Waiting on the Sunday Comics

 

When I was a kid, one of the best parts of the week wasn't Saturday morning cartoons or summer vacation. It was the Sunday newspaper.

Every Sunday morning, I'd be waiting for that paper like it contained the secrets of the universe. My parents probably wanted to read the news, but I had only one mission: get to the comics before anyone else did.

The first page I looked for was always Garfield. That orange cat was living the life I dreamed about. He hated Mondays, loved food, took naps whenever he wanted, and somehow managed to get away with everything. Looking back, Garfield may have been my first role model, which probably explains a lot.

Then there was Dennis the Menace. That kid could turn a normal day into complete chaos without even trying. As a kid, I thought Dennis was hilarious. As an adult, I realize Mr. Wilson deserved some kind of lifetime achievement award for patience.

The funny thing is, I never really cared about the rest of the newspaper. Politics? Nope. Stock market? Not interested. World events? Maybe later. I was there strictly for the comics.

I'd sit at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal, carefully spreading those giant newspaper pages across half the room. Sometimes I'd laugh at a joke that probably wasn't even that funny, but when you're a kid, those comics hit differently.

Today's kids have YouTube, video games, streaming services, and phones that can do just about everything. Back then, we had to wait an entire week for new Garfield and Dennis the Menace strips. And somehow, that made them even better.

There was something special about knowing every Sunday brought a fresh batch of laughs. No notifications. No endless scrolling. Just a newspaper, some cereal, and a kid trying to read the comics before someone stole his section of the paper.

I still smile when I see an old Garfield comic. It instantly takes me back to those Sunday mornings when life was simple, the comics were king, and my biggest concern was whether Garfield was going to outsmart Odie again.

Some people looked forward to the sports section. Others wanted the coupons.

Me?

I was there for the chuckles.

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My Weekend Mission: Surviving Kroger for under $40

 

There are two kinds of people in this world. The ones who stroll into Kroger at noon on a Saturday, and the ones who know better.

I fall into the second category.

Every weekend, I set my alarm and head to Kroger early in the morning before the crowds show up. I'm talking about that magical time when the parking lot is mostly empty, the shopping carts aren't playing bumper cars, and nobody is blocking the entire aisle while trying to decide between twelve different flavors of yogurt.

The goal is simple: get in, get out, and keep the bill somewhere around $30 to $40.

Now, that sounds easy until you walk through those automatic doors.

I can walk in needing bread, milk, eggs, and lunch meat. Somehow ten minutes later I'm standing there holding beef jerky, cookies, a frozen pizza, and a bag of chips that wasn't even on my radar when I left the house.

Kroger has a way of convincing you that everything is on sale, even when you're not sure it actually is.

I start every trip with confidence.

"Just the essentials today."

Then I see a clearance sticker.

Next thing I know, I'm doing mental math like I'm trying to launch a rocket.

"If I put this back and skip the cookies, I can probably afford the fancy bacon."

Five minutes later I'm carrying both.

The best part about going early is avoiding the weekend rush. Once the crowd starts rolling in, it turns into a full-contact sport. People stop their carts sideways in the aisle. Families hold meetings in front of the milk cooler. Somebody always parks directly in front of the one thing you need.

No thanks.

I'd rather be checking out while everyone else is still finishing their first cup of coffee.

Of course, no Kroger trip is complete without looking at the receipt afterward and wondering how four bags of groceries somehow cost almost forty bucks.

You stare at it like a detective investigating a crime scene.

"How did a loaf of bread, some lunch meat, and a few snacks add up to this?"

The answer remains one of life's greatest mysteries.

Still, I keep going back every weekend. The early morning trip has become a routine. It's quiet, peaceful, and for a brief moment I feel like I've beaten the system.

Until next weekend, when I walk in for milk and leave with enough random snacks to survive a small natural disaster.

But as long as I keep it somewhere around $30 to $40, I call that a victory.

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The Remodel House Got Me

 

I've worked in enough old houses to know better, but somehow I always convince myself, "I'll be fine without a mask for a little while."

Famous last words.

The job was a remodel in an older house. You know the kind. Every time you move a board, open a wall, or step in the attic, a cloud of dust appears that probably hasn't seen daylight since the 1970s. There was old insulation falling from the ceiling, dirt packed into every corner, and enough mystery particles floating through the air to make you wonder if you're breathing house or oxygen.

At first, I felt tough.

"Who needs a mask?" I thought.

A few hours later I was coughing every time I laughed, blowing my nose every ten minutes, and wondering why my head felt like someone was remodeling the inside of it too.

By the time I got home, I had a headache that could have qualified as a demolition permit. My nose was running like it was training for a marathon. I looked in the mirror and realized I had dust lines on my face that made me look like I'd been mining coal all day.

The funny thing is, I own masks. Plenty of them.

They're always sitting safely in the truck while I'm inside the house making poor life choices.

The next morning wasn't much better. My head was pounding, my nose was still running, and every time I sneezed, enough dust came out to patch drywall. I started thinking maybe that insulation from 40 years ago wasn't supposed to be inhaled.

Who knew?

The worst part is that every contractor has done this at least once. We walk into an old house, see dust floating through the air like a fog machine at a rock concert, and somehow decide we're tougher than basic safety equipment.

Then we spend the next two days complaining about headaches and wondering why we feel terrible.

So if you're remodeling an old house and thinking about skipping the mask because it's "just a quick job," learn from my mistake.

Wear the mask.

Because the dirt doesn't care how tough you are.

The insulation doesn't care how experienced you are.

And your sinuses definitely don't care how much work you need to get done.

Trust me. It's a lot easier to wear a mask for a few hours than it is to spend the next two days feeling like you snorted an entire attic.

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The Great Galvanized to PEX Upgrade

 

I swear every home improvement project starts with me saying, "While I'm at it..."

This time it started with the bathroom. The bathroom needs updating. Nothing major—just about everything. New vanity, new flooring, new fixtures, maybe a fresh coat of paint. Simple enough, right?

Then I looked at the old galvanized water lines.

Now if you've ever had galvanized plumbing, you know those pipes have probably been there since dinosaurs were roaming the neighborhood. They may technically still work, but every time I turn on a faucet I wonder if the water is taking a detour through fifty years of rust before it gets to me.

So naturally my brain went straight to, "Well, if I'm redoing the bathroom, I might as well replace all the water lines with PEX."

That's where the project officially went from a weekend job to a full-blown adventure.

The funny part is I don't really want to hire a plumber to do it. Not because I don't respect plumbers. Quite the opposite. I have a plumber friend who knows exactly what materials I need, what fittings to buy, and what tools make the job easier.

My ideal plan is simple:

"Hey buddy, make me a shopping list."

Then I'll go buy everything and do the work myself.

I know that probably sounds backwards, but I enjoy doing the work. Plus, when I do something around the house, I tend to spend way too much time making it look nice. Most plumbers are worried about getting the water flowing correctly. I'm over here trying to make the PEX lines look like they're part of a museum exhibit.

I can already picture it.

Perfectly straight runs.

Nice clean supports.

Everything organized.

I'll probably stand back and admire it for ten minutes before putting drywall over it where nobody will ever see it again.

That's just how these projects go.

Of course, before any of that happens, I'll have to crawl into places I haven't fit comfortably into for years. I'll discover three unrelated problems while I'm in there. I'll make at least six trips to the hardware store for parts I forgot. And I'll spend an hour looking for a tool that was in my hand five minutes earlier.

But when it's all done, I'll have a remodeled bathroom and brand-new PEX plumbing that should outlast me.

At least that's the plan.

If history has taught me anything, I'll start with replacing a few water lines and somehow end up planning a whole-house renovation by lunchtime.

Because every homeowner knows the most dangerous phrase in the world isn't "Honey, we need to talk."

It's "While I'm at it..."

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Working in the Heat Changes You

 

There seems to be a funny divide between people who work outside all day and people who work inside all day, especially when summer shows up.

After spending eight or ten hours working in the heat, climbing around, carrying materials, and sweating through every shirt you own, there is one thing on your mind when it's time to head home: air conditioning. Not just a little air conditioning either. I'm talking about that blast of cold air that makes your truck sound like a walk-in freezer.

Meanwhile, you'll pull up next to someone at a stoplight with all their windows down enjoying the "beautiful weather." That's when you know they probably spent the day inside. No offense to them, but after baking in the sun all day, that beautiful weather feels a lot different.

I used to be one of those people who didn't mind the heat.

When I was younger, I'd work all day outside, get home, and somehow still find the energy to stay outside. I'd mow the lawn, mess around in the garage, help a buddy with a project, or just hang out in the yard. The heat didn't seem to bother me much at all.

Now? Things have changed.

These days, after working outside all day, I walk into the house and immediately start looking for the nearest air vent. The older I get, the more I appreciate modern technology. Whoever invented air conditioning deserves a trophy.

It's funny how your priorities change over the years. When you're young, you think nothing can slow you down. When you get a little older, you start judging places by how good their air conditioning is.

Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy working outside. There's something satisfying about seeing what you accomplished at the end of the day. But when the temperature starts climbing and the humidity joins the party, you'll find me sitting in the driver's seat with the AC cranked up to arctic levels on the ride home.

The heat may not bother me as much as it used to, but one thing hasn't changed: tomorrow I'll be right back out there doing it all over again. I'll just be looking forward to that cold drive home a little more than I did twenty years ago.

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The Missing Trailer Key... Again

 

I don't know if it's getting older, working in the heat, or just having too much going on at once, but lately it seems like my memory likes to take random vacations without telling me.

The other morning I showed up to work ready to get started, grabbed what I needed, and reached for the trailer key.

Nothing.

No big deal, I thought. It's probably in the truck.

Nope.

Checked every pocket. Nothing.

Looked through the cup holders, center console, tool bags, and every place a key could possibly hide.

Still nothing.

Then I started thinking back to the day before. I remembered locking everything up and heading home, but I couldn't remember exactly what I did with the key afterward.

The funny thing is I've done this before.

A while back I thought I had lost the trailer key and spent forever looking for it. After searching everywhere, I finally found it sitting in the pocket of the jeans I had worn the day before. Ever since then, whenever something goes missing, my first thought is, "Check yesterday's pants."

So I was convinced that was the answer.

I actually drove all the way home and checked the clothes I had worn the previous day.

Nothing.

Every pocket.

Nothing.

Now I was really confused.

I drove back to work and tried getting a few things done, but you know how that goes. You can't focus on anything when your brain is busy replaying every step you've taken over the last twenty-four hours.

Where did I put it?

Did I drop it?

Did somebody pick it up?

Did it somehow fall into another dimension where all missing tape measures and 10mm sockets go?

After fighting with it for a while, I finally gave up trying to work and decided to retrace my steps one more time.

I walked over to the entrance where I had locked the gate the night before.

And there it was.

Laying right where I had dropped it when I locked up and headed home.

The key had spent the entire night outside, patiently waiting for me to remember where I left it.

I stood there laughing at myself because I had already spent more time looking for the key than I would have spent using it.

The best part is that because I had found it in my jeans pocket once before, I was absolutely convinced that was where it had to be this time too. My brain had already solved the mystery before the investigation even started.

Turns out the key wasn't in my pants.

It wasn't in the truck.

It wasn't in the trailer.

It was exactly where I left it after a long day of work when my tired brain apparently clocked out before the rest of me did.

Working in the heat will do that to you. After enough hours in the sun, you start forgetting simple things. Names, tools, why you walked across the jobsite, and occasionally where you left the one thing you need to start your day.

At least I found the key.

Now if I could just remember where I put my tape measure...

Sometimes the hardest part of construction isn't the work itself—it's remembering what you did yesterday after ten hours in the heat. 😆

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The Great Privacy Fence Dream

I’ve got a confession to make. Every time I step into my backyard, I start mentally building a privacy fence.

Right now, my fence situation is a little mixed. Part of the yard has a privacy fence, which is great. The problem is the rest of the backyard is surrounded by chain-link fence. If you've ever had chain-link fencing, you know it’s basically the backyard version of living in a fishbowl. Everybody can see everything.

Want to grill a burger? The neighbors know.

Want to mow the lawn in an old T-shirt that should have been retired ten years ago? The neighbors know.

Want to stand in the yard staring at a project you promised yourself you'd finish last summer? The neighbors definitely know.

I’m not trying to hide anything suspicious. I just want to enjoy my backyard without feeling like I'm on a reality TV show called "Keeping Up With The Carpenter."

The biggest reason I want to replace the chain-link fence is the dogs. It seems like every time the neighbor's dogs come outside, the barking Olympics begin. Then my dogs hear them. Then everybody is barking. Before long, it sounds like a canine town hall meeting happening along the property line.

The dogs can see each other through the chain link, and apparently every squirrel, bird, leaf, and passing cloud is considered a security threat.

A privacy fence would solve a lot of that. Out of sight, out of mind. The dogs wouldn't spend half their day staring each other down like heavyweight boxers before a title fight.

Of course, replacing a fence isn't exactly cheap. Every time I price materials, I start doing math in my head and suddenly remember fifteen other things around the house that also need money. Funny how that works.

Still, I keep imagining what it would be like. A backyard where I can relax without feeling like I'm part of the neighborhood entertainment. A place where the dogs aren't announcing every movement within a three-block radius. A yard that feels like my yard.

For now, the chain-link fence remains. It stands there faithfully, providing just enough security while offering absolutely zero privacy. But one of these days, that fence is getting replaced.

And when it does, I plan to sit in my backyard, enjoy the peace and quiet, and finally do absolutely nothing without the entire neighborhood knowing about it.

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Licensed to Death

 

I swear these days everybody wants to see a license before they'll let you do anything. It doesn't matter if you've been doing the work for twenty years, solved problems nobody else could figure out, or trained half the people on the jobsite. The first thing people ask is, "Are you licensed?"

Meanwhile, I'm standing there thinking, "I taught the licensed guy how to do that."

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not against licenses. I actually went through the process. I studied. I took the classes. I paid the fees. I sat through enough paperwork to qualify for a second career as a professional form filler. I passed the tests. I did everything they asked.

Then somehow I still got denied.

That's when I started wondering if the goalposts were mounted on wheels.

It's a funny feeling when you know how to do the work, prove you know how to do the work, pass the tests showing you know how to do the work, and then get told you still can't have the piece of paper saying you know how to do the work.

Apparently experience is great right up until someone asks for documentation.

What gets me is seeing people who have the license but couldn't find their way out of a wet paper bag without calling three supervisors and checking YouTube twice. Yet because they have the magic card in their wallet, they're somehow the expert.

Meanwhile, you've got guys out here who can troubleshoot problems, build solutions, train crews, and keep projects moving, but they're treated like they don't know anything because a government office hasn't blessed them with the proper stamp.

Sometimes it feels like you're being penalized for trying to better yourself. The harder you work, the more you learn. The more you learn, the more requirements show up. Every time you clear one hurdle, somebody rolls out another one.

It's almost like the reward for gaining knowledge is being handed more paperwork.

I've reached the point where I have enough certificates, cards, training records, and continuing education documents to wallpaper my garage. If qualifications were measured by the weight of paperwork alone, I'd be running the entire industry.

But despite all that, I keep learning. Not because somebody requires it, but because I take pride in knowing my trade. At the end of the day, a license doesn't solve problems. Knowledge does. Experience does. Hard work does.

And if we're being honest, most of us know at least one person who proves that every single day.

So I'll keep improving myself, keep learning new skills, and keep doing quality work. If another license comes along, I'll probably chase that too. Not because I need another card in my wallet, but because nobody can take knowledge away from you.

Even if they can somehow deny the paperwork.

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Construction Bandages: Whatever Stops the Bleeding

 

If you've never worked construction, you probably think every jobsite has a fully stocked first aid kit sitting ten feet away at all times.

That's cute.

In reality, when you get cut on a jobsite, the first question isn't, "Do we have a bandage?"

The first question is, "What do I have in my pockets?"

After years in construction, I've learned that almost anything can become a bandage if you're motivated enough to stop leaking on the customer's floor.

I've used electrical tape. Blue painter's tape. Tyvek tape. Duct tape. Masking tape. One time I seriously considered using a zip tie before common sense showed up.

Tyvek tape might actually be one of the best medical products ever accidentally invented. If it can keep wind and water out of a house, it'll probably keep a carpenter together until lunch.

Then there's the emergency McDonald's napkin.

Every construction truck in America has at least three mystery napkins floating around. They could be from this morning's breakfast or from a road trip three months ago. Doesn't matter. If you're bleeding, suddenly that crumpled napkin becomes premium medical equipment.

You wrap it around the cut, throw some tape over it, and tell yourself you're basically a field surgeon.

I've seen guys use paper towels, shop rags, old T-shirts, clean socks, and whatever happened to be sitting closest when skin met something sharp.

The funny thing is most of us don't even stop working.

You look down and see blood.

You think, "Well, that's inconvenient."

Then you spend thirty seconds creating what can only be described as a construction-grade mummy wrap and get right back to work.

Meanwhile, somebody always has advice.

"You should probably get stitches."

"Yeah."

"You gonna?"

"No."

Five minutes later you're carrying lumber like nothing happened.

Now before anybody gets excited, serious cuts deserve real medical attention. But every construction worker knows the difference between "I need a Band-Aid" and "I should probably go see somebody."

Most of the time it's just another scratch earned while trying to make a living.

It's funny how adaptable we become. Give a construction worker a problem and they'll find a solution. Give a construction worker a cut and they'll somehow turn a breakfast napkin and a roll of tape into emergency medical care.

It may not be pretty.

It may not be approved by doctors.

But if it stops the bleeding and gets you through the day, it's probably already happened on a jobsite somewhere.

And if you're wondering why there's always a roll of tape within arm's reach of every carpenter, now you know.

Sometimes we're building houses.

Sometimes we're holding ourselves together.

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Funny How Things Change

 

I never really sat down one day and made some big announcement. There wasn't a dramatic moment, no grand plan, and definitely no fancy social media post about turning over a new leaf.

What happened was a lot simpler.

The guys I used to spend most of my free time with always seemed to have a cooler full of "good decisions" ready to go. It didn't matter if we were watching a game, grilling burgers, working on a project, or standing around doing absolutely nothing. Somehow a drink always found its way into the plan.

Then life got busy.

People moved. Schedules changed. Everyone had their own stuff going on. Before I knew it, I wasn't spending every weekend in the same crowd. Next thing I knew, six months had gone by and I realized something.

My garage fridge had become mostly a fridge.

Now don't get me wrong. I still laugh just as much. I still tell bad jokes. I still think every trip to the hardware store only requires one thing and somehow costs fifty bucks. Some habits never leave.

But a few things have changed.

My mornings seem less interested in picking fights with me.

I don't wake up wondering why I feel like I got hit by a dump truck that was being driven by another dump truck.

My wallet seems slightly happier too. It's amazing how much money disappears when every gathering requires a contribution to the "fun fund."

The biggest surprise is how much extra time I seem to have. Weekends feel longer. Projects get finished. The lawn gets cut before it starts looking like a wildlife preserve.

The funny part is that I never actually decided to stop anything. I just stopped being around the situation that made it the normal thing to do.

It's kind of like eating donuts. If your buddy shows up every morning with a box, you'll probably eat a donut. If he quits bringing them, suddenly you're not eating donuts every day and wondering where your pants shrunk to.

Life has a way of changing when your surroundings change.

It's only been six months, and I'm not claiming I've unlocked the secrets of the universe. But I can honestly say a few things seem a little easier, a little cheaper, and a lot less likely to require aspirin the next morning.

Besides, these days I'd rather spend my money on tools I probably don't need than things I can't remember buying.

And that's a decision I can laugh about.

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The Battery Charger Shuffle

 

I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I became the unofficial battery manager of my workshop.

You'd think being a carpenter means building things, measuring twice, and cutting once. Nope. Half the battle is figuring out which battery is charged, which one is dead, and which one somehow ended up in the truck three days ago.

I've always heard that it's not the best idea to leave batteries sitting on the charger all the time. Whether it's completely true or not, I try to take mine off once they're fully charged. Maybe it's just me, but I like knowing they're ready to go without spending their entire life plugged into the wall like a teenager glued to a phone charger.

My routine usually goes something like this:

Put battery on charger.

Hear charger beep.

Tell myself I'll take it off in five minutes.

Forget about it for two hours.

Remember it exists.

Act like I planned it that way.

The goal is always to keep a full charge on them. Nothing ruins a productive day faster than grabbing a drill, pulling the trigger, and hearing that sad little "ugh" sound that says the battery gave up before you even started.

Of course, no matter how many batteries I own, somehow they're all dead at the same time when I need them most. It's one of life's great mysteries. Right up there with where my tape measure disappears to and why a tool I just put down is suddenly nowhere to be found.

I've got batteries for drills, impacts, lights, saws, radios, and probably a few tools I forgot I even own. Yet somehow, when the job gets serious, I'm standing there staring at a blinking red light like it's personally offended me.

So I keep charging them, rotating them, and trying not to leave them on the charger forever. It's a system that mostly works... at least until Monday morning when every battery I thought was charged suddenly isn't.

Such is the life of a carpenter.

You don't measure time in hours. You measure it in battery bars.

And when all else fails, you grab another cup of coffee and wait for the charger to do its thing.

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