Category Archives: Retirement

A Car Accident, Too Many Phone Calls, and a Future Son-in-Law

04 Wednesday Mar 2026

Posted by in bariatric-surgery, Boy Scouts, diet, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Retirement, Twins, Uncategorized, Weight Loss, Woodworking

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Tomorrow is Thursday, and this week has gone from bad to worse.

My 4 a.m. alarm didn’t go off Tuesday morning, which meant I missed my Tuesday Bible study. That may not sound like a big deal to most people, but it is to me. I haven’t missed one since I started going nearly six months ago.

I woke up around 5 a.m. and immediately realized it was too late to rush around and try to make it on time. The real sign that I wasn’t rushing anywhere was that I didn’t even make coffee first thing. Anyone who knows me knows that’s a sure sign something is off.

After getting cleaned up and eating breakfast, I headed out to the shop and started working on some crafts with my laser. I’ve got a craft fair coming up, and every spare minute seems to be dedicated to getting items ready for it. My breakfast appointment wasn’t until 8 a.m., so I had some time to kill.

I met my friend Rick for breakfast, and of course, the first thing he asked was when we were going fishing. I told him “Soon,” but explained that I had some projects I needed to finish before the craft show. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with that answer.

During breakfast, my phone kept ringing. No fewer than four people called wanting to talk about Scout-related matters. Even though I consider myself no longer involved in Scouts, apparently, the news hasn’t fully spread yet.

Once I got back home, I went right back to working on my crafts. Before long, the phone started ringing again. More Scout calls.

Running a laser in the shop requires attention. It’s essentially a controlled fire, and if you’re not careful, things can go wrong in a hurry. After trying to juggle phone calls and watch the laser at the same time, I finally decided it wasn’t worth the risk. I shut the laser down.

At 1 p.m., I had a dentist’s appointment.

I have a love-hate relationship with my dentist. I’ve been seeing him for over 30 years, and I trust him completely. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy what he does. I absolutely cannot stand the sound of a dental drill.

Thankfully, I haven’t had a cavity in years, but every now and then, he has to replace a filling that he put in decades ago. Yesterday was one of those days.

After leaving the dentist, things took a turn for the worse.

While merging into another lane, I was hit by a car. The driver had been turning left onto the roadway and collided with me. Before the police arrived, he admitted to me that it was his fault. But when the officers got there, his story had changed. Suddenly, he was telling them that I ran into him because I wasn’t paying attention.

There had been a witness who told me he saw the young man hit me. Unfortunately, by the time I tried to get his information, he had already left. Now I’ll have to wait five to seven business days to pick up the police report and see what it says.

Today was my bariatric appointment.

At one point, my lowest weight was 165 pounds. To be honest, I didn’t look very healthy at that weight. I had gotten too thin. People were quietly asking others if I had some sort of serious illness and wasn’t telling anyone.

My scale at home said 185 pounds this morning. I knew the doctor’s office scale would be a little heavier because of shoes and clothes. Sure enough, it read 191. Still, that’s lower than my last reading at the doctor’s office a year ago.

My doctor would like me to get down to about 175 pounds. He thinks that’s my ideal weight. Personally, I’m pretty comfortable where I am now, but I wouldn’t mind getting down to 175. I just don’t want to go much lower than that.

The next couple of days will be catch-up days.

I have projects cut out that still need sanding. Items that are sanded but need painting. And pieces that are painted but still need to be glued together and assembled.

But even with all the chaos this week, there has been a bright moment.

My wife and I had dinner with one of my daughter’s boyfriends. During dinner, he asked us for permission to ask my daughter to marry him.

It felt strange even writing that sentence.

I can hardly believe that soon I may have a married daughter and gain a son-in-law. He’s a good young man, and I truly believe he cares deeply about her. I know she feels the same way about him.

She had been worried that I might not give my permission. But I would never stand in the way of my daughter’s happiness.

That moment was a candle in what had otherwise been a pretty dark and stressful week.

Now I’m hoping the rest of the week goes by quietly and uneventfully.

After all the doctor’s appointments, the phone calls, and a car accident, I think I’ve earned a couple of calm days.

Insurance Knows Best… Supposedly

25 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by in Cancer, Diabetic, Disability, Family, Leukemia, Life, Photography, Retirement, Uncategorized

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Doctor Says Yes… Insurance Says “We’ll Think About It”

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Doctors, diagnoses, prescriptions, Medicare, insurance, and denial — those are words that seem to follow me around these days. Sometimes I think dealing with the medical system is almost a full-time job. If they paid by the appointment, I’d be drawing a salary by now.

One thing I’ve never quite understood is how a doctor can go to school for years, train for years more, examine you personally, and decide what medication you need — only for the insurance company to step in and say, “Nope, we don’t think so.”

Apparently, somewhere a person is sitting behind a desk who knows more about my condition than the doctor who actually saw me.

I worked for a health insurance company for 32 years before I retired. I was in the maintenance department, which meant I fixed things like doors and lights — not insurance claims. Still, people who knew where I worked would often ask me why their medication was denied even though their doctor prescribed it.

I always had to explain that just because I worked there didn’t mean I knew anything about insurance decisions.

Truth be told, I still don’t.

A good example is what happened recently with my son. He was prescribed medication for severe sleep deprivation. His previous insurance covered it, and he was happy because they had finally found something that actually worked.

Then he changed jobs.

His new insurance company now says the medication is “not medically necessary.” I guess sleeping is optional now.

The doctors now think he might have sleep apnea and ordered a sleep study. Before he even got scheduled, he got a phone call saying the test would cost over $2,000 because his insurance wouldn’t cover it.

He’s a young man with a mortgage, a car payment, and utility bills. In other words, he’s living in the real world — the one where people don’t just have $2,000 laying around for a test that might help them sleep at night.

Meanwhile, I realize I’m one of the fortunate ones. Because of my disabilities, I qualify for Medicare, and because I worked for an insurance company, I retired with a good supplemental plan. That combination gives me coverage that many people would love to have.

I don’t pay co-pays for doctor visits. I don’t pay for emergency room visits. Every time I leave the hospital, the bill says I owe exactly zero dollars, which is my favorite number.

I do pay for some medications, but not a lot.

One medication I take costs about $20,000 for a 30-day supply.

Yes, twenty thousand dollars.

For that price, I feel like it ought to come with a steak dinner and a weekend vacation.

Fortunately, the drug company offers a $0 co-pay card because they know insurance only pays part of the cost. Thanks to that program, I don’t pay a penny for a medication that costs more than some cars.

I consider myself blessed, because there are people who need this same drug and simply can’t get it because they don’t have the right insurance. That part isn’t funny at all.

When I ask why the drug costs so much, I’m told it’s because of all the research that went into developing it. I understand that research costs money, but sometimes I wonder if the scientists also built a few vacation homes along the way.

After being on this medication for a while, I feel like I’ve personally contributed a pretty fair share toward paying for that research — and I know some folks have been on it a lot longer than I have.

I don’t know what the answer is. Doctors are trying to help people. Insurance companies are trying to control costs. Drug companies are trying to recover research money.

And patients are just trying to stay alive without going broke in the process.

Maybe one day there will be a system where if your doctor says you need something, you can actually get it without filling out forms, making phone calls, and saying a small prayer first.

Until then, I guess we’ll just keep taking our prescriptions — and a healthy dose of patience right along with them.

Dutch Ovens, Daughters, and the Coming of Spring

22 Sunday Feb 2026

Posted by in Boy Scouts, Cancer, diet, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Photography, Retirement

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In just a few hours, spring will arrive… in 25 days. That may sound like I failed math, but when you’ve spent the winter cold to your bones, you start announcing spring like it’s breaking news.

I cannot wait for consistent 70-degree days. Since being diagnosed with anemia, anything under 75 degrees feels personal. I walk around my house in a zip-up hoodie while the thermostat is set at 72, which apparently is “comfortable” for everyone else. For me, 72 feels like I’m storing meat in a deep freezer. I’m convinced the power company, and I have a mutual understanding: I keep the heat reasonable, and they don’t require a second mortgage.

Spring means I can finally venture outside without dressing in layers like I’m summiting Mount Everest.

It means yard work — and believe me, there’s no shortage of it around here. I actually enjoy yard work. There’s something satisfying about looking at a freshly mowed lawn or trimmed bushes and thinking, “Yes, I did that.” Of course, by next week, it looks like I never touched it, but for those few hours, it’s glorious.

Spring also means camping. I love camping, especially in early spring and fall when the nights are cool enough to sleep well but not so cold that you question every life decision that led you to sleeping on the ground. There’s just something peaceful about waking up to cool air and the smell of coffee brewing outside.

But this summer will feel different.

With my scouting days behind me, camping won’t be automatic anymore. For 25 years, Scouts were built into my calendar. Camping trips, summer camps, weekend outings — it was just part of life. There’s been talk of some of us former leaders getting together for a trip, but so far it’s been more nostalgia than reservations. This will be the first summer in a quarter of a century without Scouts in it. That’s going to take some getting used to.

Of course, there’s always fishing.

I can’t go fishing enough. If I could, I’d go every day of the week. One of my favorite memories happened last year when I took one of my daughters out fishing. We had tried a couple of years before, but that trip ended with a fishing hook buried in my finger and a quick trip to the hospital. The wind shifted, the kayak jerked, and suddenly I was the one being reeled in.

My daughter still blames herself, but it wasn’t her fault. Sometimes the wind just has other plans.

Last year’s trip was redemption. She caught several bass — the first she had ever caught. I was so thankful I was there for it. There’s something special about being present for those moments. You don’t realize at the time how much they’ll mean later.

And speaking of later, she recently announced that she and her boyfriend will be getting engaged. That’s supposed to be a secret, so if you’re reading this, you didn’t hear it from me.

Life changes. Seasons change. Kids grow up. And apparently, future sons-in-law don’t fish. I’m hoping she and I will still carve out a day or two to hit the water together. Some traditions are worth holding onto.

Spring also means outdoor cooking — and that may be what I’m most excited about. Grilling on the BBQ, cooking in my Dutch ovens — I love it. My love for cooking really started when I got involved in Scouts with my son. One of the dads in the troop took the time to teach me the art of Dutch oven cooking. And yes, I call it an art. There’s something about managing coals, timing, and recipes that feels almost sacred.

I always made sure at least one meal a day on a camping trip was cooked in a Dutch oven. If someone said, “I don’t know what to cook,” I’d hand them my trusty Dutch oven cookbook and say, “Well, you’re about to find out.” Most of the time, they did just fine.

Now it’s just my wife and me at home. The only problem is that most Dutch oven recipes feed ten or more people. So unless we’re planning to eat the same meal the next two weeks, I’ve had to make some adjustments. Turns out, retirement requires learning how to cook for two instead of twenty.

But maybe that’s what this season is about — adjusting. Letting go of some routines while holding onto the things that matter. Finding new rhythms. Creating new traditions.

And counting down the days until it’s warm enough for me to take this hoodie off inside my own house.

Twenty-five days and counting.

The Number in the Corner

19 Thursday Feb 2026

Posted by in Disability, Family, Leukemia, Life, Retirement, Uncategorized

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Photo by Jan van der Wolf on Pexels.com

In 2018, at age 55, I retired after 32 years with the same company.

Five years before that, the company decided to raise the retirement age from 55 to 65 with 25 years of service. Thankfully, I had already met the age requirement. I was “grandfathered in.”

That phrase never sounded so beautiful. I’d never been so proud to qualify for something simply because I was already old enough.

Ordinarily, I would’ve stayed until 65, so I wouldn’t mess with my Social Security. That was the responsible plan. But my body started holding meetings without my permission. Knees voting “no.” Back filing complaints. Balance requesting reassignment.

You can’t very well do HVAC work if climbing a ladder feels like you’re auditioning for a slow-motion fall.

I turned 55 on August 15, 2018. When I realized I had 42 months until I could retire, I started a quiet countdown.

Every morning, I took readings on the plant’s main HVAC equipment. On the wall was a massive 6 x 4 dry-erase board where I logged the numbers. Up in the far-left corner, I wrote one simple number:

42

On every 15th of the month, I erased it and lowered it by one.

Forty-two.
Forty-one.
Forty.

For three and a half years, that number sat there. No one ever asked what it meant. Not one person.

Either they didn’t notice… or they were silently rooting for it to hit zero.

I started that job on January 26, 1986. It was 19 degrees that morning. I know because my previous job was washing freshly painted utility trucks — outside — in January.

Whoever was lowest on the totem pole got that job.

I wasn’t just on the totem pole.

I was holding it up.

So when I walked into a heated building that morning, I felt like I’d been promoted to royalty.

I even took a two-dollar-an-hour pay cut to take the job. Two dollars an hour back then was real money. But I believed long-term it would pay off.

When I first started, I didn’t have any college education. Just a high school diploma and a willingness to work. But I kept getting passed over for promotions. One supervisor finally told me straight: “You’ll keep getting passed over unless you go back to school.”

That was hard to hear — but it was true.

An HVAC supervisor came to me and said that if I went back to school and learned the trade, he’d help me every step of the way. And he did.

So I worked full-time and went to school at night.

Those were long years.

I missed some things.

My son’s first baby steps were taken one night while I was sitting in a classroom trying to understand airflow calculations. I didn’t see them in person. I heard about them when I got home.

That part still stings a little.

You tell yourself you’re doing it for your family — and you are — but sometimes providing for them means missing moments you can’t ever get back.

I learned HVAC systems.

I just wish I’d learned how to be in two places at once.

For 32 years, I gave that place blood, sweat, and a few tears they probably didn’t log on the dry-erase board. I worked alongside some of the smartest people I’ve ever known. We solved problems together. Ate lunch together. Complained quietly together.

I went to their kids’ birthday parties. Camped with some of them. Attended funerals for their family members.

We weren’t just coworkers.

We were everyday life.

And then one day, I walked out.

Retirement is strange.

One day, you’re the guy everybody calls when something breaks.

The next day… nothing breaks that requires your number.

At first, I kept my phone close. Surely someone would need advice. Surely they’d call and say, “We can’t find this,” or “What did you do about that?”

Turns out, they figured it out.

Rude.

Before COVID, I’d stop in and have lunch with some of them. Now I mostly see them on Facebook. I still hear from a couple of guys, but it’s rare.

You work beside someone for 15 years and assume that bond is permanent. But when the daily routine disappears, you realize proximity and permanence aren’t the same thing.

I suppose I could call them. But they’re working. And when they’re home, they need family time.

And I’m retired.

Which means I now have plenty of time to think about things like dry-erase boards, 19-degree mornings, and baby steps I heard about instead of saw.

That number in the corner wasn’t just a countdown to retirement.

It was a countdown to a new season.

For 32 years, I was “the HVAC guy.” The steady one. The one who knew where everything was and how everything worked.

Now I’m the guy who drinks coffee in the morning without a time clock waiting on me.

And you know what?

That’s not a bad promotion.

I’m grateful.

Grateful for heated buildings on cold mornings.
Grateful for supervisors who pushed me.
Grateful I got to leave on my terms.

And grateful that even though I missed a few first steps…

I didn’t miss the rest of the journey.

When that number finally reached zero—

I erased it.

And walked out the door.

On my own two slightly creaky, but still standing, legs.

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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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.

When Your Brain Hits the Snooze Button

09 Monday Feb 2026

Posted by in Cancer, Disability, Leukemia, Life, Pets, Retirement, Uncategorized

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Brain fog is working overtime this morning.

My cat got me up earlier than normal, so I started my day the usual way — getting my coffee going and sitting down to do my daily devotional. Afterward, I usually sit in the darkness for a bit to reflect on what I just read and mentally prepare myself for the rest of the day. That normally lasts about 15 to 20 minutes, depending on what I have planned.

Evidently, today I went into a deep sleep while doing so.
So instead of reflecting on scripture, I apparently reflected on the inside of my eyelids.

I got up, went into the kitchen, took a bowl out of the cabinet, and proceeded to pour cereal into it when my wife walked into the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I could only look at her with what I assume was a very strange look on my face — the same look Windows gives right before it crashes.

Normally, when someone is pouring cereal into a bowl, it means they’re about to eat breakfast. So I told her I was fixing breakfast.

She then informed me that I had already eaten breakfast.

A small argument began.

“No, I haven’t,” I replied, with the confidence of a man who clearly has no idea what he’s talking about.

She then pointed to the kitchen sink where an empty bowl with a spoon sat. Next to it was an empty plate with a fork — the same plate where I had apparently made myself a sausage patty earlier.

I honestly don’t remember eating breakfast this morning. But the evidence was sitting right there in the sink like a crime scene I had committed against breakfast foods.

I took the bowl of cereal, poured it back into the cereal box (because groceries are too expensive to waste), and went to sit down — feeling beaten and confused.

It made me wonder… how many times have I done something like this before and not remembered it? I think this was the first time with breakfast. Otherwise, I probably would have noticed empty dishes in the sink and wondered if we had a very polite burglar who only steals memories and leaves dishes.

What I do know is that during conversations, I can forget things right in the middle of saying them, and it’s frustrating. Sure, I know as you get older your brain starts playing games with you, but this feels different.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve done the classic “walk into a room and forget why I’m there” routine. I’ll leave one room, get halfway down the hall, and forget where I was going or what I needed. At this point, I just assume I live in the hallway now.

But lately, it feels… bigger than that.

I’ve also quit arguing with my wife about things that come up missing. I used to accuse her of moving things and not remembering where she put them — when in fact, it was me who moved them and can’t remember doing it. Turns out the call was coming from inside the house… and by house, I mean my brain.

I go back to the doctor on Tuesday, and if I can remember, this will definitely be one of the topics I bring up. I’m not sure if there’s anything they can do, but at least it will be on record.

And maybe — just maybe — tomorrow I’ll only eat breakfast once.

February Is Confused… and Honestly, So Am I

05 Thursday Feb 2026

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

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As I’ve posted before, the weather here has been anything but normal for February. Looking at next week’s forecast, it’s supposed to be in the high 60s to low 70s. That is absolutely nuts. Somewhere, winter is filing a missing person report.

Today, I got a call from one of my fishing buddies asking if I wanted to go fishing while it’s warm. Now that is the kind of phone call that usually results in me immediately looking for my tackle box, my lucky fishing hat, and trying to remember which truck door pocket I left sunflower seeds in.

Unfortunately, real life showed up and reminded me I have three appointments next week. Three. In February. During fishing weather. That just feels disrespectful.

But… if I can shuffle things around just right, there is a very real possibility of my wetting a hook or two. At minimum, I can at least drive by the water and stare at it longingly like a kid looking through a toy store window.

Honestly, if February is going to act like April, I feel like it’s my civic duty to at least attempt to catch a fish. I don’t make the rules. I just follow the weather.

And if you see me calling in “temporarily unavailable,” just know I’m conducting important seasonal research… from my kayak.

Across Oceans No Problem… But North Dakota Is Apparently Narnia

02 Monday Feb 2026

Posted by in Amateur Radio, Life, Retirement, Uncategorized

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After sharing the news about finally reaching the state of Hawaii, I decided to make a map showing all of my long-distance contacts thus far in 2026. I was pretty proud of it… right up until I realized I had to explain that it does not include my contacts inside the continental United States. If it did, the map would just look like I sneezed ink all over North America.

What really caught my attention, though, is something that makes absolutely no sense to me. I can sit down, turn on the radio, and talk to someone in Italy like they’re sitting across the street. No drama. No struggle. No begging the radio gods for mercy.

But North Dakota?
Alaska?
Hawaii (until recently)?

Apparently, those are protected by an invisible force field.

I’ve tried to come up with logical explanations for this, mostly so I don’t have to accept that radio waves are just messing with me personally.

First — The Antenna
My antenna slopes from East to West. That probably means something very scientific and important. I’m not an antenna expert, though. I’m more of a “put it up, see if it works, and if it doesn’t… stare at it like it betrayed me” kind of guy.

Second — Operator Population
Some states just don’t have as many HAM operators. That makes sense for Alaska and North Dakota. Hawaii is small, and I honestly don’t know how many operators there are. For all I know, there are a handful of guys rotating shifts between operating radios and living their best life on the beach. And honestly, if I lived there, I might not be inside talking on the radio either.

Third — Time Zones (The Real Culprit)
Most of my hunting happens in the morning. There’s about a four-hour difference between Hawaii and me, and about three hours between Alaska. So when I’m wrapping up radio time and moving on to things like work, errands, or pretending to be productive, they’re just waking up and figuring out where they left their coffee mug.

Meanwhile, when I’m making contacts in the East — Belgium, Italy, places like that — it’s the middle of the night over there. Apparently, those operators are either serious night owls, incredibly dedicated to the hobby, or avoiding sleep like it owes them money.

The longer I do this hobby, the more I realize HAM radio is this weird mix of science, timing, geography, luck, and occasionally sacrificing a little dignity while calling CQ for the tenth time in a row.

But that’s also what makes it fun.

Because at the end of the day, I can bounce a signal off the atmosphere, talk to someone on the other side of the planet…
…and still get ghosted by North Dakota.

And honestly, that feels personal.

I Found Hawaii Hiding in the Static

31 Saturday Jan 2026

Posted by in Amateur Radio, Retirement, Uncategorized

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I’m not the type of person who posts something just to make a post. If I share something, it’s usually because it’s something I think is worth sharing — something about me, something about my surroundings, or something that happened that was funny, interesting, or meaningful.

But something happened this afternoon that honestly felt a little bit amazing.

It’s also something I’ve been working toward for well over a year… which means at this point it’s moved from “hobby goal” to “mild obsession.”

Some of you may not know what I’m talking about, and that’s totally fine. I’ve mentioned before that I’m into HAM radio and POTA (Parks On The Air). Basically, operators set up in parks and make contact with other operators. There’s an award if you manage to work a park in all 50 states.

For the past year, I’ve gotten contacts in every state… except Hawaii, North Dakota, and Alaska.

Those three have basically been my radio version of Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and that one sock that disappears in the dryer.

There are apps you can download that alert you when one of your missing states is on the air. Sounds great in theory. In reality, it usually means you rush to the frequency just in time to hear what sounds like someone whispering through a pillow… during a hurricane… from 4,000 miles away.

This afternoon, I got a notification that a station from Hawaii was on the air.

I jumped to the frequency.

Nothing.

Just static. Beautiful, expensive, professionally tuned static.

I listened for a while, hoping something would magically appear. Nope. Just more static. So I moved on and tried other POTA stations. Strike out there, too.

So I figured, why not go back and check Hawaii one more time?

This time, I could barely hear him. Like… if I blinked too hard, I might lose him.

So I threw my call sign out there, fully expecting to be ignored, like when you wave at someone in public and realize they were waving at the person behind you.

And then…

He came back to me.

We exchanged information, completed the contact, and right about then, my brain went:

“Wait… did that just happen??”

After over a year of chasing that contact… I finally got Hawaii.

I’m pretty sure if anyone had been watching me at that moment, they would’ve seen a grown adult sitting in front of a radio grinning like he just won the lottery… or at least found that missing dryer sock.

That was a huge accomplishment for me.

Now it’s down to Alaska and North Dakota.

And if today taught me anything, it’s this: sometimes the signal is there… You just have to sit through a little more static, be a little more stubborn, and try one more time.

(Also, if you’re in Alaska or North Dakota and like talking to slightly overexcited radio guys… I’m your guy.)

Welcome to Wal-Mart: Please Scan Your Items… Or Don’t, Apparently

23 Friday Jan 2026

Posted by in Amateur Radio, Retirement

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Winter Field Day kicks off tomorrow and runs through Sunday. For those who aren’t familiar, Winter Field Day is a Ham radio competition where operators try to make as many contacts as possible within a set time. Some of those contacts can be from all over the world — which means a few of us will be huddled around radios, headphones on, pretending we’re way more important than we actually are.

I volunteered to bring a dessert. Since there will only be four of us, I decided not to go all out. If this were a bigger crowd, I’d be firing up one of my Dutch ovens and whipping up something impressive like a cobbler or an upside-down cake. But for a small group? Cookies it is.

Simple. Easy. No problem… until I realized I didn’t have all the ingredients.

So, against my better judgment, I made a trip to Wal-Mart — the one place I did not want to be, on any day of the week, much less on a Friday afternoon.

For those unfamiliar with Wal-Mart (and bless you if you are), it’s basically a small country. Groceries on one side. Clothes, housewares, sporting goods, electronics, car batteries, fishing worms, and possibly a space shuttle on the other. If humanity has ever needed it, Wal-Mart probably has it… somewhere… in aisle 947.

I grab my few missing items and head to the self-checkout. Of course, there’s a line. I remember when self-checkout first came out, and the rule was “10 items or less.” When did that become “one fully stocked fallout shelter per customer”? People in front of me had carts piled so high I half expected a sherpa to come help guide them through.

As I’m standing there, practicing my patience breathing, I start noticing something a little… off.

One lady with a cart loaded down with groceries was pulling items out, dropping them into bags… and never scanning them. Not “oops, missed one.” I mean, confidently bagging groceries like she was playing a game of competitive grocery Jenga.

What made it worse? The Wal-Mart attendant was standing right there watching her… and doing absolutely nothing.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. People ahead of me were quietly making comments to the attendant. Still nothing. The lady continued her little “Scan-less and the Furious” routine like it was perfectly normal. At that point, I’m thinking either this is the boldest shoplifting operation I’ve ever seen… or I accidentally wandered into some kind of undercover training exercise.

Ordinarily, I probably would have said something. But then I hesitated.

Maybe she’s fallen on hard times and genuinely needs the food. Maybe this is one of those situations where you mind your business and let the universe sort it out. After all, an employee was standing there whose job — supposedly — was to prevent exactly this kind of thing.

On the other hand… karma has a funny way of circling back around and biting you right on the rear end when you least expect it.

So I paid for my legally acquired cookie ingredients, headed for the door, and left Wal-Mart exactly the way I found it — confused, slightly concerned, and in need of a shower and a prayer.

If nothing else, the cookies better be good. I risked emotional damage for them.