A Simple Routine

 

If you have pets living in your house, working themselves into your lives, then what I’m about to share with you will make sense. I’ve taken a picture of an empty stainless-steel feeding bowl, the one we use every morning to feed one of our Elsa Kitty (aka Little Bit).  She’s a rather finicky eater, expecting half a can of premium moist cat food properly presented as she waits on top of the kitchen island.

One of us, usually Lucy, will open a fresh can from a stack of assorted flavors, scoop about half the can into the stainless-steel food bowl and place it in front of Elsa.  The other half gets scooped into a pink plastic storage container and placed in the refrigerator until the next day. This process is economical as far as purchasing premium cat food goes, and it has worked for several years.

Then there’s Part Two which involves Max Puppy, who sits patiently for his turn to finish whatever Elsa leaves in the bowl. Max isn’t actually our Puppy since he belongs to the Jacksons who live on the property to our north; but Max lives with us and gets along better with our Puppies and Kitties so he beds down at our house. Max knows how everything works at our place, when Elsa eats breakfast, that starts the day off.  As soon as Elsa’s done Max knows it’s his turn, awaiting eagerly as we place the bowl down to floor level.

This morning Elsa acted like she was through eating, Max sat next to us, his ears at alert mode aimed in the direction of the kitchen island.  Then Elsa decided she wanted just a bit more, licking carefully at what remained in the bowl.  Max’s ears dropped as if to say, “Hey, that’s mine now!”  Max shuffled his feet as if marching in place, letting out a soft but impatient grown as he told us we needed to tell Elsa she was done and place the food bowl on the floor. Elsa took only a couple of extra licks before stepping away.  Max’s ear shot back up as soon as he observed her move away from the bowl, “Hey, Folks, she’s done. My turn, my turn!”

This ritual is repeated daily and it’s followed by Max watching me slice open an English Muffin, place the halves in the toaster, fill a glass with milk, add chocolate to the milk and stir, spread peanut butter and jelly on the toasted muffins and walk to the den where Max follows so he can share a small portion of each muffin.  Max counts how many English Muffin halves are on the plate and knows how many small chunks he’s going to receive.  When the last piece is finished Max knows the day has officially started. 

What Class in High School Has Been Most Useful?

 

While browsing on Facebook the other day, there was a question posed, “What class in high school has been most useful?”  It may have been worded a little differently, but you get the idea. I thought about it for a bit, considering the basics, English, Algebra, History, Civics and even Anatomy and Physiology; but even the English classes I took left a sour taste.  I think that had to do with my not getting along with the teacher.

Mrs. Spain wanted us to write a descriptive paragraph about a record she had playing on her phonograph.  As I recall, it was a recording of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #2; but that’s not what I wrote about.  Instead, I went into great detail about how sunlight reflected off the tiny grooves as the 33rpm disc swirled around a chrome spindle, the magical way a small needle rested in those grooves producing music for everyone to enjoy.  Mrs. Spain wasn’t impressed, not at all as she marked my paper with a large Red F.  She went on to tell me I would never amount to much, certainly a waste of her time.

Admittedly, I wasn’t a good student during high school.  I wanted to be done with it and move on with life, not sure of what, but there had to be something better than going to school.  While remembering how much I really didn’t appreciate opportunities offered, one class I’d taken in Junior High rose to the surface, Typing Class. 

(Image of typewriter courtesy of pngtree dot com)

In the Eight Grade, I took a basic Typing Class.  Hand positioning over the keys was important along with learning how to feed paper with carbon so you’d have a copy, things like that.  But, over the years I’ve almost taken it for granted that I could type without looking down at the keys.

In our day and age, with so much of our time spent on computers or similar devices, that Typing Class has turned out to be the one that’s served me the best. I know, lots of folks prefer using a cellphone to text instead of using a laptop or regular computer with a keyboard; but my fingers can’t seem to feel comfortable over those tiny spots on the face of the phone.  I constantly hit the Period key while intending to hit the letter M, then I have to hit the erase key several times to correct the issue, find the letter M key, and then breathe out to get rid of frustration until I find the thought originally intended to be texted.

No thanks, I still prefer an old-fashioned keyboard, even if it’s attached to a fancy electronic device that’s no longer called a typewriter.  I wonder what ever happened to the typewriter I had while attending Sam Houston State, a light blue portable, can’t remember which company manufactured that trusty little machine.  Oh, well…

But That’s Not What I Heard

 

We purchased one of those hard-shell therapeutic hand massagers with heating positions that looks like it sprang from a cartoon artist’s imagination. Supposedly this kind of device will help alleviate or stave off the Dupuytren contracture condition, making the tendons in my hand swell and causing my ring finger to lock up to the point where it’s difficult to straighten my fingers.

I’ve been placing it on my hand, letting it go through its paces which last about fifteen minutes for each treatment session.  The device is bulky which prevents doing other simple things other than perhaps listening to music or simply closing my eyes for a short pause from the world.

That’s what happened a while ago, taking a short pause from the world; more specifically, taking a Journey to the Center of the Earth, as in the movie made back in 1959.  The explorers were following the information gained from a plumb bob scratched into it and found when a piece of volcanic rock exploded while being examined. The Great Arne Sachnoson (spelling optional) had allegedly gone to the center of the earth, never to be seen again.  These explorers planned to follow his trail.

Near the end of the movie, as the team found a shaft which might be able to take them to the surface, they accidentally awakened a huge lizard monster which threatened their survival.  Here’s where my journey fell in with their journey, my eyes closed as the hand massager hummed away, massaging away the pain in the palm of my hand.

The funny looking device makes a low humming noise, similar to listening to a musical instrument reaching a particular note while warming up.  I remember hearing such a note when our son was playing the Tuba in High School; well, maybe not exactly the same sound.

The one made by the sound effects engineer as the giant lizard monster awakened, that’s the noise I was hearing. I could see the lizard’s eye opening from its deep slumber, wondering if those members of the exploration team would taste good.  They hadn’t noticed the giant lizard, at least not right away as they considered how to get past a rock that was blocking their escape route up the air shaft.

The therapeutic device methodically changed patterns, the humming briefly stopped, then started again with the next form of massage pressure being exerted by the pneumatic finger and palm massage routine. With my eyes shut, still deep within the center of the earth, I knew that sound, the ominous threat becoming more alarming as the giant lizard’s tongue slurped from its mouth.

I won’t spoil the ending to this wonderful movie by telling you what happened next; but I did finish the therapy session and the funny looking device is on the charging cord preparing for the next trip down the rabbit hole.

Dreaming of a Ruben’s Sandwich

 

Friday morning while enjoying the last remaining moments of sleep, I’d been attending a corporate get together, interesting since I’d never been employed or associated with that kind of structured environment. I didn’t recognize anyone while roaming about the expansive facility which didn’t surprise me since I wasn’t employed there.

While in the process of taking this in, figuring it was time to leave since I really had no reason to stay, that’s when I found myself being offered a sandwich; not any old sandwich; but a Ruben’s Sandwich that had plenty of Corned Beef forming a wedge in between.  I looked again and there was a row of perhaps six or seven Ruben’s lined up and ready for whomever wanted one.

As I reached for the offered Ruben’s, considering the subtle flavors contained in that masterpiece of a sandwich; that’s when the alarm on my cellphone went off at 5:30am.  It was time to get up and join reality, stumble to the kitchen, pop a couple of English Muffins into the toaster followed by a mild slathering of peanut butter and jelly; in other words, breakfast.

The alarm had cheated me out of taking even one bite from the Ruben’s, not even one bite. I mentioned this to Lucy as we drove down to Houston, detailing the interesting tour of a company I didn’t work for and being offered the sandwich, right up until the alarm woke me up.  We both laughed at how our brain entertained us while we slept.

After completing our shift, working as Ordinance Workers at the Houston Temple, we headed back home.  The trip offers options as to what we might have for a meal; Arby’s for sandwiches prior to getting on the freeway or waiting until we drove up to Huntsville where we could go to Canes or Whataburger prior to getting our grocery shopping done.

Arby’s came up as our choice, yup, imagine that!  Arby’s makes a fairly decent Ruben’s Sandwich, not great; but certainly, a good sandwich, and we had a buy-one sandwich/get-one free digital coupon on Lucy’s cellphone.  The image of a Ruben’s Sandwich was on the internet, not much different than the ones served at Arby’s except Arby’s sandwich doesn’t come with a slice of pickle.  In this way I was able to finish my dream, the one where the alarm clock cheated me out of a perfectly prepared Ruben’s Sandwich.

The Future of Leon County

I recently was given the opportunity to address the topic of a Crusoe and Black Mountain Energy Data Center’s proposed permit to be built on property acquired in Leon County. Approximately two hundred fellow citizens of Leon County showed up for the meeting scheduled to include several other agenda items.  The meeting started with an opening prayer, the Pledge of Allegiance to both the United States of America as well as to the Great State of Texas. 

(Image courtesy of Shutterstock)

Prior to opening the floor to concerned citizens regarding the Data Center’s potential for negatively impacting property owners, livestock and other interests to include Crusoe and Black Mountain Energy’s request to have their target property given a tax abatement provision, the Commissioner’s Court held a continuing discussion regarding the issuance of a permit to a surveying company’s request to do seismological testing on property owned by Leon County, land currently used for grazing of livestock by various Leon County property owners.

There were serious questions asked of the representative of the surveying company having to do with a multitude of holes to be drilled down in the ground 80 feet for equipment used in measuring movement in and around those holes.  The Commissioners were concerned about how the company would fill those holes, the materials used to guarantee those materials wouldn’t compact or compress later, leaving dangerous holes for livestock to trip over and damage legs.  The company would need to satisfactorily address each challenge both short term and in years to come, including their responses as part of the proposed contract and permit application.

I was impressed with the thorough insight of the Commissioners’ Court as they considered the safety and well-being of property owners and their livestock. When it was my opportunity to speak before the Commissioners Court, my name having been called out by County Judge Bryon Ryder, my remarks included an expressed hope that the Commissioners would have the same standard of requirements to be met by the folks planning to build the Data Center in Leon County.

A short list of the concerns that Leon County property owners brought to the meeting would be: vast amounts of water needed by the Data Center for cooling, possibly depleting the county’s supply of water from the already stretched aquifer, taking into consideration water already being drawn away by the Dallas/Ft. Worth pipeline which has already caused some local water wells to become useless, the possibility of contamination of the water supply from the Data Center as it reenters the environment, excessive demand on the electrical grid, the cost to property owners to pay for power lines that will serve the Data Center, noise levels which would disturb the peace and tranquility of property owners as well as the potential disruption of livestock within miles of the Data Center.  Health concerns that have yet to be addressed or recorded in sufficient abundance or made available to the public would have to be added to this list.

Daniel McCoslin recently wrote, and his insightful line was quoted in the Commissioners Court Meeting held on Monday July 13, 2026, “Property rights keep coming up over the Data Center debates. Have you ever heard the old saying, “Your right to swing your fist ends where my nose begins?”  While continuing that thought he further wrote:

“Lately, I’ve been thinking about how that perfectly explains the Harm Principle, especially when it comes to property rights.

​Think of it like this, your property is your castle. If you want to paint your house neon pink, plant a jungle in the front yard, or build a massive deck, you should be completely free to do it. It's your land, your investment, and your right.

​But there’s a flip side. That freedom stops the exact second your actions cross the property line and start hurting your neighbors. Whether it’s dumping toxic chemicals that seep into the local water supply, or building an industrial project that drains the community's shared resources, noise and lighting pollution that destroys others abilities to enjoy their land. You have crossed the line from enjoying your property to harming someone else's.

​True property rights aren't just about the freedom to do what you want on your land, it's about the responsibility to make sure your actions don't ruin the life, health, or livelihood of the people next door. Something these massive companies don't understand, they just see dollar signs and don't care about the people around them.”

As of July 14, 2026, Daniel McCoslin mentioned in his writings, “County Judge Byron Ryder continues to stand like a wall, rightfully declaring that these projects are a bad deal for our home.”  May right prevail regardless of monetary compensations presented as “Community Improvement”.

County Judge Byron Ryder and Commissioners Paul Bing, Joey Sullivan, and TJ Foley need to know they have the support of property owners in Leon County, as long as they provide necessary safe guards for health and prosperity for those living in Leon County. Limitations placed on County Commissioners and Courts through Texas legislation regarding Zoning are not in conflict with local government entities mandating meaningful contractual agreements with companies expecting to do business within the boundaries of their jurisdictions. 

 

 

 

A New Toolbox

 

This past month the latch on my old toolbox decided to give up the ghost.  Since I’m retired and no longer depend on having my toolbox wherever I go, it stays in the general-purpose closet until such time as it’s needed.  But, even then it would be nice to be able to pick up the toolbox by lifting its handle rather than scooping it up with both hands to prevent everything from falling on the floor.

Friday, while in Huntsville doing our grocery shopping, it occurred to me that it would be a good time to visit the Academy store that’s in the same shopping center.  I should mention that I prefer using plastic tackle boxes rather than metal toolboxes; a habit gained from knowing a plastic tackle box with my tools in it didn’t leave marks on a customer’s front seat while working on their vehicle as a locksmith. 

Academy had a nice selection of medium sized tackle boxes.  The one I picked was basically the same as the one it was replacing.  While standing in line at the cash register, I mentioned they just don’t make tackle boxes like they used to, mine only lasted twenty years and the latch broke off. Nobody flinched as the weak attempt at humor evaporated into thin air.  I paid cash, got my receipt and exited Academy with my new toolbox.

There’s an oval brass identification band that had been fastened to Max’s dog collar.  One of the fasteners had disintegrated so the band needed to be reattached.  I couldn’t find the pop rivet gun, the one I’d used as a locksmith.  It’s in the house somewhere, maybe it’s in the storage unit; doesn’t matter if I can’t find it.  I figured I could place a small bolt and nut through the hole instead of a pop rivet.  I picked up the old toolbox, took it to the kitchen and got to work.

With a little effort and creativity, the brass identification band, the one with the veterinarian’s phone number, had been restored to its location on the dog collar. A couple of drops of Superglue would work as well as Loctite to keep the nut from backing off.  Since we were about to head into town, I left the toolbox on the counter, figuring today was a good day to switch out to the new toolbox. 

It occurred to me that switching out an old toolbox with its replacement is similar to obtaining a brand-new wallet.  You get attached to these items, a personal relationship of sorts that’s difficult to abandon. I put off the inevitable transfer of tools until a while ago when we got back from a trip to the post office, Tractor Supply for some dog food and a haircut.

After placing screw drivers, plyers, drill bits, Allen wrench sets, hammer, chisel, pocketknife, extraction wires and other assorted tools into their respective slots, it became obvious there was a lot of junk that didn’t need to be transferred into the new toolbox.  Small specialty lubrication packets for ignition switches I’d never need now that I’m retired, hundreds of automotive style lock wafers for matching up car locks to existing key combinations, springs and things like that would remain in the old toolbox; an old toolbox that would become a permanent part of the closet, something my kids could do with it as they desire after I’ve left mortality.

 

Two Adventures in One Day

Upon getting home from church yesterday, Lucy noticed the Crock Pot that was supposed to be cooking the Spaghetti Sauce we were going to enjoy when some of our kids and grandkids came up to celebrate Father’s Day, the Crock Pot wasn’t working, no heat coming from its base.  It’s an older Crock Pot and we thought, perhaps, it might have given up the ghost. Fortunately, we have a newer, even bigger Crock Pot so we poured the Spaghetti Sauce into the newer version.

We plugged it into the same outlet in the kitchen; but it didn’t work either.  Maybe the problem wasn’t with either Crock Pot, maybe the outlet in the kitchen had blown a trip breaker.  Not a big deal, as I walked back to the electrical circuit breaker box; none of the breakers appeared to have tripped.  Rather than spend a lot of time hunting down a short in the system, one that wasn’t showing up at the breaker box, we plugged the newer Crock Pot into a different outlet on the other side of the kitchen.  Problem temporarily solved until I could go into it on Monday.

Monday morning arrived and I rechecked the breakers, nothing appeared to be tripped. I ran an extension cord from the suspect electrical outlet in the kitchen, hooked up a plug in battery charger and figured it would make noise and flash a light the moment electricity had been restored to the kitchen outlet.  Each breaker in the box was then turned off and on, going through the entire panel except for the double breakers that control the AC, Heat and Electric Stove Top; no change which meant the loss of power to that outlet was localized.

It was then Lucy suggested I try the fancy blender that was on the other end of the kitchen counter.  I plugged it into the same outlet, nothing happened.  Except, that’s when I saw there was another outlet on the wall behind where the blender was stored.  It had one of those modern reset switches built into it.  After pushing the reset button, power was restored to both outlets. We had solved one mystery; one was still on the To Do List.

This past week I noticed there was a slight dripping that came from the AC overflow pan that landed outside our bedroom window.  Being half deaf, it may have been dripping for weeks and I hadn’t noticed.  I’d planned to go out to our storage unit on Saturday and retrieve the wet/dry vacuum which would be needed during the maintenance process. A solid plan that was interrupted by a line of thunderstorms that left over 8 inches of rain on Saturday.

That was a good idea since I’d paid a tidy sum to the AC repairman one time in the past to fix the problem.  I’d paid good money; but more importantly, I’d paid attention to exactly how he solved the problem.  But with so much rain and my not wishing to run back and forth to the storage unit, the AC dripping would have to wait until Monday.

What’s the line from the insurance commercial, “So simple even a caveman could do it”?  He’d unhooked the P-trap plumbing under the sink in our bathroom.  That’s when I learned the overflow from the AC in the attic drained into the bathroom sink.  He hooked up his wet/dry vacuum to the open end of the drain and sucked out a clog that had formed along with draining the AC collection pan of its accumulated water.  I can’t remember how much he charged for this service; but it was enough for me to take notes on how to do it the next time.

My knees don’t bend like they used to, sitting on the floor while taking apart the plumbing under the sink was challenging.  We’d been resourceful in placing items under the sink, making trays that were easily removed and replaced for just such an operation.  Having gone out to the storage unit and brought the wet/dry vacuum into the bathroom made for an easy job.  And it would have been had I not decided to rinse out the hose by attaching it to the sink’s faucet. 

That’s when I learned that the plastic hose had a small hole in the middle of it, spraying water and loosened gunk out onto the bathroom countertop.  That’s the gunk that had been sucked out of the pipe only a few minutes earlier.  That was my inspiration to clean the bathroom countertop along with each item that normally is found on that countertop.  Sure looks nice now, putting the wet/dry vacuum back into the storage unit. 

After a while I’ll take the plastic trash bags that have been sitting in the back of my truck over to the dumpster.  That was another item on the To Do List from Saturday, the day all that rain fell.  Right now, I’m enjoying a breeze from an old fashioned fan while sitting in the office recording my thoughts.