It’s been a day of daydreams with Lisa today, and the day is still fairly young.

I decided to sneak downstairs for a bit. The boy is sanding the ceiling in the kitchen, and the dust gets to me.

I normally write a little later in the day, but I figured the sooner I get it done, the less it will distract me later.

We went to Menards to pick up a few things to address household needs prior to our inspection on Tuesday. A little spackle here, a swipe of a paint brush there. Need to replace a little crown moulding in the back, that sort of thing.

We started thinking about the floors in the new place, additional changes that Lisa would like to see for the long term in our “forever house”. Changed to the cabinets, backsplash, paint in the kitchen. Prett exciting times in our household.

Yeah, I’m not looking forward to the move. I don’t know a person that likes packing up boxes and clearing out a residence. but this is an exception, I guess.

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Lisa’s thinking about cabinets, fixtures, and flooring. I’m thinking about lathes, workbenches, and sawdust remediation.

What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t?

Wait til she see’s what I want to do to the game room…how much light does a dungeon need for gameplay?

Mwahahahaha!

Peace y’all.

As part of my #WriteChain pledge, I’ve sort of made a promise to write 200 words per day and keep my blog up to date.

I’m kind of taken aback that I have yet to write “200 words” and made that count.

There’s the little ways of cheating where I could say, hey, I’m averaging two hundred words per post, then hope that my other blog entries hit 250 to 300 words, then let the law of averages work out in my favor.

That would be a bit of a cop-out.

Today we started the process of looking at materials to update the new house. I’m there to render an opinion when someone wants it, but the reality is, I probably don’t have the eye that others in my family have. If I were to decorate a room, it would be found at the intersection of Vanilla Ice Cream and a Nightmare on Elm Street.

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I’m the sort of person that gives an interior designer a reason for their existence. Whatever I might put together, a pro can do soooooo much better.

I’m not exaggerating. I think black velvet Elvis paintings have a place in the modern household.

Yeah… time to go back and look at giant resin dragon skulls. That’s my wheelhouse.

Peace y’all.

Kind of crazy sometimes how fast things can change.

We put our house on the market last month, and we accepted an offer the other day. Today, we put an offer on the house we’ve had our eye on for some time.

The offer was accepted a few hours ago. We’re getting new digs.

Wife gets the house she wants, 4k square foot project in need of some TLC, and very much in need of some new flooring, and some bathroom refurbishing. I get a workshop for my woodworking tools, and space to get a little more serious with my woodworking. Drop this mess on two and a half acres, and now I have an excuse to buy a riding lawn mower.

We’re excited. We’re moving into the inspection phase, then onto closing.

My wife will be sleeping well tonight.

We’re getting a new house.
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It’s gonna have a fireplace.

I wonder how much a cord of firewood goes for these days. I have no idea.

It’s kind of crazy, thinking that this is going to be the house that my kid’s kids will think of as grampa and gramma’s house. I better make sure that the grass in the yard is barefoot friendly.

I’d hate to see somebody step on something other than plush green grass when they’re running around barefoot.

Peace y’all.

I am not at my best when I am tired.

That might be my understatement of the year.

I get apathetic and grumpy, and I don’t snap out of it right away. It just becomes a really good day to avoid how I really feel on social media, as I end up saying things that I might regret, like “I hope on your deathbed, when your life is flashing before your eyes, the narration is provided by Gilbert Gottfried” or another choice euphemism of my own construct.

I meander throughout the day, better off avoiding people, and frequently have those closest to me ask me what I’m upset about.

I’m not upset. I’m tired. And maybe a little grumpy. I think grumpy is more of a general attitude, isn’t it? I mean, when you’re upset, there’s usually a defined target. With grumpiness, it’s non-specific, just kind of a grey-brown cloud that hovers over you like a giant bird waiting for the right moment to release it’s ballast right on top of your noggin.

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I’ll be OK after a good night’s sleep. I hope. I’m not at my best when I’m tired and grumpy. I’d like to say nobody is, but I here there are some folks that actually perform better under stress with little sleep.

Screw that.

I’m going to get some sleep.

Peace y’all.

On New Year’s Eve, 1996, I became a father for the first time. Bonnie changed my life in all of the right ways. My beautiful red-headed girl.

On July 23, 1998, I became a father for the second time. Gracie was almost 11 lbs when she was born, looking like two loaves of uncooked bread.

On June 20, 2001, things changed again. Up until that point, I had been the father of two daughters. On that day, things changed once again.

I had a son. Dane Thomas. Named for my wife’s heritage, her father, her brother, my father, my brothers, all blended into a name fitting this little strawberry blonde kid.

Today, Dane turns 16 years old. He drives. He plays trumpet, He plays golf, and he games with the old man. He’s practical and saves his money… in his wallet, which he can’t find at the moment.

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Fathers live vicariously through their sons, perhaps even more so than mothers through their daughters. We start ’em off playing baseball, basketball, football, and golf. Over time, they find the things they like, discard the things they no longer find fun, and move forward from there.

I’m a proud dad, and the boy is growing strong and true, with maybe a bit more common sense than I certainly ever demonstrated at his age.

Happy Birthday, Son. I’m proud of you.

Peace y’all.

A day of interesting possibilities.. not bad for a Monday.

The day started off with our realtor coming by with someone interested in submitting a bid for new carpeting, for the house. I probably could’ve been a little more lively when they came by, but it was unexpected. We were focused on getting our ducks in a row for the showing of the house a little later in the afternoon. I may have been lacking in ‘warmth’.

We got things picked up, vacated the premises for a couple of hours, kids going their direction, me heading off to the realm of appetizers and internet access.

Afterward, I headed back to the house, snuck in a nap.

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And then late in the day we got a little news about the house. Could be good news, need to talk it over with the wife, but this might mean my wife will sleep a little easier (I hope!).

We’ll bet a few more ducks in a row (hopefully, obedient ducks… ducks of a more feline nature don’t stay in rows). We’ll maybe sign a few more papers, get back to looking at our prospective home options, and move on from there. The goal is pretty straightforward – we want to be in new digs by the end of the summer, but everything is in a bit of a holding pattern til we sell this house. Maybe we’re shifting out of the holding pattern and heading for a landing strip.

Peace y’all.

I kind of went off on a bit of a tangent today, and paused to recall a bit of trivia about Robert Fulghum, the author of the book “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten”.

Mr. Fulghum (who I would like to think as more of a ‘Bob’ guy), once wrote about a little culinary pastime that he enjoyed while traveling – he pursued chicken-fried steak.

I got to thinking about that sort of thing – if I were to pursue the best of something or the wide varieties of something, which direction would I go?

I’d like to think the panorama of the meatloaf landscape might be interesting, as folks have, at times, considered that entree as an outlet for creativity.

But then, you have to consider the variety of house specialty rolls at your local sushi joint.

Cakes and pies…. oooh cheesecake! Brownies and blondies… cupcakes.

The options are a little insane when you start to think about it.

Maybe I should just keep looking for the perfect steak, perfect beer, perfect whiskey.

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I think I just had an epiphany. Every time I go to a Mexican restaurant, I order the Chili Verde just about every time.

Hard to beat that… and it’s generally good and consistently appealing.

Chili Verde is the Mexican General Tso’s Chicken.

Oooh…

General Tso’s Chicken!

I crack myself up.

Peace y’all.

It’s been a good day.

Kind of celebrated Father’s Day a day early here. My wife is jetting off to Washington, DC for a short trip tomorrow, so we did a little bit of a recognition around here late this afternoon, after Dane & I got back from a gaming day in Topeka, and before the three kids went to KC to stay over with a family friend.

I’m phoning it in a little bit. I more interested in heading upstairs and hitting the sack than I usually am on a Saturday night. Lisa is already sawing some logs, as she’s had a long day.

I’ve been just chilling, really.

One thing though.

A bit before the kids took off, I was trying to sneak in a quick nap. Gracie made a comment somewhere along the lines that tonight I don’t have to be a dad.

I thought about what she had said, and to be honest, I wept a little.

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I don’t ever want to experience a time in my life when I’m not a dad.

I’m not perfect as a father, in spite of the World’s Greatest Dad shirts and cups and other miscellanies.

Being a father defines me, though.

I hope I never experience what it is like to not be a father in my life, now that I’ve experienced it.

Happy Father’s Day.

Peace y’all.

I don’t consider myself an “alpha”. I’ll step up when someone needs to step up, but I’ll be the first to admit that when faced with some jackhammer that thinks he has something to prove, I’ll gladly step aside. There have been more than a couple of times in this existence that I should have stepped away when I could’ve, and it’s also true that there have been times that I should have stepped up rather than leaving the leadership of a group in the hands of someone with just enough “sociopath” in their personality to ruin the experience for all.

The one’s that get me though are the blowhards. The guys that cut people down, make fun of the way others dress or style their hair, make little jokes behind people’s backs, or, in the age of social media, just troll people.

I’m dealing with this guy, and we used to work together. His twin brother worked at the same place as well. They were in circulation at the local newspaper, and I worked in advertising and ran some of the computers. I left, moved back into working with PC’s and PC networks fulltime in ’91. I really have no idea what became of them after that.

This guy trolls me a bit, lets me know he thinks little of my position and accuses me of having a mental illness.

Alpha male games.

Damn, what is this, a sixth grade schoolyard?

I probably ought to lt it go. Seriously.

Or…
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I could wait for our dispute to be resolved by history.

And then just let him stew.

I could live with that. I could rub his nose in it when things transpire.

Just like an alpha would do.

I should let it go.

Peace y’all.

“This is no social crisis
Just another tricky day for you” – The Who

There’s a weird kind of stillness in my environment right now. Almost like a calm before the storm.  Left-leaning folks and right-leaning folks seem to building up the tension, like fans on two sides of a soccer match, waiting for something big to happen.

Something is going to happen, and I have a feeling it’s likely to be sooner than later.

I follow a couple of feed on twitter that retweet Trump’s tweets, and I gotta tell you, it looks like the guy is really on edge. He’s under investigation for multiple high crimes and misdemeanors, and he’s begging people to look to Hillary Rodham Clinton? Really?

And some of his other tweets and comments that work their way into the news sure seem like the words of a man who has little more than something to hide.

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Righ now Washington has the appearance of a kid’s balloon, and every passing day blows a little more air into the thing. Either it’s going to pop, or something else is going to release, and it’ll flitter about the sky and go “pttttttttttttt” until all the air runs out of it.

It’s going to get uglier before it gets better.

But it does have to get better.

Has to.

Peace, y’all.