Have you ever done something really dumb, even though you knew it was dumb when you did it? Well, I did.

Last week, I had a dishwasher full of dirty dishes, and an empty dish cabinet. The reason? I was out of my little dishwasher tablets. And I kept forgetting to go to the store to get some.

And the dishwasher was really, really full. I thought about taking them all out and washing them by hand, but who wants to do that? So finally, and this brings me to the really dumb part . . . I put liquid dish soap in the dishwasher.

Just a tiny bit, mind you. I knew that too much would cause a bubbly, sudsy mess all over my kitchen. But I was desperate. And I thought, surely, just a little bit won't hurt.

So I turned on the dishwasher and went on my merry way, relieved that in about an hour, I would have clean dishes. But I got more than I bargained for. I got a really clean floor, as well.

A few minutes later, I returned to find bubbles spewing out of the bottom of my dishwasher. I guess even a tiny bit was too much. I turned the dishwasher off, grabbed a towel, and got to work. Then I grabbed a plastic cup and began baling out the suds that were piling up in the bottom of the dishwasher. Cup after cup after cup of the sudsy mess . . . and I finally got to the bottom of it. But then, I had to bale out the water, because that water was contaminated. I knew if I left it, I was just have more suds on my floor.

Half an hour and one aching back later, I had emptied the mess. I finished the dish cycle with plain water, and there were no more mishaps. But honestly. It would have been easier to do the dishes by hand.

The whole experience kind of reminded me of the "garbage in, garbage out" lecture my mother used to give me. You put the wrong stuff in the dishwasher, you can't expect it to operate properly. You put the wrong stuff in your mind, you can't expect your life to run smoothly.

Just saying.

But the good news is, I went to the store that very day and got some dishwasher tablets. And my dishwasher hasn't spewed bubbles since. The same is true for our minds.

Sometimes we do dumb things. We contaminate ourselves, thinking that surely, just a little bit won't hurt. And before we know it, we end up with a big ol' spewy mess.

But if we take the time to clean it up, and to bale out the bad stuff, we can always start fresh. Then, if we fill our minds with good things, things that are healthy and positive and gracious, well . . . things start to operate more smoothly.

And hopefully, we'll remember next time not to put the wrong stuff into our minds and hearts. Even a little bit of it is too much.

Just saying.

Philippians 4:8 "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things."

Two "river pilots" on patrol over the international border on Aug. 10, 1919 mistook the Rio Conchos River for the Rio Grande and took a wrong turn deep into the Mexican interior.

A chronic burr under the Lone Star saddle since San Jacinto, Mexican bandits once again were making life miserable on the border, especially in the Big Bend. Utilizing the latest technology in the war against this old menace, the Border Patrol took to the skies in June 1919.Texas and

From an airfield at Marfa, four biplanes flew daily surveillance over the shallow waterway separating Texas and Mexico. Eagle-eyed "river pilots" scanned the barren landscape for any sign of the elusive outlaws.

While on routine patrol on Aug. 10, Lt. H.G. Peterson and Lt. Paul Davis became so confused they followed the Rio Conchos west into Mexico instead of setting a northerly course by the Rio Grande. When the engine of their two-seater suddenly sputtered, the two were forced to make an emergency landing 80 miles inside Mexican territory.

After a picture-perfect touchdown, the young officers removed the machineguns from their disabled craft and hid the high-powered prizes in the brush. Walking to a nearby hut, they met a friendly peasant who agreed to lead the lost gringos back to the border.

Six miles later, the trio was surrounded by a score of riders headed by Jesus Renteria, a former follower of Pancho Villa who had gone into business for himself. Known as Gacho, he wore a steel hook in place of a severed hand.

Recognizing the potential profit in the chance encounter, Gacho ordered the fliers in flawless English to inform their superiors that the price of their freedom was $15,000 in cold American cash. Given the choice of writing the ransom note or dying, the aviators obliged their host.

When the river pilots failed to return to base, civil and military authorities launched a massive air and ground search. The hunt was seriously hampered by President Carranza, who true to form banned American planes from Mexican air space.

A Mexican boy riding a burro delivered the ransom note to a U.S. Army cavalry camp just over the border. In a matter of hours, local ranchers raised the 15 grand, and Capt. Leonard Matlack was assigned the hazardous duty of arranging the exchange.

Negotiating by messenger, Matlack and Gacho ironed out the details of the swap. Late in the evening of Aug. 18, the Mexican would flash a light from the hostile bank of the river, which would be the signal for the American to come alone with $7,500 for the first hostage.

Seeing no signal light, Matlack impatiently plunged ahead with the plan. He located Lt. Peterson ready and waiting, handed Gacho's henchmen the money and retraced his steps with the rescued hostage.

Depositing the grateful pilot in safe hands, the captain went back for his comrade. Making his way slowly through the darkness, Matlack overheard a couple of bandits discussing in Spanish the tempting idea of killing both gringos and vamoosing with the loot.

Approaching the second pilot and his armed guard, Matlack whispered to Lt. Davis to jump aboard his horse. The prisoner instantly complied, and the soldier whipped out a six-shooter in lieu of the balance due.

"Tell Gacho to go to hell!" Capt. Matlack shouted at the frozen bandits. "He's had his last American dollar!" Before the dumbfounded Mexicans knew what had happened, the duo disappeared into the night.

A five-day expedition turned up no trace of the kidnappers, and the controversial incursion was marred by the execution of four Mexicans whose complicity in the crime was open to question. Left in the custody of civilian scouts, the victims were gunned down as soon as the cavalry was out of earshot.

During the mischievous mission, two excited pilots reported killing a bandit with a hook. Before a skeptical Matlack could confirm Gacho's death, the jittery Army brass called of the chase rather than risk an international incident in a clash with government troops.

A few months later, Capt. Matlack sent a trusted Mexican agent to determine the fate of the bandit chieftain. He discovered Gacho fit as a fiddle in a cantina. After the airborne Americans had returned his fire, he played possum until they flew away.

In the public ovation that greeted the heroics of the courageous cavalryman, a U.S. Senator from New Mexico sounded a solitary sour note. He argued that Capt. Matlack deserved to be court-martialed for refusing to pay the rest of the ransom. But sanity prevailed, and the matter was dropped much to the embarrassment of the grandstanding politician.

Bartee Haile welcomes your comments, questions and suggestions at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it or P.O. Box 152, Friendswood, TX 77549.