@TracesofTexas My husband was rejected twice by the military in the 1960s because he has high frequency deafness. Should he feel guilty because he looks healthy?
@billybobjoe2211@NINP_org Not true. Google Texas Parks & Wildlife. There are a lot of state parks, several national parks & many, many city parks, as well as bird refuges.
The Democrats' refusal to fund Homeland Security in the middle of combat operations against the leading state sponsor of terrorism is the single most irresponsible vote since Congress voted to pay "tribute" to the Barbary Pirates... https://t.co/asM6vvXihl
@shipwreckedcrew Boomer here—I grew up in a 2 BR, 1 bath house. When I married, we lived in a 1 BR, 1 bath garage apt that swayed when the wind blew 20 mph, with past-down or Goodwill furniture & glad to have it. Our first house was 2 BR, 1 bath. Those are starter homes.
"My name's Hank. I'm 66. I deliver propane to homes. Rural routes, farms, folks off the grid. I fill their tanks, check connections, drive to the next house. Most customers just sign the slip, barely look up. I'm just the propane guy.
But last February, during that brutal cold snap, I noticed something at the Miller place.
Pulled up to fill their tank, gauge showed empty. Completely dry. In 15-degree weather.
I knocked on the door. Mrs. Miller answered, three kids bundled behind her in coats. Inside the house.
"Ma'am, your tank's bone dry. How long you been without heat?"
"Four days." Her voice was steady, but her hands shook. "Bill's due Friday. We're waiting on my husband's paycheck."
Four days. Three kids. Fifteen degrees.
"Ma'am, I'm filling it now."
"I can't pay until"
"I'll mark it as a delivery error. Computer glitch. Nobody'll know."
She started crying. "Why would you do this?"
"Because those kids are wearing coats inside."
I filled their tank. Checked the furnace. Made sure heat kicked on before I left.
Drove away thinking about what I'd seen. Kids doing homework in winter jackets. A mom choosing between heat and food.
Started paying attention different after that. The elderly veteran whose tank was at 10%, he was rationing, keeping one room warm. The single dad whose payment was two weeks late, he'd been burning firewood he couldn't really afford.
I started doing something I shouldn't. When I saw someone struggling, someone who'd run out, someone rationing heat—I'd add 50 gallons. Mark it as "meter calibration" or "pressure test residual."
Small amounts. Enough to get them through.
Did it eleven times that winter. My boss noticed the discrepancies. Called me in.
"Hank, we're showing extra gallons delivered but not billed."
I told him the truth. Everything.
He stared at me for a long time. Then said, "My daughter was a single mom once. Chose between heat and groceries every winter. I wished someone had helped her."
He didn't fire me. Instead, he created something, "Warm Hearts Emergency Fund." Customers could donate. We'd match it. Use it for families in crisis who couldn't afford propane.
But here's what broke me, Mrs. Miller came to our office in May. She'd gotten a better job, caught up on bills.
She handed me an envelope. Inside, $200.
"For the next family. The one you'll find in February, four days without heat, trying to be brave for their kids."
She grabbed my hands. "Hank, my youngest has asthma. Four more days in that cold... I don't know if..." She couldn't finish.
Last winter, the Warm Hearts Fund helped 23 families. Not with handouts, with heat when they had none. With dignity when they felt broken.
And here's the thing, other propane companies heard about it. Started their own programs. Now there are "emergency heat funds" in six states.
But the moment that destroyed me happened last month. Got a call to deliver to an address I recognized, the Miller place.
Mrs. Miller answered. "Hank! Come in, please."
Inside, warm, kids doing homework at the table, laughing. She handed me a check. Full payment, plus extra.
"For the fund. But also..." She pulled out a drawing her youngest had made. Stick figure man with a propane truck. Caption in crayon: "Mr. Hank, my hero."
"She asks about you every winter. 'Is Mr. Hank making sure people are warm?'"
I'm 66. I deliver propane to houses nobody notices.
But I learned this- Cold doesn't wait for paychecks. And no child should do homework in a winter coat inside their own home.
So if you deliver anything, oil, propane, firewood, and you see someone struggling, someone empty, someone rationing,
Find a way. Mark it wrong. Call your boss. Start a fund. Do something.
Because heat isn't a luxury. It's survival.
And the difference between freezing and living shouldn't be whether your paycheck arrived on time.
Be the reason someone stays warm."
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Let this story reach more hearts....
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Ai image is for Demonstration purpose only
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Credit: Mary Nelson
Unpopular opinion: schools should extremely reduce the use of chrome books and return to paper and pencil being the main use. There is a connection between writing and how the brain learns.
@shipwreckedcrew One problem—if so many of those folks moving to Texas bring their liberal voting habits, Texas will eventually become like NY & CA. That’s not what I want for my grandchildren.
We should all learn to find the Delete key on our keyboards if we must type out thoughts that are hurtful or mean-spirited. It is cathartic enough just to write & delete.
Here's the danger of social media. It allows people to publish their internal monologues. Our internal monologues and fantasies are often incredibly ugly. People go to therapists because they feel so guilty about them, and one of the tasks of a therapist is to explain that 1/