We’re even friends on Facebook, so he’s already got a front-row seat to my “medical adventures” without ever opening a chart. If things go south with my current doctor’s office, I know where my records will be heading.

Meanwhile, over at my son’s house, the saga continues.

The water mitigation team came back today to check on the fans and dehumidifiers. They went around testing the walls and floors for moisture. The good news? The walls are drying out just like they should.

The bad news? The floor… not so much.

So tomorrow, they’re coming back to start tearing up the flooring so the slab can dry out properly. Nothing says “progress” quite like ripping out perfectly good flooring. They’re also planning to remove a few of the fans from the bathroom, which should at least lower the noise level from “airport runway” down to “only mildly annoying.”

It’s been quite the adventure so far—and we’re not even close to the end.

Once everything is dry enough, they’ll move on to the restoration phase. That’s the part my son is really looking forward to… mainly because it means we’re finally heading in the direction of “normal.” He’s also hoping that by tomorrow evening—or at least by Saturday—most of the fans will be gone. I think we’re all looking forward to that.

Of course, my wife has asked me more than once if there was anything that could have been done to prevent all of this.

Short answer? No.

Long answer? Still no… unless you want to hop in a time machine and have a conversation with the original plumbers. It could’ve been a weak solder joint, a slight shift in the slab, or something else entirely hidden beneath the surface. Without tearing everything apart beforehand—or having some kind of superpower X-ray vision—there’s just no way to know. Sometimes things just fail, and you deal with them when they do.

And speaking of dealing with it, tomorrow my son has somewhere he needs to be, so he won’t be around to let the mitigation team in.

Which means… You guessed it… I’ll be making the 45-minute drive.

And you know what? I don’t mind one bit.

Because at the end of the day, this whole mess—doctor’s offices, test results, torn-up floors, and all—is just part of life. Messy, unpredictable, sometimes frustrating… but it also gives us chances to show up for each other.

Even if it means driving 45 minutes just to let someone in the door.

And honestly… compared to everything else going on, that’s the easy part.

Grace Through the Chaos

08 Wednesday Apr 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Uncategorized

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Currently, I’m in my recliner—coffee in hand, heating pad doing its best to negotiate peace with my back. And as I sit here, I can honestly say this past weekend is one I wouldn’t care to repeat anytime soon.

The emotional rollercoaster alone was enough to wear me out.

A few months ago, my doctor of 40 years was involved in a near-fatal car accident. For four decades, this man has been more than just a doctor—he’s been a steady presence in my life. The kind of doctor who knows you, not just your chart.

Since the accident, his daughter—a nurse practitioner—has been stepping in and taking care of his patients. The last I heard, he was in rehab and making progress. There was hope. Even with the complications from his pancreas injury, things seemed to be heading in the right direction.

Then Easter weekend came.

We had family over and made a conscious decision to set aside the plumbing chaos and focus on what Easter is really about. For a little while, everything felt normal again. Laughing, eating, spending time together—it was a much-needed pause.

But Monday morning had other plans.

Like I usually do, I started my day with a devotion and then sat down to scroll through Facebook. That’s when everything shifted.

Right there on the screen was the news—my doctor of 40 years had passed away due to complications from his pancreas.

Just like that… he was gone.

It’s hard to explain the weight of that kind of loss. It’s not just losing a doctor—it’s losing someone who has walked alongside you through so many seasons of life. Someone you trusted without question.

And in the middle of processing that, reality didn’t pause.

I had been waiting on MRI results from the previous week, and now I’m left wondering how—or when—I’ll even receive them. It’s a strange feeling… needing answers, but suddenly not knowing where they’ll come from.

Then there’s my son’s situation.

After all the speculation and stress, we finally got to the root of the plumbing issue. It turns out the culprit was a mixing valve in the guest bathroom shower. It had been leaking hot water for quite some time, and the damage… well, let’s just say it didn’t hold back.

Walls will have to be removed.
Flooring in the living room—gone.
Parts of the kitchen tile are also coming out.

It’s one of those situations where the problem hides quietly until it decides to introduce itself in a big way.

The repair itself was handled today, and the water mitigation crew has already started their work—cutting into walls, setting up fans and dehumidifiers, and beginning the long process of drying everything out.

Now comes the part nobody enjoys—dealing with the insurance company.

So far, they’ve been less than eager to step up. If it were up to them, I’m pretty sure they’d prefer to pretend the whole thing never happened. Thankfully, the mitigation team has experience dealing with this kind of pushback and has assured us they’ll fight to make sure the necessary repairs are covered.

We’ll see how that plays out.

But if there’s any silver lining in all of this, it’s this:

At least we didn’t have to tear up the living room slab chasing a mystery leak.
He’ll end up with a new wood floor.
And he has people in place who know how to handle the construction—and the insurance headaches that come with it.

Sometimes, that’s about as good as it gets.

This weekend was a reminder of how quickly things can change. One moment you’re celebrating with family, and the next you’re dealing with loss, uncertainty, and unexpected challenges.

But through it all, one thing remains the same—faith, family, and the strength to take the next step forward… even when you’d rather just stay in the recliner a little longer.

And for now, that’s exactly where I’ll be.

Coffee in hand. Heating pad on.
Taking it one moment at a time.