​Sometimes I miss writing checks. Or, at least some aspects of writing checks such as having a ready record of my purchases and being able to know how much I’m paying. With a card, you’re always at their mercy. I definitely do NOT miss waiting in line while some little old lady, or man, takes ten minutes to meticulously script their check and then another five minutes to record it in their register. Check writing was never intended to be an art form.
 
As you may be able to tell, waiting is most assuredly not my thing. So, years ago, when debit cards made their debut, the time saving factor is what got me on board because, as I’ve said before, I’m not that fond of change either. But when there is a purpose or a benefit to the change, I’m a little more accepting of change. And in this case, debit cards were much faster and more convenient.
 
Obviously, the banking industry did not transition from checks to debit cards solely for my convenience. As with any technological advancement, the driving force is to make things cheaper, easier, or faster for the business and not necessarily for the consumer. Since processing checks is extremely expensive, debit cards dramatically reduced the cost per transaction. The fact the cards saved me (and everyone else) time was just an added bonus.
 
But now, the powers that be have made another change; a change that a lot of us find very frustrating. If you haven’t guessed, I’m referring to the chip that has been added to debit and credit cards. It’s not that I’m against an added layer of safety, which is how the chipped cards are being billed. Anything that keeps thieves away from my money is fine with me. (Although, I wonder how much protection a chip actually provides. Anyone who steals my card is going to get the chip too. The two sort of go together). My complaint, and that of many consumers, pertains to the added hassle of WAITING for the card reader to recognize, read, and then verify the card before completing the sale. This has easily added 1 to 2 minutes to EVERY SINGLE transaction. Multiply that by a few million transactions per day and you have several thousand hours of lost time every day.
 
Okay, it hasn’t affected any of us quite that drastically—yet. But not everyone has a card with the chip in it—yet. And not every store has a chip reader—yet. For now, I tend to use and old card that doesn’t cause me any delay. But as fast as they are replacing everyone’s cards, it won’t be long before that won’t work. Then, I’ll be waiting with the rest of the world’s population.
 
The credit card companies do not seem at all concerned with our wasted time or our annoyance. They are saving money and the fact we, the customers, are negatively affected doesn’t matter. So, what to do? I guess we could all just put up with it; just figure it’s one of those things we can’t do anything about. Eventually, we’ll get used to the idea of our purchases taking three times as long as they should. After all, we’re saving the credit card companies millions and all it’s costing us is a little time.
 
Or, we could go back to writing checks! ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Electric car windows are great. Except when they’re not. And that would be when they stop working. Then they are very much a pain. And a little expensive to repair.
 
There have been a rash of electric windows breaking lately—at least in my limited world. First, it was my wife’s vehicle, then my parents’, and then my pickup. This past weekend, the window on my daughter’s vehicle stopped working. And of course, the window was down. And then to make things worse, it started raining!
 
As many of you may know, I find working on vehicles these days to be quite annoying. There is no room to do what I need to do, nothing is ever a simple fix, things tend to not come apart (or go back together) the way they are supposed to, etc. As a result, the job takes way too long. Also, it seems every time I work on a vehicle, I need to purchase a new tool, or two.
 
Unfortunately, this summer I’ve had more than my share of opportunities to play mechanic. In fact, most weekends have been spent fixing something on one car or another. That’s because even though I detest working on them, I really don’t like taking cars into a shop. So, like most things that need done around my house, I do it myself.
 
Except this one. This time there was a silver lining to my black cloud of repairs that’s been hanging out all summer—my son was visiting. No, I didn’t tell him he had to fix the window, didn’t even ask him, he actually volunteered for the job. I was more than willing to allow him the privilege, while I watched. I wasn’t entirely useless though and did help a little. I handed him tools as he needed them and held things now and then as he took the door apart, replaced the electric motor, and then reassembled everything. And yes, it did work when got finished!
 
As we were cleaning up, I decided that working on vehicles wasn’t so bad after all. Not as long as I had someone else to do all the work! Think I’ll keep his number handy. Never know when those power windows will stop rolling up and down! ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Everybody needs a hero. And by hero, I don’t necessarily mean someone who has done heroic things, just someone who can be admired and respected. Someone who can be inspiring. Someone who seems larger than life.
 
For me, that person was Johnny Cash. I was more than just a fan. From as far back as I can remember I was mesmerized by the voice, the music, and the entire persona. In my mind, Johnny Cash stood the tallest of any celebrity.
 
Now, I’m not going to insist that he was the best singer, or the best musician. That is, and probably always will be, an on-going argument. Tastes in music vary considerably. Everyone has their own idea of what makes a great singer, songwriter, musician, song, entertainer, or personality. Speaking only for myself, Johnny Cash was the epitome of all those things. So, in my opinion, he was indeed the best.
 
Today, September 12, 2016, marks the thirteenth anniversary of his death. Although, I never had the chance to meet him, it was event that took me a little by surprise and did have an odd effect on me.
 
In an effort to pay my respects, soon after his passing, I wrote a song called There’ll Never Be Another Johnny Cash—my tribute to the Man In Black. With the help of my brother, Carl Borders, who provided the Cash sounding guitar, I recorded the song—a personal memorial to the man who I’d watched, listened to, and learned from since my childhood.
 
Anyone who knows me, or has read this blog for very long, already knows all of this, I’m sure. But it never hurts to repeat things once in a while. So, that’s what I’ve done. If you haven’t heard the song, you can listen here. I don’t think I really sound that much like the great Johnny Cash—I just sang the song in his style. My brother’s guitar playing is what helps the most, I think. But as the song says, There’ll Never Be Another Johnny Cash. ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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So, a few of my sprinklers in the yard needed to be replaced. After several years, the pop-ups no longer wanted to pop up. I finally made the trip to the store, purchased some new ones, and returned home to start digging. And digging. Okay, it wasn’t THAT much digging. The holes were small—about 6 inches wide and maybe a foot deep. Even with six of them to do, the job didn’t take long.
 
Rather than do them one at a time, I opted to dig all the holes, replace the sprinklers, and then put the dirt back. That seemed to be the most efficient approach. But, it also led to a problem.
 
There’s this weird phenomenon that occurs when digging holes and then filling them back in; there’s never quite enough dirt it seems. (Perhaps because I pack it harder than it was originally, I doubt any of the dirt actually disappears). Now, with a small hole, this would hardly be noticeable. But with six holes, the small discrepancy of each starts to add up.
 
I had put all the dirt in a bucket and filled each hole out of my stockpile. That worked fine until I came to the last hole. The bucket ran out of dirt before the hole was filled.
 
Great, I thought, not wanting to walk the measly few feet to rob the garden area of such a piddly amount of dirt. Not that I’m lazy or anything! In my defense, the temperature was over 100 degrees and digging holes wasn’t all I’d done that day.
 
If I just had a little more dirt, I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Figuring that was no more than wishful thinking, I started to get up and head toward the garden. Just then, a sizeable dirt clod fell to the ground right beside me. By “sizeable,” I mean, as big as a softball. And by “fell to the ground,” I mean, literally dropped out of the sky.
 
“Well, that was simple,” I mumbled to myself as I reached for the dirt clod. I crumbled it between my fingers and spread it around the sprinkler head; I was quite pleased to see it was exactly enough dirt to fill the hole.
 
So, where did the dirt clod come from? I hear you ask. Well, I guess I could say that God heard my prayer and dropped the answer right in my lap, but it hadn’t really been a prayer, so that may be misleading. But what other explanation could there be? It’s not like anyone was excavating in the stratosphere directly over my house! And even though one of Earth’s elements, water, occasionally falls from the sky, I seriously doubt the same can be said for dirt.
 
And again, I hear you asking, “So, where did it come from?” Okay, okay. I’ll tell you, as I did discover its origin. Actually, the moment the clump of dirt landed in the grass, I had a pretty good idea. A peek through a crack in the fence confirmed my suspicion.
 
The neighbor’s grandson was visiting again. He likes to throw toys, rocks, and apparently now, dirt clods over the fence into my yard. I know, hearing how it happened takes away some of the suspense and intrigue. Still, it was rather amazing to have the right amount of dirt fall at just the right time, right out of the sky—mere moments after I’d wished it! Awesome really.
 
Next, I think I shall wish for a million dollars! ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.