Here’s Johnny


Last night Andrea and Kevin wanted to orchestrate a belated birthday dinner for the General. Of course, as part of the entourage, I was also invited. In all truthfulness, I can say it proved to be an exceptional evening.


For starters, Andrea and Kevin chose a restaurant where the General and I have never been. Truthfully speaking, I am mostly a stranger to the kind of fine dining that includes something more than a white tablecloth and dinnerware. I am not accustomed to having a myriad of choices for the first course, second course, main course and the grand finale (aka – desert).


It was a touching moment when Andrea looked at the menu and said to her mom, “Why don’t we take this and this and this for starters?” She offered several suggestions to include for the second course and pretty much left the third course for our own choosing.


Seriously, for the most part, I had looked at the menu and had no idea what was being served. When it comes to culinary choices that include something outside my regular fare or frame of reference, my first reaction is to look for something else on the menu that seems more familiar. I kind of discount the possibility that I will like it if I haven’t already tried it.


Andrea has a culinary charm about her where she can get by with promoting a menu selection for consideration. She does a good job of convincing you that you have a treat in store. I had a flashback to the General coaxing Andrea throughout her childhood to try different foods.


It was both interesting to observe and experience the role reversal-taking place before my eyes. Andrea was taking on the role of teacher and mentor. Though she’d never suggest that we were her inept students, we were on unfamiliar territory. She was pretty convincing that we would enjoy the taste. Never once did she use the line: “It is good for you”.


The waiter was a young man named Johnny. Actually, when he first came to our table, I missed his providing us his name. At least, I didn’t recall his name when he came back around. Consequently, when he came back around I said: “Help me with my memory. I don’t remember your name.” He smiled and said: “It is Johnny. Just like Johnny Cash, except that I don’t have any cash. Okay, so now I had a frame of reference. I would remember his name.


As our two-hour-plus dinner took place, I watched Johnny interacting with a host of other folks dining in the restaurant. He was attentive, personable, and had a genuine gregarious nature about him that added to the ambience of the evening.


He mentioned early in waiting on our table that he had just returned to work. He had been on vacation. I asked about his vacation and he provided a thumb-nailed sketch. He had gone to Arizona. While he was there, he attended his brother’s wedding. He added: “I also had a great time visiting with my mom. I sprung her from the hospital for a while. She has just finished chemo and radiation treatments”. He mentioned that in four months she has aged about fifteen years.


Immediately, I had the thought associated to the complexity of his family’s circumstances. His mother’s health status had to weigh heavily on the family as they rallied around and celebrated a family wedding. I’m sure there were lots of emotions surrounding the celebration.


I mentioned that I was sorry he was dealing with that kind of stress. He said, “It comes with life”. Who could argue with that? He went on to say: “It is interesting, but my mother has developed the most magnificent sense of humor. She had never been so funny. I guess she figures, ‘What do I have to lose’?”   He added: “I really enjoyed the time with her. In addition, my brother’s wedding provided an opportunity for me to visit with a lot of old friends I’ve not seen in awhile. It was really nice. I enjoyed my time at home, but it is also good to be back at work.”


Through the course of the evening, bits and pieces about his life surfaced in conversation. He mentioned George Straight’s song: “Ocean Front Property In Arizona”. He said he had recorded the song and given it to several friends. His friends had responded with positive reviews.


I asked: “So did you come to Austin to get in the music business?” He said he had graduated from high school at the age of seventeen and was ready to advance his career. He had started skateboarding at the age of four and thought he could make it as a professional skateboarder. California was calling his name. He had to go and give that career track a chance”.


I doubt that is just the kind of thing every parent wants to hear from his or her seventeen-year-old son? Actually, he told his dad he was going to request court emancipation. The dad countered that he would allow him to go, but that he wasn’t going to be emancipated. The dad wanted to keep him on as an income tax deduction. Did I mention that his dad is a CPA and his mother is an art professor?


He had support from his family as he pursued his dreams. In the course of the two hours we shared, he shared several more tidbits about his life. He got a degree in nursing and things began to fall apart with his girlfriend at exactly the same time that he was beginning to see a line of white picket fences.


I had the thought: “What a clever way to express where he was in his human pilgrimage.” Romance didn’t work out in California and he made his way to Austin. His story associated to getting into the restaurant business really caught me by surprise. He said, “It was all about the Balloon Animals”. “The what”, I asked?” He said when he was still in high school a friend had showed him a stash of cash in his wallet. He said: “He had twenties and hundred dollar bills.” His friend explained: “I’ve been working at a restaurant making animals out of balloons for children.” He said, “The parents love it and they pay me. Some pay me very well”.


“You’ve got to show me how to do that,” was his response to his friend. In short order, he received permission to do the same thing in another restaurant. He said, “I guess it was my gregarious nature, but folks really liked me. When the restaurant decided to stop allowing me to do that, they said I was too valuable to loose. They employed me as a part-time server while I was in high school”.


When asked about his passion going forward he said: “I am a writer. I was made to write. I can’t stop writing. I haven’t gotten anything published yet, but I will. I write. I can’t stop writing”.


Something tells me, he’s got the stuff to reach his dreams. I liked his line: “I was beginning to envision a line of white picket fences”. What an incredible way to say much in a very different way of expressing it!


Johnny gave me permission to share his story and reluctantly provided the same regarding his picture. It would serve you well to find him. He is an exceptionally knowledgeable server who works for an incredible restaurant. You’ll enjoy a fantastic meal and an exceptional waiter.


All My Best!


Where Are My Books?

In the still of the early morning darkness, I found I was limited in what I could accomplish. I reached for my phone and discovered it was not under my pillow. Not wanting to awaken the General, I opted to go on a scavenger hunt through the house.

Since my phone didn’t appear to be in our bedroom, I probably left it on the island in the kitchen. I checked email shortly before going to bed last night. No such luck.

I checked my pants pockets from the day before and came up short. Could I have left my phone in my truck? The possibility existed. We had opted for “carry-out” for our evening meal. No such luck. It wasn’t there.

I started the scavenger hunt at 4:37 a.m. At 6:00 a.m., I was still clueless. Knowing that my alarm was set for 6:05, I made my way back to the bedroom. Presto, the alarm sounded shortly after I walked through the door. The sound was coming from the direction of my grandfather’s trunk. I’m using the trunk as a nightstand on my side of the bed.

It defied logic. I had failed to see the telephone when I looked earlier. I had used my hand to feel for it in the darkness, but obviously didn’t locate it. I made a mental note for future reference. I don’t want to duplicate the experience.

We are over a week-in into unpacking boxes from the garage. When I inventory the boxes that continue to be unopened, I’m overwhelmed. Where are we going to put all of this stuff? We haven’t needed it or seen it in at least 21 months.

The General verbalizes that we need to get rid of our excess baggage so our children won’t have to. That is also known as: “I need to eliminate my stuff.” Trust me, I must tread lightly here, lest I figuratively emerge with a black eye. My suggesting that we have too many mementos that belonged to her parents won’t serve me well. My only hope is that at least we have attic storage.

The one thing that I’m finding much to my surprise is a shortage of books. For years the General has said I needed to eliminate old books from my library. The way I see it, if a book was good enough to read once, I might enjoy reading it a second time. I don’t throw away books.

One of the books I want to read again is “Three Weeks With My Brother,” written by Nicholas Sparks. Unlike Sparks other books that are fiction, this one is autobiographical. I highly recommend it.

It probably is faulty thinking, but I was in Chicago when the movers came to move our things from our previous home to the storage facility in Dripping Springs. Is it possible that the General opted to cull what she considered old books from the inventory? Something tells me that she wouldn’t do that. On the other hand, maybe the possibility exists? What other explanation for the book shortage exists?

Of course, we have boxes and boxes of framed photographs and other momentos. If push comes to shove, they could occupy some of the empty bookcase shelves. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I’d prefer to have my books.

The General might be tempted to say that we have too many book cases. I build the one in the picture for my parents for Christmas one year. When they no longer needed it, I opted to keep it. Maybe, the General and I both have the same issue?

All My Best!


The Hope Is Real

Today is the 50th Memorial Day anniversary of my twin brother’s status as MIA (Missing In Action). The memory of that first Memorial Day following his loss was a blur of mixed emotions. Yet it is with difficulty that I can remember back in time. 

I guess there are some things you can’t fully process or understand without having had the experience. As a family, it was our inherent responsibility to maintain hope for Ronnie’s eventual safe return. That was the communication provided to us by the U.S. Marine Corps. We didn’t need to be told what to do. It would have been our posture regardless. 

Even though Ronnie’s name was not included as a prisoner of war in February 1973, when the first of 591 prisoners began to be repatriated, we continued to maintain hope. What family wouldn’t stay the course without evidence to the contrary? 

Under President Carter’s administration, the status of MIAs was changed to KIA/BNR (Killed In Action / Body Not Recovered) It was then that the rhetoric of the U.S. Marine Corps changed from encouraging us as a family to maintain hope, to our need to accept the reality that Ronnie wasn’t coming back. 

In fact, the only way to block the change from his MIA status being changed to KIA/BNR was for us to provide the government with substantiated proof that he was still alive. As they asked what evidence we could provide, it felt like an act of betrayal. 

The following year, Congress changed the KIA/BNR states back to MIA for those whose status had unilaterally been changed. 

Yesterday morning our church had several speakers who shared brief messages concerning Memorial Day. A Veteran who served two tours as a medic in Vietnam made reference to George Jones recording of “50,000 Names Carved In The Wall”. 

The lyrics include: … There are teddy bears and high school rings
And old photographs that mamas bring 
That daddies with their young boys, playing ball. 
There’s combat boots that he used to wear, 
When he was sent over there. 

There’s 50, 000 names carved in the wall … There’s cigarettes, and theres cans of beer 
And notes that say I miss you dear 
And children who don’t say anything at all. 

There’s purple hearts and packs of gum 
Fatherless daughters and fatherless sons 
And there’s 50, 000 names carved in the wall … 

They come from all across this land
In pickup trucks and mini vans 
Searching for a boy from long ago 
They scan the wall and find his name 
The teardrops fall like pouring rain 
And silently they leave a gift and go … 

There’s stars of David and rosary beads
And crucifixion figurines 
And flowers of all colors large and small 
There’s a Boy Scout badge and a merit pin 
Little American flags waving in the wind 
And there’s 50, 000 names carved in the wall.” 

As part of the Memorial Day service at church, a soloist sang the song “Blades of Grass and Pure White Stones”. The lyrics tugged at my heartstrings filling my eyes with tears: 

Blades of grass and pure white stone 
Shelter those who′ve come and gone 
Just below the emerald sod 
Are boys who’ve reached the arms of God 

Buried here with dignity 
Endless rows for all to see 
Freedom seeds in sorrow sown 
′Neath blades of grass and pure white stones 

Blades of grass and pure white stones 
Cover those who’ve left their home 
To rest in fields here side by side 
Lest we forget their sacrifice 

Buried here with dignity 
Endless rows for all to see 
Freedom seeds in sorrow sown 
‘Neath blades of grass and pure white stones 

Just below the emerald sod 
Are boys who′ve reached the arms of God 
Buried here with dignity 
Endless rows for all to see 
Freedom seeds in sorrow sown 
′Neath blades of grass and pure white stones 
‘Neath blades of grass and pure white stones 

Memorial Day forever changed for me 50 years ago. Today the experience is a trigger that promotes a sense of gratitude within me.  

For a third of my lifetime, Ronnie and I were the twins that shared life side by side. The last two-thirds of my life has been filled with his memory and a sense of how blessed I was by his presence. 

The hope which is real is that one day, we will forever be reunited. 

All My Best! 

The Power Of Suggestion

Never underestimate the power of suggestion. Shortly after the Sealy High School graduation was over last night, Becky’s sister-in-law, Carla Reichardt said to her husband (Ryan) something closely akin to: “Don’t get too close to him (referring to me), we might end up in his blog.

At the time, family members were having pictures taken with William in front of the Sealy High School sign located at the T. J. Mills Stadium, the site of last night’s high school graduation. 

Bingo – Never say that I’m not up to the challenge!  It had been my plan to talk about my oldest grandson’s high school graduation, but with ease, I can incorporate Becky’s two brothers and their wives and families into the storyline.

Becky has two younger brothers. Russell, the oldest is married to Courtney. Courtney teaches school in Sealy. Becky’s younger brother Ryan is married to Carla. Ryan has been President of the Sealy ISD School Board since before Craig and Becky moved to Cat Spring. 

In addition, Ryan coaches little league ball in Sealy.  His mindset is fairly forthright: “If you’re going to live here, you’re going to play ball.”  It was a familial expectation for which there were no exceptions.

Both of Becky’s brothers and their families have enriched the lives of my grandchildren in multiple ways.  They routinely enjoy family time together. They are also a competitive family. 

Historically the extended family has hosted a fishing tournament every year including aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. It culminates in a family fish fry and the need to win is a focal point for each family.  Like I said, they are competitive.

Before Craig and Becky moved to Texas eight years ago, my grandchildren’s frame of reference for a neighborhood was mostly a military base. The one exception is when Craig was stationed at the Marine Corps Air Station in Yuma, AZ.  At that time, they purchased their own home in Yuma. Other than that, you had to access their home through a guard gate on a military base.

William was in the middle of his fifth-grade year when Craig retired from the U.S. Marine Corps and their family moved from Camp Lejeune, N.C. to Cat Spring. Last night he graduated from Sealy High School with honors.

I suspect that changing schools always poses challenges for students regardless of their ages.  All three grandchildren adapted with seemingly little difficulty to the Sealy Independent School District.

I credit that to Becky’s extended family that provided an abundance of familial support.   It didn’t hurt that Becky grew up in Cat Spring and was valedictorian of her graduating class.  She had lots of extended family and friends in the Cat Spring/Sealy neighborhood when they moved from Camp Lejeune.

In addition, Becky’s family has always gone the second mile to extend hospitality and a sense of inclusiveness to us.  Their kindness is second to none.

Being a grandfather comes with bragging rights. William was listed in the Top Ten students with the highest grade point average in his graduating class.

All My Best!


Less Is More

When we put our last home on the market, the realtor insisted that about 50% of our furniture be moved into the garage. I had the thought: “This isn’t my first rodeo. We’ve sold ten homes and never moved anything out of our home to make it more appealing to a potential buyer.”

Since the realtor was a friend of my daughter’s, I decided to follow her recommendation. Otherwise, I would have both the realtor and my daughter on my case. Both are advocates for the concept: “Less is more.”

Truthfully, our home looked so much better with less inside that I was hopeful the house wouldn’t sell. Of course, the die was cast. I couldn’t back out.

To our credit, we got rid of as much stuff as we could before everything got moved into storage. We both sold and gave furniture away.

When moving day came around, we had no option but to move everything remaining into storage. In fact, our storage unit still contains a refrigerator, an almost new leather sofa, and a large dinning table and chairs.

We are committed to the concept: “Less is more.” That furniture is being given to a friend. It will be picked up on Saturday.

The new house is a very open floor plan, and I’m discovering we have more occasional tables and lamps than we need. I know the General well enough to know that she’s going to want to hang on to some of the antique occasional tables because they had been in her family.

The truth of the matter is that young people don’t want antiques. They can find everything they want at IKEA. While I recognize that the General knows that, she also has the sense that we should save thing for our grandchildren who may need them.

If you’re wondering if her logic is flawed, I’d be inclined to agree with you. Consequently, I’m not going to mention it. We have walk in attic storage in the new house and I can eliminate a lot of clutter from the garage by moving it into the attic.

All My Best!

Odds and Ends

Monday and Tuesday resembled drinking water from a fire hose. I’ve never done that, but I’ve heard the expression for years. Even if it is not your first rodeo, there is no way to be fully prepared for everything involved in moving.  Our household possessions had all been in storage for over twenty months.

My hat is off to Stagecoach Moving Company in Dripping Springs.  The crew of three was amazingly polite, professional, and long-suffering.

It wasn’t that we were totally unprepared for the move. Trust me, the General had drafted and re-drafted a diagram for where furniture was to be placed.  Could it be that most of everything we own falls into the category of odds and ends? Most of our things didn’t appear on the furniture placement diagrams.

As the movers came through the door they initially had smaller pieces of furniture and boxes stacked on dollies.  They wanted an answer to the question: “Where does this go?”

I suspect that the movers would substantiate that I am dumber than dirt.  My standard reply was: ‘I don’t know. Let’s put it in the garage for now.”

It probably was unreasonable for me to think they would move in the big pieces of furniture first. I could have answered those questions easily.  Isn’t it true, sometimes the little things can be overwhelming?

Of course, in the back of my mind was the question: “Is it going to fit the way it is supposed to fit?”  Would the buffet be spaced far enough from the dining table that you could easily move chairs in and out with ease?

Would the open dining area be far enough away from the open living area that you could transition from one setting to the other without feeling cramped?

The furniture is now all inside the house.  The stacks of boxes in the garage make it appear that we are operating a warehouse. The process of emptying the boxes and putting everything away is going to take some time.

Visually seeing things that have been out of sight for over 20 months triggered memories. The outline of a metal-shaped heart that hung from the pergola on the patio of our last home brought tears to my eyes.  It was a gift from a dear friend that went to be with the Lord over a year ago. 

The thought of our friend triggered memories of the many ways she enriched our lives.  She was one of the most upbeat people I’ve ever known. Her trust was in God and nothing that came her way during the months of her illness took from her the joy that defined her life.

That heart will hang on our front porch or back porch of our home and be a forever reminder of our friend who glorified God in her daily walk.

All My Best!


Thank Goodness For The Cavalry

Where would we be without the cavalry? The last cavalry charge made on horseback by the U.S. Army took place in 1942, when the United States fought the Japanese army in the Philippines. After that, the mounted cavalry was replaced by tanks.

Figuratively speaking, the calvary came to the rescue for the General and me yesterday. Muscle arrived from Cat Spring in the form of our two grandsons that never shy from picking up anything heavy just because they can. In addition, their dad is no slouch either. He was also the designated driver for the U-Haul truck rented to minimize the number of trips we’d need to make from Dripping Springs to Blanco.

In addition, our daughter and son-in-law were not to be outdone by the troops from the Cat Spring. Collectively, they all worked in unison to help us move things to the new house before professional movers show up at the storage unit on Monday to transport our belongings to Blanco.

Kevin and Andrea also made their Suburban available to move the two grandfather clocks, a large bookcase that has to be disassembled to move and a host of plants. In addition, they lugged heavy stuff with the same with the same sense of prowess as their nephews and Craig. Truth be told, we couldn’t have done it without them.

In June, the General and I will celebrate our 55th wedding anniversary. During our shared time together, we have moved numerous times. We were in the last home we sold in 2021 for nineteen and a half years.  I now remember the resolve we made when we moved into that home. We said we’d never do it again. 

Without the cavalry showing up, we couldn’t do it again. How blessed we are that our family made it a group effort.  I started to write “fun-filled” group effort.  I sense that it was, but I can’t say for them.

I do know that ours is a close-knit and loving family.  I don’t take any of that for granted because I know too many people that have a very different experience.

As the General and I walked through the house that has been our home for the past 20 months last night, I was overwhelmed with the amount of stuff that still needs to get moved.  Thanks to the kick-start we received from family yesterday, we will Get-R done.

I suspect the movers will think we are hoarders when they show-up at the storage unit. It is literally floor to ceiling. The picture was taking just before I closed the overhead door yesterday.

All My Best!

The Art Of Compromise

I should have been up early this morning. Instead, I chose to stay in bed and reflect on things for which the General and I are thankful. For starters, we crossed the finish line, and we’re still marrried. We signed the closing papers on our new home yesterday and we are entering a new chapter of our lives.

We also arrived at a compromise regarding window coverings that suggests we both bent further than we thought we could without breaking. That’s not to say either of us yielded easily. The General is a tough battler! Yet, I can truthfully say she met her match with me.

It was not my intent to have any window coverings except in the bedrooms. The house has lots of windows, and from my perspective since we don’t have an east or west exposure, we didn’t need window coverings in the living areas to keep the sun out.

In our last home, we had plantation shutters installed. Since we have cased windows in this house, we both agreed that plantation shutters weren’t a good option. I wanted clear glass, and the General wanted wooden venition blinds.

I was fairly adament that I wasn’t going to look through open blinds. The narrow strips of wood are an intrusion to the view that I thought we were getting. I didn’t anticipate that the General would give me static over that. After all, I am a reasonable man!

Do you remember Florence Jean Castleberry, the waitress on a comedy sitcom back in the 1960s? She went by the name Flo. She often said: “Kiss my grits” and “When donkeys fly.”

The General has said neither, but I gathered there would be flying donkeys before she changed her mind. Stubborn can be an artform with her. Perhaps that is projection on my part.

At any rate, we sorted it out in a WIN/WIN. The windows in the open living area will appear to have nothing over them, but the camaflagued shade can be closed at night. It is crazy, but such is life.

We are both looking forward to this move and dreading it at the same time. I suspect there will be more compromises to come.

All My Best!

It Was Too Close For Comfort

It was too close for comfort! I’m certain that the General and I both had that “deer-in-the-headlights look.” As Elvis might sing, we were “All shook up.” 

It only took seconds, but strangely it seemed like everything was taking place in very slow motion. It wasn’t that time was “dragging by”, but each nanosecond seemed to play on forever. By the way, a nanosecond (ns or nsec) is one-billionth (10-9) of a second. 

Alarm bells were going off inside my head. Calamity seemed inches away. I suspected it would be a story without a happy ending. It was not a part I wanted to play, but seemed destined to do so. 

It was not that my reaction time was slow. The reality was that we were sitting ducks helmed in by the vehicles around us. There was no recourse other than brace for the imminent impact. 
I clearly processed the available options, and there were none. The truth of the matter is that there was nothing I could do.  

We were stopped at a busy intersection in Dripping Springs, waiting to make a left turn. An emergency vehicle with sirens approached the intersection to my left. It was either a fire department employee or EMS employee. Both entitles are located a couple of blocks away. The vehicle included only the lone driver. 

For through traffic on Highway 290, the speed limit is 45 mph at that intersection. As the emergency vehicle opted to use his leverage of sirens and/or honking horns (both seemed to be the reality), the vehicle headed into the intersection. 

A very large red truck, attempting to stop, veered to his left and headed directly toward the front of my vehicle. I was both motionless and speechless. So was the General.  

The crash of the lone individual with the sirens and honking horn, diverted the truck and stopped the truck from what previously had appeared to the catalyst for a head-on collision. 

Thankfully, both the driver of the emergency vehicle and red truck seemed physically uninjured. Both got out of their vehicles.
I suspect that they, too, were all shook up. 

The white hood you see in the picture is the General’s car. I can assure you that I’m thanking God for the providence of protection. It could have turned out very differently. 

All My Best! 

Ocean Front Property

I was scheduled for an early afternoon flight back to Texas from D.C. yesterday. As is always the case, I arrived at the airport early. I did remember to check-in at the earliest possible time.

I also declined spending $40 for a preferential seating option. I must have stupid written on my forehead. My seat assignment was C-07.

As it turned out, we boarded the flight 25 minutes late, so it was a given that a timely arrival in Houston was off the books. It was no big deal. My flight from Houston to San Antonio had about a two-hour window. I planned to use the time wisely. Hobby Airport has a Pappasito’s – Enough said!

One of the disadvantages about the “C” boarding group is that you don’t always have an optimum choice regarding which middle seat you want to take. Consequently, I opted for the first middle seat I came to.

The guy in the window seat was a talker. I intuitively knew it would be an enjoyable flight. He was traveling from Chicago to Houston to see the Cubs play the Astros. That seemed like a long way to go to watch a baseball game.

At some point as the plane made its way toward the runway, the pilot came over the intercom to communicate a “Hello Houston – We’ve got a problem,” type message.

There was a yellow warning light related to the fuel pump. When we finally made it back to the gate, the pilot announced everyone needed to disembark and take their things. He added: “This plane isn’t going anywhere.”

I figured, better to have a warning light on the ground than in the air. A plane full of people disembarked making their way toward the ticket counter. Did I mention there was one agent to handle a plane full of people? He actually did a really good job managing the mob.

An announcement was subsequently made for Houston bound passengers that did not have another destination to wait patiently. The plane was being repaired. If you had connecting flights to catch, see the guy in the ticket counter.

I patiently waited my turn (if you believe that, I’ve got ocean front property in Kansas to sell you). The ticket agent assured me that my connecting flight to San Antonio would wait for me. For the record, I didn’t have a lot of confidence in his assurances.

So once again, I was in the “C” boarding group as we got back on the same plane.

I didn’t see the guy heading to watch the Cubs play again. Some of the passengers with a destination other than Houston found other flights. I was on the Houston bound flight with the thought that I’d be lucky if I had time between the connecting flight to eat at Pappasito’s.

Before the plane left the gate, the pilot announced that we needed to be refueled to compensate for the fuel used earlier. How long that would take, was undetermined. The pilot had already made two calls.

Once the fuel had been replaced, the pilot announced that the light related to the fuel pump was activated, but that it had to do with the need for the controls to be reset again. They would leave the engine running. Mechanics would be available soon.

So did the pilot know what he was talking about or did he have ocean front property in Kansas to sell? Long story short, the plane arrived in Houston long after my connecting flight left for San Antonio.

The upside was Pappasito’s or so I thought. I had been rebooked for a 9:35 p.m. departure time. I couldn’t find Pappasito’s, so I asked a ticket agent.

Reportedly, Pappasito’s lost their contract with Hobby Airport a month ago and the restaurant was no longer there. The ticket agent told me that the “Hub Cap” had good burgers. It was actually near my boarding gate.

The greeter at the Hub Cap told me they were full and they wouldn’t be seating anyone else for at least 30 minutes.

I opted to pout, but I did find another fast food place. By the time I collected my luggage at the airport in San Antonio, it was 11:00 p.m. The night drive in the Miata with the top down was a little cool, but it kept me awake.

All My Best!

It Was A First For Me

I could entitle this blog: “It was a first for me.”  At the same time, I can honestly admit that I hope never to do it again.  It proved to be a three-in-one experience, but I didn’t see it coming. It came as a complete surprise.

I think it was Tennessee Ernie Ford that used the expression: “Rode hard and put away wet.”  The phrase itself derives from equestrianism, where the failure to properly cool down and groom a horse after a hard ride can lead to physical, as well as mental issues.

I can truthfully say that I emerged from my three non-stop flight experiences with a splitting headache. Of course, that could have been triggered by hunger.

When I made my flight reservation, I thought we’d be living in Blanco. Consequently, I made my flight reservation for Washington, D.C. out of the San Antonio International Airport.

When I boarded the plane at 6:30 a.m., I used my single boarding pass. I figured we’d land somewhere before we got to D.C., but I didn’t know where.  Did it really even matter? At least I didn’t have to change planes.

When what seemed like forever eventually rolled around, the plane landed in Orlando, FL. Leaving Orlando for places unknown, I was startled to hear the flight attendant announce that it was a non-stop flight to Cincinnati, OH.  And then of course, the next non-stop flight was to DC.

Eight and a half hours later, I disembarked from the plane with the resolve never to take that flight again. I felt rode hard and put away wet.

All My Best!