Repairing My Own Stuff

It is not lost on me that there are those men and women incapable of repairing or fixing things around the house. Whether it be plumbing, basic construction repairs or updates, remodeling, etc., there are those who do not know how to do it, or where or how to even begin (youtube is your friend!).

Disclaimer: I do not claim to be the handiest of handymen, but I can hold my own with regards to most things requiring nails, screws, wiring, and PVC...or CPVC. I don't sweat copper--that falls outside my skillset.

Given, my propensity to doing things like this myself was originally driven by distaste of paying someone to do something I was capable of doing myself. Most especially, I began learning how to fix things in my early twenties because I did not have two pennies to spare. Yeah, learning to do DIY was a born of necessity, rather than just being cheap like my children accuse me of being (okay, okay, I'm cheap too, but that was also born of necessity).

I am huge believer in saving money, because you never know when you will need that extra five or ten bucks you put away because you changed your own lawn mower blade or figured out how to spray starter fluid into a carburetor in order to start that same mower. Have you paid to have a plumber come to your house to stop a leak? The service call alone makes me cringe!

Equally, or possibly more important than saving money is the sense of satisfaction you get when you have done it yourself. Sure, it is time consuming, more often than not frustrating, but gratifying when you finish a job and look at it with pride.

"I did that," is a deliciously glorious thing to mumble to yourself. A little gloating is in order and walking around with a big smile on your face is warranted. Let me also say there is nothing wrong in attempting to do it yourself then asking for help. That is how you learn: trying and watching. Soon enough you will be handyman/woman.

Coffee is Love

It would be fruitless to attempt to debate the best coffee on the market--I have my preferences and frown upon lattes, milk, sugar, or anything that masks the flavor of a good cup of java. That's me, that's who I am at 5:30 A.M.: I drink black coffee and love it. My coffee is properly perked when I can float a tenpenny nail in it.

Most often, my lovely wife has prepped the coffee the previous night and all I have to do is stumble toward the brew station and press the "on" button. As the water heats up and the station begins gurgling I smile, then watch as wisps of steam roll through the vents positioned on the back of the brewer.

I often get asked what my favorite coffee is--and I have one; rather, I have a favorite roaster. 1565 Coffee is a small roaster located in St. Augustine, Florida, which happens to be the greatest city in the United States, but I digress. Admittedly, I have not tried all their coffees, but the Discovery blend is fantastic. The taste is clean, crisp, with slight burnt nodes at the end. Yum!

That aside, I enjoy breakfast blends, or blonde roasts. Two things here: (1) the darker roasts tend to be much more bitter, and (2) the caffeine content in blonde roasts is slightly higher because the roasting process isn't as harsh or as long. I learned that while working in a coffee plant, one of my favorite tours during my career.

Coffee is a primary staple in my day. It excuses my wild bed head each morning, I.E. "Leave your dad alone and stop laughing at his hair. He hasn't finished his first cup of coffee yet."

In addition, coffee makes me human. As an example, "Don't talk to dad yet. He hasn't had his coffee."

It helps move the work day forward. "Howard, can you do 'x' after you finish your coffee?"

In summary, coffee is the perfect beverage and recent studies prove that it is essential for a strong, healthy body. It has also been proven that it is essential for a longer life for those around me.

Be well, drink coffee, and don't add sugar or creamer. There...now we can be friends.

You're Still My Friend

I debated on penning this blog--it seemed so senseless and repetitive to me. We have all read or heard someone talking about taking a break from social media, or disconnecting from the world if you allow it (social media) to consume you (us, we, all, etc.). I suppose I agree with this to an extent, and will be the first to admit that I've allowed someone's written remark to get my dander up, but part of being a mature individual is moving beyond emotion when confronted with a difference of opinion.


Some of my friends are polar opposites of me: politically, socially, and perhaps even morally. Quite often I find myself disagreeing with a belief they hold and, as a result, engage in debate. Other times, some of my friends who disagree with me will do the same. This, folks, is healthy and okay, unless taken to an extreme (and yes, I'm guilty of doing that too).


Over my almost decade on Facebook, and much longer than that in bulletin board groups, the predecessor to social media, I have had the opportunity to meet many of the people I have arbitrarily disagreed with on various topics. As a result of my meeting these individuals, friendships have formed and lasted for almost two decades. Imagine that! Friendships formed even after disagreeing with one another. That's almost unfathomable, isn't it?


Still, after the disagreements and sometimes disparaging remarks, these people, by and large, remain my friends. I have no ill will or animosity toward any of them, because we are all just links in one giant human chain. It is interesting to me to watch people become overwhelmed on a particular topic to the point of eliminating someone completely from their life; a person who, if they were seated directly in front of them, would still be a close friend.


I don't intend this entry to be a lecture; rather, it is just my perception (as limited as it may be) of the intricate relationships forged and destroyed over subjective opinion. To wit, I will tell you, that no matter our disagreement, if you were my friend, you are still my friend. Maybe it is time we examine what friendship means to us--because it must mean something beyond a casual acquaintance.


Be bold in your position, but not so much that you take yourself seriously to the point that you alienate yourself from the world!


Peace, love, and yogurt to you all. 

The Little Book That Could

If you know me, you know I love to write. There's something about bringing words to life, giving strange phrases new meaning, or personifying inanimate objects in order to render a story more meaningful. To give enjoyment where there was none, or to provide a world for the reader who may not have had the opportunity to travel to foreign places yields a particular joy for the writer, and a sense of accomplishment when the story "is finished."

Like most who write, I especially rejoice in reading a good book. For within the confines of those crisp white pages, I allow my mind to drift to blowing winds through knee high grasses, or hear a strange bird caw in fear or warning. And every now and then I read to get a sense of what a writer thinks, believes, or simply wants to convey to me in whatever tone and syntax he or she chooses to use.

A few years ago, a friend released a short book of stories and poems about her life growing up in the Sandhills of north central Nebraska. Having lived in the western United States for a few years, I had a certain appreciation for the work and dedication of a group of Americans whose lifestyles have changed little over the decades.

Western styled shirts, starched and pressed Wranglers are the trademark of a true westerner. Grit and determination walk with them, and their connection to the earth is unlike most have experienced. So, when Loranda Buoy told me that she was going to publish her small tale of growing up there, I was quick to purchase and read it.

Her language was rustic and unrefined, much like the truck she drives and the land she works. I could sense in those words the love for her husband, passion for the ranch she manages since his passing, and the desire to bring something wonderful and nice to those who may not ever know what it is like to live in the grasslands of America.

I invite you to check out her short book--hey, it's only eighty pages or so--and tell me your thoughts about it. Her book Thanks For Talkin' To Me: Stories and Poems of Living, Loving, and Laughing in the Nebraska Sandhills. My opinion is you'll enjoy it, and can order it by clicking here.  :)