Tag Archives: Family

When Plans Change, and Priorities Don’t

02 Saturday May 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Uncategorized

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There comes a time in your life when you realize things don’t always go according to plan. Life has a way of stepping in, throwing a wrench into your day, and reminding you that some things matter more than whatever you had written on your to-do list.

I’m not sure if I’m making myself clear, but let me try to explain.

Growing up, my parents were the kind of people who would drop everything to help their kids. It didn’t matter what they had going on, how they felt, or what time it was—if we needed them, they were there.

My dad worked evening and late shifts most of my childhood, so I didn’t see him much during the week. He spent most of his days sleeping so he could work through the night. But even then, if I needed him, he showed up. The same goes for my mom. Between the two of them, there was never a moment when I felt like I had to figure things out alone.

Well… now it’s my turn.

Today wasn’t exactly a great day for me physically. When I woke up at 5:30 this morning, my back pain was already making its presence known. I rolled over and went back to sleep, hoping for some relief. By 9:30, I had no choice but to get up—and it hurt. A lot.

I had taken a pain pill the night before, which is probably the only reason I slept that long. After getting dressed and making some coffee, I sat down to start my morning devotion. That’s when my dad called.

His brand-new HVAC unit wasn’t working. The thermostat was completely blank. No heat, no air—nothing.

On a pain scale, I was sitting at a solid 8. I seriously considered taking another pain pill after breakfast, but I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t be in any condition to drive. And at that moment, my dad needed help.

So I skipped the pill.

I scarfed down a bowl of cereal, grabbed what tools I thought I’d need, and headed out the door. I called my wife as I pulled onto the main road to let her know what was going on.

When I got there, the first thing I checked was the thermostat… and of course, it was working perfectly. Lit up, responsive, doing exactly what it was supposed to do. I switched it to cool—worked fine. Switched it to heat—no problem.

You can’t fix what isn’t broken… at least not right away.

After some troubleshooting, I narrowed it down to a possible issue with the condensate pump—one of the few things that could interrupt power to the low-voltage system.

Sure enough, the pump was full of buildup from years of use. I disconnected it and took it to the sink to clean it out.

That’s when things got interesting.

As I was reconnecting the wiring, one of the low-voltage wires brushed against the unit… and sparks flew.

If there wasn’t a problem before, there definitely was now.

I had officially upgraded the situation from “simple service call” to “well… that escalated quickly.”

Now the real fun began—finding that fuse.

There was a resettable fuse on the transformer, but it hadn’t tripped. Which meant one thing: somewhere inside that unit was a tiny little 3-amp fuse… hiding… laughing… probably calling its fuse friends to come watch.

And let me tell you, whoever designed that unit clearly never had to actually work on it.

This thing was tucked behind the control board in a spot that required either:

  1. Much smaller hands
  2. A double-jointed wrist
  3. Or a strong prayer life

I tried reaching it from one angle—nope. Another angle—still nope. At one point, I’m pretty sure I invented two brand-new yoga poses that will never make it into a class.

After what felt like an episode of “HVAC: Mission Impossible”, I finally laid eyes on it.

Victory… briefly.

Because of course… I didn’t have a spare.

Naturally.

So off I went to the auto parts store, where I got to buy an entire assortment pack of fuses—ranging from “barely useful” to “I may never need this in my lifetime”—just to get that one tiny 3-amp fuse.

But hey, if anyone within a 5-mile radius blows a fuse anytime soon, I’m officially their guy.

Before putting the new fuse in, I double-checked everything to make sure I hadn’t accidentally created a bigger problem (because at this point, that felt like a real possibility).

Once I was confident, I slid the fuse into place…

And just like that—it worked.

Like nothing had ever happened.

By this point, my back was absolutely screaming. There was no time for small talk or hanging around. I packed up my tools, said my goodbyes, and made my way back home—straight to my recliner.

I did what needed to be done.

I pushed through the pain because that’s exactly what my parents would have done for me.

Funny how life comes full circle like that.

Tomorrow’s Bible study has been canceled since everyone’s out of town, so I’ll be taking that as a sign to rest.

And hopefully… just hopefully… the phone stays quiet.

Built with Love (and a Little Bit of Crooked Math)

30 Thursday Apr 2026

Posted by in Arts and Crafts, Cancer, Disability, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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With Mother’s Day fast approaching, I decided it was time to push through the pain and make something for my mom. She loves plants—like, really loves plants—so I figured a couple of wooden planters would be the perfect gift. Plus, I’ve got a pile of scrap wood that’s been quietly judging me for months, including some cypress fencing material my wife has been not-so-subtly encouraging me to “do something with.”

So, around 9:30 this morning, I dragged all my equipment outside and got to work. By about 11:30, I had everything cut down to size and was feeling pretty good about life. That’s usually the exact moment things take a turn.

I started assembling the first planter and quickly realized something wasn’t right. The pieces weren’t lining up like the plans said they should. Now, the plans called for ¾-inch wood… and I’m working with ½-inch. Details, right? Apparently not. Turns out, those little fractions matter.

Still, I pressed on.

At this point, I’ve got one planter about 90% complete. It’s… let’s just say “custom shaped.” Not exactly square, which means putting the top boards on requires some math. And if you’ve followed me for any length of time, you already know—math and I are not on speaking terms. I’m pretty sure an angle finder is in my near future, the next time I wander into the store pretending I know what I’m doing.

After spending most of the day bending, lifting, and moving around, my back has officially filed a formal complaint. Sitting usually doesn’t bother me, but tonight I can’t seem to find a position that doesn’t make me question why I thought this was a good idea. The heating pad is doing its best, but the second I move, my back reminds me who’s really in charge. I took a pain pill earlier, but it’s apparently operating on its own schedule.

After looking at what I’ve completed on this planter, I’m not really happy with it. It’s one of those projects that looked a whole lot better in my head than it does sitting in front of me. So, there’s a good chance this one becomes a “keep it at the house” planter, and I’ll come up with something else for Mom.

I guess you could say this was my practice run… whether I planned it that way or not.

It all really depends on how I’m feeling after this upcoming pain block. If I can get a little relief and move around without feeling like my back is plotting against me, I may give it another shot and build something I’m actually proud to give her.

If not, well… Mom may be getting something a little less handmade and a little more store-bought this year—and honestly, she’ll probably love it just the same.

As for doctor updates, I’ve now got two appointments lined up—one with the orthopedic in mid-June and another with a pain specialist next Thursday. I’m hoping the pain specialist can help take the edge off until June gets here.

And yes, I’ll admit it… I probably shouldn’t have stayed out on that kayak as long as I did last Thursday. But I’ll still argue it was worth it. I needed that time on the water—maybe just not that much time.

Tomorrow looks like it’ll be a recliner day. I plan on catching up on my Bible study material for Tuesday morning. Theology isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m giving it my best shot—kind of like woodworking and math.

I also had a visit with my oncologist last week. My iron levels were low again, so they gave me a shot of Epoetin alfa to help boost my red blood cell production. They also ran my BCR-ABL1 test to check on my CML. The last several tests over the past six months have come back non-detectable, which is great news. I’m curious to see how this one turns out, though—it seems like those numbers like to keep me guessing. Should have results in a few days.

Other than that, things are pretty quiet around here. I’ll finish up that planter (eventually), survive the math, and hopefully have something worth showing for it.

I’ll check back in when I’ve got something else to write about… or when the second planter decides to humble me too.

It’s Not the End of the Road

27 Monday Apr 2026

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

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Just a quick post.

I have Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML). I was diagnosed back in 2014. I’m not going to lie—when I first heard those words, I thought my world had come to an end.

I was devastated.
I got depressed.
I was angry at everything and everyone.

I couldn’t even carry on a simple conversation without it turning into something it didn’t need to be. In short, I wasn’t exactly easy to live with.

The truth is, everything I felt is something a lot of people experience when they hear the word “cancer.” That flood of emotions hits hard. But what I’ve learned since then is this—there is always hope, no matter the diagnosis.

I follow several CML groups online, and I try to help people who are just starting this journey and struggling to process it all.

Last night, I came across a post from a young woman who had just been diagnosed with CML. She was going through the same emotions I went through—fear, anger, and the overwhelming feeling that her life was over. She had just gotten married and was planning to start a family, but now she was ready to give up on that dream. Her husband, loving her the way he does, was willing to give that up, too.

That hit me.

So I reached out to her privately.

I told her what I wish someone had made crystal clear to me in the beginning: things have changed. Years ago, this diagnosis looked very different. Today, it’s not the same story.

There are medications now that can control this disease. It may not be something that just disappears, but it’s something many people live with—and live well with.

I also told her I understood exactly what she was feeling, because I had been there—the anger, the depression, the uncertainty. And I let her know she didn’t have to go through it alone.

And I told her about this blog—about my life after diagnosis, the ups and downs, the fishing trips, the everyday moments. I wanted her to see that there is still a life to live after hearing those words.

Honestly, I didn’t expect a response.

But she wrote back.

And after several messages, I could tell something had shifted. Knowing that someone else had been walking this road since 2014—and is still here—gave her a different perspective. It even made her reconsider the idea that her future, including having a family, might not be over after all.

That right there is why I share my story.

CML is not a death sentence. It’s a bump in the road. A big one sometimes—but not a roadblock.

My numbers still go up and down like a rollercoaster. Some months are good, some aren’t. But it’s been that way long enough that it doesn’t shake me like it used to.

Life goes on.

And that’s exactly what I told her—live your life. Keep your appointments. Take your medication. Listen to your doctor.

But don’t stop living.

Because this diagnosis doesn’t mean the end of your story.

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.

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

13 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Photography, Uncategorized

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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

Posted by in Life, Retirement, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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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

Posted by in Boy Scouts, Family, Life, Retirement

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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.

From Handy Man to Recliner Champion

05 Sunday Apr 2026

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The beginning of my Easter weekend started out simple enough—help my son check on a leak in his slab.

Now, when someone says “just come take a look,” you picture a quick in-and-out job. Maybe a loose-fitting, maybe something obvious. Ten minutes, tops. You feel confident. Capable. Like a man who knows where his flashlight is.

What you don’t expect… is a full-blown plumbing adventure.

Since I was only supposed to be looking for a leak, I made the brilliant decision to leave all my tools at home. Normally, they live in my truck, but since I recently had some body work done, everything got unloaded—and apparently, my motivation to reload it went with it.

That decision came back to haunt me almost immediately.

Before heading to my son’s house, I had already been given my “honey-do” list for the day. My wife wanted a new overhead kitchen light installed and the handrails painted before our Easter guests arrived. So, naturally, I thought, “Let me just swing by, find this leak real quick, and get back home.”

Famous last words.

I picked up the light and paint, called my son, and headed over. When I got there, I grabbed the one and only tool I thought I’d need… my flashlight.

That flashlight and I were about to be very disappointed.

When I walked in, I found my son wrestling with a toilet. Not just any toilet—this was one of those “engineered by someone who hates plumbers” models. You know the kind. The connections are hidden, your hands don’t fit, and nothing is where it should be.

He was trying to replace the flush valve, and what should have been a simple job turned into a puzzle designed by a madman. You couldn’t even get your hand behind the tank to reach the nut. At one point, I ended up breaking the old valve just to get it out… which is always a confidence booster.

Eventually, he told me he had it under control, so I went back to my original mission: finding the world’s most elusive water leak.

About 15 minutes in, I heard some… colorful language coming from the bathroom.

That’s never a good sign.

Turns out, he was now fighting the same battle we just had—getting the new valve tight enough without being able to reach the nut. And since all my tools were sitting comfortably in my garage at home, we were working with whatever he had lying around… which wasn’t much.

After some struggling, twisting, and me contorting my body into shapes it was never designed to make, we admitted defeat and made a trip to the hardware store for some “special” wrenches.

Spoiler alert: they helped… but not much.

Eventually, through persistence, determination, and probably a little bit of stubbornness, we got the valve installed without leaks. Victory was ours… and so was the back pain.

Once I finally made it back home, it was time to tackle my original assignment. With my wife’s help, I replaced the kitchen light, then moved on to painting the handrails… along with a good portion of my shirt. Apparently, I believe in fully committing to a project—whether I mean to or not.

After finishing up, I rewarded myself the only way I know how: parked in my recliner, heating pad in place, enjoying the first of several cups of coffee like I had just completed a home improvement marathon—which, in my mind, I had.

Later that night, I took my meds as usual and noticed something looked a little off. Turns out, in the chaos of cleaning and rearranging, my medications got mixed up—and instead of taking my sodium bicarbonate, I doubled up on my muscle relaxers.

Now, if you’ve never done that before, let me tell you… It turns your entire next day into a slow-motion documentary.

I spent most of Easter in a fog.

Thankfully, it was a good kind of day. We had family over—my son and his girlfriend, my daughter and future son-in-law, and even her sister. There was food, laughter, and the added bonus of some first-time introductions.

It was one of those moments where everything just feels right.

Even if you’re slightly sedated.

After everyone left, I curled up in my recliner and took a much-needed nap.

Because sometimes the best way to end a long weekend of fixing everything for everyone else…
is to finally sit still long enough to not break anything else.

Good Friday… but the Pipes Didn’t Get the Memo

03 Friday Apr 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Retirement, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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Good Friday is a solemn day. A day set aside to remember the sacrifice of Jesus Christ—His crucifixion, His death, and ultimately the hope, redemption, and victory that came from it. It’s called “Good” not because of what happened, but because of what it means for all of us.

For many people, though, it also means something a little more… practical.
A day off work. A three-day weekend. Time with family. Maybe planting flowers, knocking out some yard work, or finally getting around to those projects that have been giving you the side-eye for weeks.

For me? It was a “catch up on everything I’ve been putting off” kind of day.

After breakfast, I headed out to the garage and got to work. I moved equipment outside, cut material for some crafts I’ve got going, and spent a good chunk of the day sanding everything down so it’ll be ready for paint tomorrow. I’ve got a craft show next Saturday, and let’s just say… I’m not exactly ahead of schedule.

Somewhere around 4 PM, my back decided it had officially had enough of my ambition.

But of course, I still had to haul everything back into the garage. Because nothing says “you’re done for the day” like one last round of lifting stuff you probably shouldn’t be lifting.

All I could think about at that point was one thing:
A hot cup of coffee, my heating pad, and a recliner.

I finally got everything put up, made a thermos of coffee, and just as I was about to sit down and enjoy that first sip…

My phone rang.

It was my son.

Now, I made the comment to my wife—only halfway joking—that the only time he calls me is when something’s wrong, and he needs help. Not a “Hey Dad, how’s your day?” or “Just checking in.”

Nope. Straight to business.

And sure enough… I was right.

He had a problem. A pretty big one.

Water was coming up through the floor between his kitchen and living room. Not exactly the kind of indoor water feature you want. He had already checked everything—ice maker, sink, water heater, dishwasher, bathrooms—and everything was dry.

So I had him check the water meter.

Still moving.

That’s never a good sign.

His house is built on a slab, which means all the plumbing runs underneath it. And to make things even more interesting, whoever built the house decided that shut-off valves inside the home were apparently optional. So if you want to turn off the water, you’ve got to go all the way out to the road.

Convenient, right?

At this point, it’s looking like a slab leak… which is about as fun as it sounds. He’s got the water shut off, fans running, and a call in to the insurance company. But until they figure things out, he can’t even stay in the house—no water, no way to function normally.

Oh, and he’s got two cats to deal with on top of it.

Because why not add a little extra complication to the mix?

Now here’s where it gets interesting.

We were all supposed to go to his house for Easter lunch.

Yeah… that’s not happening anymore.

So now, everybody’s coming to our house instead.

Which means… cleaning.

And let me tell you, when it’s just my wife living here and me, we don’t exactly keep the place in “company-ready” condition. I’ve got stuff—important stuff, mind you—everywhere.

After supper, I did what I could to clean up, but between my back and a full day of working in the garage, “deep clean” quickly turned into “good enough if you don’t look too close.” There’s always tomorrow, right?

Honestly, if I had known all this was coming, I might’ve paced myself a little better earlier in the day.

Tomorrow, after Bible study, I’m heading over to his place to see if I can spot anything he might’ve missed. I’m holding out hope it’s something simple—maybe a loose line on the dishwasher or refrigerator.

But if it’s not… then it’s in the hands of insurance, plumbers, and flooring folks. And we all know that’s not a quick process.

So no, this wasn’t exactly the Good Friday we had planned.

But I guess sometimes that’s the point.

Even on a day meant for reflection, life still happens. Problems pop up. Plans change. Coffee gets interrupted.

But through it all, we adjust, we help where we can, and we keep moving forward.

And maybe—just maybe—I’ll get to drink that cup of coffee while it’s still hot tomorrow.