Category Archives: Nature

The Day Febreze Became a Household MVP

17 Tuesday Feb 2026

Posted by in Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Weather

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Running on Coffee, Prayer, and Apparently Limited Water Supply

Four a.m. came early this morning… but who am I kidding? Four a.m. always comes early. I’m convinced 4 a.m. wakes up feeling productive and personally offended that I don’t.

The only reason I willingly get up at that hour is Bible study. Otherwise, if you see me awake at 4 a.m., something has gone terribly wrong — like I heard a strange noise, or I fell asleep at 7 p.m. and woke up confused and slightly offended.

Like usual, I sat there drinking my coffee while reading my morning devotion. There’s something peaceful about that quiet time… mostly because nobody else is awake to ask me where anything is.

After that, I went over the material for Bible study so I wouldn’t show up sounding like I just crawled out of a cave. Which, honestly, is exactly what my brain feels like at 4 a.m.

Since retirement, there are only two things that get me out of bed early.
Number one: Bible study.
Number two: Fishing.

Fishing and I haven’t spent much time together this year. I’ve only been once since New Year’s. The weather has been acting like it has a personal problem with me. Too cold. Too rainy. Too windy.

This week, the temperature is perfect… but the wind is blowing 10–15 mph with gusts up to 25 mph. Fishing in a kayak in that wind is less “peaceful day on the water” and more “Lord, if You get me back to the boat ramp, I promise to behave better.”

After Bible study, I met my brother-in-law and one of my fishing buddies for breakfast. Naturally, we talked about fishing. Because if fishermen aren’t fishing, we’re talking about fishing… or buying fishing gear… or trying to explain to our wives why we need more fishing gear.

We talked about kayaks and my plan to buy another one once I can raise the money. I refuse to go into debt for a hobby. I like fishing… but not “eat ramen noodles for six months” fishing.

Around 10 a.m., as I was leaving the restaurant, my wife texted me:
“The water is off.”

Not just our water. About 70% of the city.

That’s not a “someone hit a pipe” situation. That’s a “somebody is having a really bad day at work” situation.

I still had errands to run, so a couple of hours later, I made it home. We had a little water pressure, but not much. I immediately filled the bathtub so we’d have water to flush toilets if this thing dragged on.

Let me just say — that was one of the smartest decisions I made all day.

I called the water company.
They said about six hours.

Six hours came and went… still no water.

I called again.
Same report.
Just a new six-hour timeline.

That’s when you know you’ve entered the “Well… this is my life now” phase.

I have to admit, I was slightly entertained reading Facebook comments. Some folks were VERY upset about not being able to flush toilets and how things were getting… aromatic.

When people start describing their house as aromatic, things have gone off the rails.

Ten hours later, the water finally came fully back on.

The whole thing reminded me of visiting my grandparents when I was younger. They didn’t have indoor plumbing. They had an outhouse. If you had to go, you grabbed your courage and made the trip outside to the little wooden shack out back.

And let me tell you… I can still remember that smell. That smell had layers. History. Personality.

Suddenly, our ten-hour water outage didn’t seem quite so bad.

Fifteen Years, Thirteen Lives, Countless Memories

16 Monday Feb 2026

Posted by in Nature, Photography, Family, Weather

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April 11, 2026, will mark 15 years since theF5 tornado that forever changed Pleasant Grove, a small but strong community in Alabama. Fifteen years sounds like a long time — until you realize grief, memories, and fear don’t really follow a calendar.

Shortly after the tornado struck, I wrote about what we experienced. Back then, everything was raw. The sights, the sounds, the loss — it all felt like it was happening in slow motion. Today, the emotions are different, but they are still there. Some wounds don’t close completely. They just learn how to live beside you.

That day, 13 people in our community lost their lives. Thirteen families had their worlds shattered. Homes were gone. Landmarks were gone. In many ways, a sense of security was gone, too. When people talk about storms, they often talk about property damage and wind speeds. But storms leave something else behind — memories you never asked for.

Even now, when the weather forecast mentions a tornado watch, my body notices before my mind does. The tension creeps in. The sky looks different. The air feels heavier. And if I’m being honest, I still have nightmares sometimes. The kind where you wake up and have to remind yourself that the walls are still standing and the roof is still overhead.

Our city is still rebuilding — not just buildings, but hearts. New homes have gone up. Businesses have reopened. New families have moved in. But there are empty places that will never be filled the same way again. And yet, if there’s one thing I’ve seen over the last 15 years, it’s resilience. Neighbors helping neighbors. Churches opening doors. Strangers becoming family overnight.

Anniversaries like this are strange. They hurt, but they also remind us of how far we’ve come. They remind us to say names out loud. To remember stories. To check on each other when the sky turns gray. And to never take an ordinary, boring, peaceful day for granted.

Fifteen years later, we remember.
We honor.
And we keep rebuilding — together.

The Day the Sky Took Aim at Home

Our little community was hit by an EF-4 tornado, and as most of you know, it destroyed much of our great city. Thirteen people lost their lives a few weeks ago. That same day, 64 tornadoes were recorded across Alabama, with 250 lives lost statewide. Numbers like that are hard to wrap your mind around… until one of those storms is headed straight for your front door.

That morning, my son and I woke up to news reports of a tornado hitting Pell City, a town east of us. It caused major damage, including to my sister-in-law’s house. It was shocking, but at the time it still felt like “someone else’s tragedy.” We were getting ready to leave with the high school band for a trip to Orlando, Florida. We kissed my wife and our young twin daughters goodbye and headed out, thinking about theme parks and music competitions.

I had no idea that just hours later, I would be terrified. I had just said goodbye to them for the last time.

We were on the bus near Tallahassee, Florida, when messages started coming in. An EF-5 tornado had hit Tuscaloosa and was moving toward Pleasant Grove — my hometown. Everyone on the bus started watching the live coverage as the radar showed the storm was inching closer to home.

I called my wife and told her to take cover. The radar program on my computer showed the path heading dead center toward our house. When I hung up the phone, I didn’t know if I would ever hear her voice again.

On the bus, the TV reports started rolling in. Then the phone calls and messages. Friends. Neighbors. Homes destroyed. Fires. Injuries. Deaths. It felt like the world was collapsing in real time — and I couldn’t reach my wife.

I tried her cell. The house phone. The neighbors. Nothing. Not even a ring. Just busy signals everywhere.

I couldn’t text her either. She never wanted to pay extra for texting. I’ll be honest… in that moment, I was mad about that. Funny the things your brain latches onto when you’re scared to death.

After about fifteen minutes, that sinking feeling set in — the one that tells you life might never be the same again.

All around me, parents were crying. People were getting news about loved ones being hurt… or worse. The lady behind me saw I was coming apart and tried to calm me down. I went and found my son. He had been trying to call his mom, too. I could tell he’d been crying. We just held onto each other for a few minutes.

Other parents tried calling our numbers. Same result.

Then finally… after what felt like a lifetime… I got a ring.

I remember thinking: Just because it rings doesn’t mean she’s alive.

Then I heard the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

My wife’s voice.

The tornado missed our house by about half a mile. She had stepped outside afterward and didn’t see much damage. A few limbs down. Insulation is scattered across the yard. She wouldn’t realize until the next day just how close we had come to losing everything.

We were — and still are — truly blessed.

The buses stopped at the next rest area. Parents and band leaders met to figure out what to do. Some parents chose to head home. The decision was made to continue to Orlando and let parents make their own travel arrangements if they needed to return.

The kids all stayed. Some didn’t like it at the time, but they needed to stay out of the way of the emergency response and cleanup. Looking back, I think they understood.

We stayed in Orlando until Sunday. The ride home was quiet. Reality had set in. We were about to see firsthand what had happened to our homes, our friends, and our community.

Even today, our city is still rebuilding. Many families left and never came back. Our band went from nearly 100 students to 20 in less than a year. The high school felt it too. We’re slowly rebuilding — not just buildings, but people, memories, and hope.

It’s going to take time.

But we’re still here.

And that means everything.

Lessons I Learned From a Toad at 2 A.M. A Scoutmaster’s Tale

14 Saturday Feb 2026

Posted by in Boy Scouts, Life, Nature, Uncategorized, Weather

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I attend two men’s Bible studies each week — one on Tuesday mornings and one on Saturday mornings. The reason I bring this up is that at the Saturday group, several of the men are guys I’ve known for years. At one point or another, many of them were leaders in the Boy Scouts. Since announcing my “retirement” from Scouting, we’ve spent a lot of time after Bible study swapping stories and memories from those years.

Today was no exception.

And like most Scout stories, this one involves weather, questionable decisions, and lessons learned the hard way.

For years, our boys attended the same summer camp. It was a good camp, but after a while, the older boys got tired of earning the same merit badges year after year. There are only so many times you can get excited about tying the same knots before you start questioning your sanity.

So our troop decided to do something different — we planned our own week-long summer camp with a wider variety of merit badge opportunities.

The location we chose was Raccoon Mountain, just over the Tennessee state line, about 2.5 hours away. This trip took months of planning. We had to make sure the boys had fun while earning badges they couldn’t get at regular camp. Finding qualified instructors was probably the hardest part. That meant reaching out to other troops in the area and politely begging adults to come teach teenagers skills in the middle of the woods in the summer.

When we arrived, I met with the camp ranger. She placed us away from the other RV campers so we’d have privacy and not disturb anyone. While setting up, I noticed a large dry creek bed off to the side. The tent spots were level, but the whole camping area sat on a hill.

At the time, I thought, “Nice view.”

Later, I thought, “Well… that was dumb.”

We arrived midday, giving the sixteen boys time to set up the dining area, pitch tents, and start preparing dinner. After the meal, the KP crew cleaned dishes while the rest of the boys relaxed. The adult leaders met to finalize plans for our first full day.

Everything was going perfectly… until the camp ranger interrupted us.

A severe thunderstorm watch had been issued for later that night into the early morning. As Scoutmaster, weather monitoring was one of my responsibilities. Up until the day we left, the forecast called for only a brief early-morning shower. I had checked again before departure — no change.

This was back when weather apps were more “suggestions” than “accurate predictions.”

One of our camp rules was no electronics. Devices stayed in the vans once we arrived. This was before smartphones took over, but we still had gaming systems and MP3 players to worry about. This was to give the boys the complete outdoor experience.

I did bring two devices — my work phone and my BlackBerry. The work phone had limited internet (and technically wasn’t for personal use), and the BlackBerry had radar, though the signal was spotty enough that sometimes I think it was just guessing.

Radar showed two wide storm lines heading straight for us. By our calculations, the first would arrive around 2 a.m. After our meeting, I had the boys secure anything that could blow away or get soaked.

Most adults were staying in travel trailers, but I made sure several leaders stayed in tents with me for safety.

Around 1:30 a.m., thunder woke me. Lightning flickered in the distance. As I crawled out to check things, I ran into another leader doing the same thing. Always comforting when someone else is thinking the same way you are — or at least equally nervous.

While checking the camp, John called my name. He had spotted a toad hopping quickly uphill.

I asked if maybe that toad knew something we didn’t.

Looking back… I’m pretty sure he had access to a better weather service than we did.

Right on schedule, the first storm hit around 2 a.m. Wind picked up first, moving things I thought were heavy enough to stay put. Then the rain came — light at first, then like somebody flipped the “monsoon” switch.

Water rushed down the hill straight toward that “dry” creek bed. The road to the leaders’ section quickly turned into something resembling Class II rapids. All that water headed right toward the boys’ tents at the bottom.

John and I tried everything to divert water — digging channels, moving gear, anything. Nothing worked. There was just too much water. We grabbed spare tarps and rolled them into makeshift coffer dams.

At that point, we weren’t so much “in control” as we were “participating in a natural disaster.”

After about twenty minutes, the rain eased. Radar showed the second, stronger line about thirty minutes out.

Then my son called out from his tent asking if they could come out — said there was “a little water” inside.

In Scout language, “a little water” can mean anything from damp socks to an indoor swimming pool.

I told them to stay put. The storm wasn’t done with us yet.

As we kept working, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.

Another toad.
Moving uphill.
Faster than the first one.

At that moment, I should have packed everyone up and followed that toad like he was Moses.

The second storm hit harder than the first. John and I were soaked to the bone. By the time it ended, every tent had at least an inch of water inside. Not a single dry sleeping bag or cot left.

My entire focus was on the boys. That was the Scoutmaster in me. Thankfully, we had stored some dry wood under a tarp and could at least build a fire to start drying things out.

Only later that morning did I check my own gear.

The water had pushed loose debris against my tent and literally shoved it downhill. There were six inches of mud inside. Somehow, though, everything on top of my cot — including my CPAP and electronics — stayed dry.

I still can’t explain that. I’m calling it either divine intervention or really good cot placement.

After breakfast, John and I loaded every sleeping bag and six full trash bags of clothes, and drove into town to a laundromat. I don’t even want to think about how many quarters we fed those dryers. I’m pretty sure the owner saw us coming and started pricing beach houses.

When we got back, John offered to let me stay in his tent for the rest of the week. Thankfully, his tent was large enough for both of us. After the night I had just experienced — losing a fight with rain, gravity, and poor campsite placement — I wasn’t about to argue.

At that point, pride was gone. Survival and dry socks were the only goals.

Besides, after spending half the night building tarp dams in a thunderstorm together, sharing a tent didn’t even make the top ten list of weird things that had happened that week.

The rest of the week went perfectly. The boys had a blast. Nothing was ruined — just wet and sleep-deprived. And probably a little more respectful of weather forecasts… and fast-moving amphibians.

And I learned something important.

If you ever see toads moving quickly before a storm…
You might want to follow them to higher ground.

Kayak, Quiet, and Keeping It Together; Out There, I Found Myself Again

11 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by in Cancer, Depression, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Nature, Uncategorized

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My fishing buddy texted me Monday night asking if we were still meeting for breakfast Tuesday morning—a morning ritual we started a few months back. For the second time in two weeks, I had to tell him no because of doctor appointments. I worry that he thinks I’m brushing him off, but honestly, that’s not the case at all.

We’re both at an age—and health status—where we really shouldn’t go fishing alone. He’s 72 and has had five strokes. Thankfully, his health has improved a great deal, and I’m not overly worried about the two of us being out in an area with no cell service for hours on end. I carry a Mini InReach, a satellite communicator that allows me to send and receive text messages via satellite if things go sideways and help is needed. It even has an SOS button. If either of us were to have a medical emergency, pressing that button would send our GPS coordinates to rescuers. It might take a few hours, but help would be on the way.

I’m 62, and if you’ve read any of my posts, you already know I have my own long list of health concerns. Having a partner with you in a place where two-way communication is sketchy isn’t just a good idea—it’s warranted.

But it comes at a cost.

Sometimes, I need to be alone. I enjoy getting out in my kayak, stopping for a while, and just absorbing the sounds of nature. It’s where I have one-on-one time with my God. Rick is always nearby, as he should be, but I no longer feel like I truly get that quiet space. If I slow down to let him get ahead, he stops too, probably just to make sure nothing’s wrong.

When I first started kayak fishing, I went alone. Rick didn’t have a kayak then. Back then, my world felt like it was closing in on me. My cancer numbers were out of control, my kidneys were failing, and dialysis felt like the only road left in front of me. I was depressed, scared, and felt more lost than I ever had in my life.

Being out in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by silence, by peace, by the kind of beauty only God could create—gave me something I couldn’t find anywhere else. It gave me room to breathe. It gave me space to think. It gave me a place where I could be honest about how scared I really was. Sometimes it didn’t fix anything… but sometimes it gave me just enough strength to get through one more day.

I needed that time alone. It wasn’t about fishing. It wasn’t about getting away from people. It was survival. It was the only place where I felt I could truly talk to God and not feel like I had to be strong for anyone else.

This isn’t meant to be a religious post. I don’t use this platform for politics, religion, or controversy. This is simply how I dealt with a situation that felt completely out of my control.

I hope each of us has a place we can go—a place of solitude, reflection, prayer, or even just quiet—where we can catch our breath when life feels too heavy.

And I want to ask something, not as a writer, not as someone posting on social media, but as someone who knows what it feels like to be overwhelmed:

How do you deal with depression?
When you feel like things are getting out of control, how do you hold on?
What helps you get through the days when everything feels heavier than it should?

Because the truth is… someone reading this right now might be barely holding on.
Someone might be smiling on the outside and falling apart on the inside.
Someone might just need to know they’re not the only one fighting that battle.

If you have something that helps you keep going, share it.
You might help someone more than you will ever know.

Spring Teasing in February

08 Sunday Feb 2026

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

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I want to go fishing so bad I can’t stand it.

The weather for this coming week is supposed to be pretty mild. Highs are projected to be in the upper 60s to low 70s, with lows settling into the mid-to-upper 40s and low 50s. It’s not exactly perfect fishing weather, but it’s definitely showing signs of promise — like spring is standing just around the corner, thinking about knocking.

Monday is shaping up to be the warmest day, with highs in the low 70s. Unfortunately, it’s a little too late to start loading up the kayak now, and my gear isn’t quite ready to roll anyway. Tuesday has a similar forecast, but I’ve got a couple of doctor appointments that I can’t exactly reschedule just because the fish might be biting.

Thursday is off the table too, thanks to a couple more appointments. Wednesday and Saturday are both calling for rain, which pretty much leaves Friday as the last real contender for the week.

Friday’s high is only projected to be in the mid-60s — not ideal for me — but honestly, it all comes down to the wind. Anything over about 10 miles per hour is a hard no for kayak fishing. So for now, I’ll just have to wait until later in the week to get a better handle on the wind forecast before I decide if Friday is a “go fishing” day or a “drink coffee and stare at the lake from a distance” day.

Either way, it’s nice to see temperatures starting to creep upward. Even if I don’t make it out this week, it’s a reminder that fishing season isn’t too far away.

The Uninvited Tenant in the Wall

04 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Nature, Uncategorized

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About two weeks ago, one of my daughters called and told me she was hearing something in their walls. Not normal apartment noise. Not pipes. Not neighbors.

Scratching.

The kind of scratching that makes you immediately start wondering if renters insurance covers emotional trauma.

She wanted me to tell her what it was. Now, I had a pretty good idea, but knowing that even saying the words rat or mouse would send both of them into Olympic-level panic, I had to choose my words carefully… like I was negotiating with hostage takers.

Now hear me out — this gets a little technical.

If I’m not wrong, most walls are built eight feet tall using 2x4s spaced 16 inches on center. That means the inside cavity space is about 14½ inches by 3½ inches. That’s not exactly a penthouse suite. That’s more like “micro-living for something small, furry, and highly motivated.”

And if you’re hearing scratching in a space like that, chances are something is using its teeth to dig into the gypsum wallboard to gain access to either your apartment… or your neighbor’s.

And of course — and this is no coincidence — this was the closet where they store their food and snacks.

Because if you’re a wall creature, you don’t break into the linen closet. You go straight for the Doritos.

I told them to email the apartment office and create a maintenance ticket. The problem was, this was late on a Friday night. And everybody knows maintenance emails sent after 5 PM on Friday go straight into what I call the “See You Monday” folder.

Unless you call the emergency number.

Now, being two women who are convinced anything smaller than a deck of cards is capable of crawling into their apartment, creating chaos, and starring in a true crime documentary about them… they called the emergency number.

Voicemail.

They left a message… and then sat there waiting for a reply like they were waiting on lab results.

At this point, every sound in that apartment was suspicious.
Refrigerator kicked on? Suspicious.
AC made a noise? Definitely suspicious.
Ice maker dropped ice? Obviously the wall creature testing structural weaknesses.

Sometime Saturday, management finally called — only to say pest control would come Monday. After what I can only imagine was a spirited discussion, management agreed to call the maintenance man.

Moments later, their phone rang. It was the maintenance man. He had gotten the message but couldn’t help — he had been in a bad accident and was currently in the hospital.

But — and this is dedication — he said he’d call one of his buddies to check out the situation. That is the most “maintenance guy” thing I’ve ever heard. Man is in a hospital bed like, “I can’t walk, but I know a guy.”

Several days later — and after multiple calls to the apartment office — pest control finally showed up along with the maintenance buddy. Apparently coordinating schedules while my daughters believed they were under siege from a wall monster took a little time.

Now, working in maintenance for years, I learned something:
Problems disappear when maintenance shows up.

You can have water pouring from the ceiling.
You arrive.
Bone dry.
Like the house is gaslighting you.

That’s exactly what happened here.

They checked the apartment while my daughters were at work.
Heard nothing.
Saw nothing.
Probably left thinking, “These girls need hobbies.”

Then my daughters got home.

And… scratching.

One of my daughters did the smartest thing possible — she recorded the sound and emailed it to management. Nothing says “I am not imagining this” like audio of something trying to chew through Sheetrock like it’s a Nature Valley bar.

The next day, the manager, the maintenance buddy, and pest control all came back — this time with purpose. They had seen the video. They had heard the scratching. They knew something was living rent-free in that wall.

First, they drilled a small hole and inserted a camera. They saw insulation disturbed.

Then they decided to cut a hole in the wall.

And there she was.

A squirrel.

Just sitting there.

Not running.
Not panicking.
Not even mildly concerned.

Just sitting there like, “Oh good, maintenance is here. My sink has been dripping.”

Pest control removed the squirrel and released it outside where it belonged. The A-Team then spent the next several hours trying to figure out where she got in.

Whether they found the entry point or not, they did tape up the hole in the apartment. Which is good… but also feels like putting a Band-Aid on a submarine.

I’m hoping they permanently fix it soon. Preferably before the squirrel comes back with a lease agreement and three cousins.

Last night was the first night in a while that my daughters didn’t go to sleep listening to something chew in their walls.

What happened to the squirrel after that? Nobody knows.

Will she return? Hard to say.
It was her home for a little while.

But hopefully she decided apartment living is too expensive… and moved somewhere with trees, acorns, and zero humans.

Cold Enough to Make a Southerner Pray

22 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by in Life, Nature

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I don’t know who offended Mother Nature, but at this point, I’m convinced somebody cut her off in traffic, stole her parking spot, and ate the last donut. Whatever it was, we are all paying for it.

She is currently having a full-blown emotional breakdown in the atmosphere.

Seven days ago, we were told a freeze watch might be issued. Then some warm Gulf air came rolling in and bullied the Arctic air back north like, “Ma’am, this is the South. You’re lost.” For a hot minute, it looked like we’d escaped.

But no. Of course not.

Now, the forecast says temperatures were supposed to start dropping Saturday night and continue their descent into single digits by Tuesday morning. Single digits. That’s not “a little chilly.” That’s “why do I live where the air hurts my face?”

But don’t put away your shorts yet, because Mother Nature is also predicting mid-40s next week. Awesome. A whole three days of false hope.

And now… now they’re saying snow is possible next weekend.

So let me get this straight. We’re doing spring, winter, fake spring, and winter: the sequel all in the same ten-day period?

Mother Nature is not controlling the climate — she’s playing roulette with it.

She really needs to get her act together and make up her mind. People in the South are not equipped for this kind of psychological warfare. We own exactly one coat. It’s decorative. It comes out for Christmas photos and emergency runs to Walmart when the bread aisle looks like it’s been looted.

Down here, extended cold doesn’t just affect the weather — it affects our entire economy. Milk and bread disappear. Churches cancel. Schools close if a snowflake thinks about falling. We start with dripping faucets, opening cabinets, wrapping pipes, and saying things like, “I’m just gonna let it run all night,” as if we’re on some kind of plumbing life support system.

So to whoever angered Mother Nature: own it. Apologize. Send her a fruit basket. Light a candle. Do something. Because the rest of us are out here wearing three layers, questioning our life choices, and checking the forecast like it owes us money.

Mother Nature, if you’re listening — pick a personality and stick with it.

Closing Out My Best Fishing Year

08 Monday Dec 2025

Posted by in Fishing, Kayaking, Nature

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As the year winds down and the temperatures keep dipping lower, I’m sad to say my fishing season has officially come to an end. Some of my buddies are still squeezing in a few more cold-weather trips, but honestly? I’d rather stay warm and dry than risk capsizing and taking another unexpected swim in that icy water. Once was enough for me.

Looking back, though, I can honestly say this has been my best fishing year ever. Part of me wishes I’d kept track of the exact number of fish I caught, but even without a count, I know this season was something special. I’ve caught more bass this year alone than in all the previous years combined. Every trip held its own little thrill, its own memory, its own reason to smile.

Now it’s time to clean the gear, let the rods rest, and start looking forward to those early spring mornings when the water warms, the fish wake up, and the season starts all over again. Until then, I’m holding onto the stories, the quiet moments on the water, and the pride of a truly unforgettable fishing season.

Life Updates: Weight Loss, Clyde, and Cold Mornings on the River

19 Sunday Oct 2025

Posted by in bariatric-surgery, Cancer, Diabetic, diet, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Nature, Pets, Weight Loss

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I know—it’s been a minute since I’ve posted anything. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I wrote about last time, so forgive me if I repeat myself a bit.

My weight loss journey has finally leveled out—or at least I think it has. My original goal was 190 pounds, but I’ve actually surpassed that by almost 20. I weighed in this morning at 174 pounds and have been hovering there for several weeks now. That’s over a hundred pounds lost in total, which is still hard for me to wrap my head around sometimes. I’m pretty happy with where I’m at.

I don’t regret having the surgery one bit—if anything, I just wish I’d been able to do it sooner. That said, there are a few side effects I could do without. I get these hunger pains unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—sharp, deep aches around my stomach area that only fade after I eat. And since they removed my inflamed gallbladder during surgery, well, let’s just say I have to stay close to a restroom after meals. What goes in tends to come out quickly, and sometimes with little to no warning. Sometimes it’s 30 minutes, sometimes hours later—but when the tummy starts to rumble, it’s a do-or-die situation. I’ll let your imagination fill in the rest.

On a more personal note, my old buddy Clyde is still hanging in there. He’ll be 21 in January if he makes it that long. About a month ago, we found out he has a tumor on his liver. We don’t know if it’s cancerous, but because of his age, surgery isn’t an option. All we can do now is keep him comfortable and make sure his final days are filled with love. The vet couldn’t give us a timeframe, so we’re just taking things day by day. It’s tough to think about, and we’re trying to prepare ourselves mentally—but that’s easier said than done.

I’m still getting out on the river for some kayak fishing about once a week. I love it, but those 4 a.m. wake-up calls are brutal. I usually try to be on the water by sunrise to make the most of the day, and I’m typically done around 2 p.m. That’s a long stretch to be sitting in a kayak, but it’s peaceful out there.

As the temperatures drop, though, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep it up. I’m chronically anemic and stay cold most of the time. Anything below 76 degrees is jacket weather for me. In fact, my thermostat is set at 76, and I still wear a jacket indoors most days. I have a trip planned for this Thursday, but the forecast says 43 degrees in the morning. I can bundle up, but once it warms up, I’ll have to stash my jacket somewhere—and space is limited in a kayak. The front compartment is out of reach when I’m seated, so it’s always a bit of a puzzle.

But hey, that’s life. I’ll enjoy it while I can—cold mornings, creaky joints, and all.

I’m also going to try to stay more active on here, share a bit more often, and hopefully regain some of my old followers—and maybe even find a few new ones along the way.

Feel free to ask me anything about my gastric bypass journey, my buddy Clyde, or my fishing trips. I’d love to share what I’ve learned and experienced. And if you’ve gone through weight loss surgery, have a special pet, or just want to chat about your own hobbies, I’d really enjoy hearing about them too.

Retirement Is Close At Hand

07 Saturday Jul 2018

Posted by in Cancer, Leukemia, Nature, Photography

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I’ve been absent of late and for a good reason.  Although the doctor stated during my last oncologist appointment that my medicine is not working, I’m still feeling pretty good so I’m taking advantage of it and getting some things done around the house.  With that being said, I had to increase the dosage by 100mg and it’s starting to take a toll on my breathing.  Not much mind you but just enough to where I know that eventually, I’ll have to have more fluid drained from around my lungs.

I’ve got 39 more days to work and boy am I ready.  It can’t come fast enough. I’m supposed to meet with HR on Tuesday to discuss my retirement and post-retirement insurance.  More about this later.

The last four years have really played havoc around my house.  I’ve been fortunate to have a wife who is willing to cut the grass around the house but the other duties have gone by the wayside. My deck on the back side of the house needed cleaning four years ago and now it’s, well, pathetic.  The deck was black with mold and some of the hand railings needed to be replaced.  For the last three weeks, I have spent the afternoons and weekends cleaning this deck.  I have finished with the inside now to do the outside and then paint or stain next.

I have found the time to do a little bit of photography in the last few months.  I’ve really taken a liking to lightning pictures.  I’ve spent hours waiting on a storm to come through just close enough away that it would make a good picture while staying far enough away that I won’t be a target for a lightning strike.  I’ve had a few storms to come through.

There was a Fourth of July celebration up the street and I was fortunate enough to take some pictures of some fireworks from my front yard.  I didn’t get all I wanted because at the same time I was trying to get my drone off the ground to video the event.  My phone kept locking up so I had to settle with just the pictures.

I am currently sick with a sinus infection.  I went to the doctor today.  The drainage is making me cough and my chest is hurting.  I had plans on washing my truck and cleaning the outside today but that didn’t happen.  Maybe I’ll feel like doing it tomorrow.

Until next time.