It’s such a quiet phrase. Almost a shrug. A way of saying, yes, that’s true…but that’s not the whole story.
Life is full of maybe so…
This challenge I’m facing is hard. Maybe so. Someone else got the credit I worked for. Maybe so. The odds are stacked against me. Maybe so. The situation is messy, complicated, unfair. Maybe so.
Maybe so…but I’m not letting that be the final word.
Truth and hope aren’t always in competition. You can fully acknowledge the reality of something and still choose where to focus.
Perspective is a choice.
I’m tired, maybe so. I’ve failed, maybe so. This isn’t how I pictured it, maybe so.
But I’m also thankful. I’m still showing up. This might be exactly what I need, even though I may never admit it.
I’m learning to live in the tension between what is and what matters more.
We all get to decide where to place our attention. Some people zero in on the obstacle. Others fix their eyes on the opportunity.
One sees the storm. The other watches for the rainbow.
Both are real. But only one will move you forward.
“Attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.” — Bob Bitchin (he’s a real guy with an amazing story…stories)
Life hands us situations we don’t choose. Detours, delays, disappointments. But attitude? That’s something we bring to the table.
Sometimes the smallest shift in mindset is what turns a setback into a story worth telling. What once felt like a burden becomes the beginning of a bold new chapter.
So yes…your facts may be true. The obstacles might be real. The weariness might be justified.
Maybe so…but this is where we’re meant to be. Besides, this story isn’t finished.
The best parts of life come after we stop fighting the facts and start choosing the lens we use to see them.
h/t –“Yeah, I know what they say, money can’t buy everything. Well, maybe so, but it could buy me a boat.” — Chris Janson
I smile every time I hear this song. Sometimes a little humor, a little honesty, and a down-to-earth dream are exactly what we need to reset our thinking. It’s not about the boat. It’s about the choice to believe that something good still waits ahead…if we choose to see it.
There was a time I made a big leap “out the window.” I walked away from something I thought I had to escape. I didn’t have a detailed plan, just a deep sense that staying where I was would burn me out.
What I should have realized at the time was that while I was escaping one fire, I was just trading for another.
That’s the thing about decisions. They rarely come with clarity. They come wrapped in burdens and hope and urgency, all dressed up to look like certainty. But certainty is often just a story we tell ourselves to keep moving.
I’ve gone back and questioned plenty of decisions. I’ve hit pause, looked around, and asked, “Was that the right thing to do?”
Sometimes the answer is no. And that’s okay.
I’ve made wrong turns. I’ve said yes when I shouldn’t have. I’ve said no when I was afraid. But here’s something I’ve learned the hard way: wrong turns can still move us forward. Even the “mistakes” taught me something. Sometimes they were the only way I could learn the lessons I needed to learn.
Side note: If you can learn from watching someone else’s journey, that’s often preferable to taking the hard knocks that accompany most of the big lessons in life.
The truth is, not every decision will hold up to hindsight. And not every success will look like success right away. Some answers show themselves slowly. They show up only after struggle, reflection, and time. They need hardship to help them mature. Sometimes they even need failure.
I’m lucky. Along the way, there were people who didn’t try to fix me. They just stood with me while I figured it out. They gave me space to question, to re-route, to second guess. That kind of support is rare. And I’m grateful.
To those people: thank you. You helped me see what I wasn’t ready to see. You let me grow into the answers I didn’t even know I was seeking.
These days, I’ve learned to forgive myself for the detours. For the second thoughts. For the “what ifs” I’ll probably carry forever. I’ve changed my mind, more than once. With every shift, I’ve learned to find moments of peace.
Here’s the point: Maybe wandering is the way.
Wisdom doesn’t show up all at once. It grows, shifts, even contradicts itself. Sometimes it stumbles. Sometimes it starts over.
One thing I know for sure: What I thought I knew was only the beginning.
I sit uncomfortably and motionless in the back of the plane. Two hours into our flight. The Credence channel beckons. I nestle into the channel’s first song, and I’m visited by a memory like a warm blanket on a frosty morning.
Someone told me long ago There’s a calm before the storm I know; it’s been comin’ for some time
It was the summer of ’78, or close to it. My dad was proud as he could be of our 19-foot jet ski boat. He couldn’t wait to hit the glassy sunrise waters of Lake Havasu and watch his sons ski. One, then the other.
When it’s over, so they say It’ll rain a sunny day I know; shinin’ down like water
Putting on a single ski binding requires a blend of finesse and strength. At least as much strength as a seventh grader can muster. The secret is to let the ski vest do the heavy lifting and just relax.
I wanna know Have you ever seen the rain?
Moments later, the rope pulls taut, my ski is aligned just right. I’m ready and yell, “Hit it!”
I wanna know Have you ever seen the rain Comin’ down on a sunny day?
All 455 cubic inches of the inboard Oldsmobile engine roar to life. In seconds, the boat and the kid behind it launch out of the water.
There’s a moment, right as you break free of the lake, when all the pulling eases off at once. Water skims effortlessly under the ski.
Thoughts of speed and daring take over. I lean into my first glassy turn. My ski hums a high note as my grip tightens against the pull of the rope.
Yesterday and days before Sun is cold and rain is hard I know; been that way for all my time
It’s a blur of jumps and splashes. Long pulls to the side. Deep, slow turns in the opposite direction. Always a glance back to admire the rooster tail…especially when the sun catches it just right, holding the spray in the air like magic.
No time to admire it too long. Time to hammer the oncoming wake, trying to clear the other side, then do it all again. Pull wide. Pause. Dig in. Turn hard. Admire the rooster tail.
‘Til forever, on it goes Through the circle, fast and slow I know; it can’t stop, I wonder
The song ends, and I’m back where I started. My neighbor taps my shoulder. He needs to get to the bathroom.
We’re on our way to live new stories and make new memories. Life’s adventure continues.
I wanna know Have you ever seen the rain?
But it sure is nice to visit with a cherished memory. Like that friend who we see less than we should…but always pick up our conversation right where we left off.
I wanna know Have you ever seen the rain Comin’ down on a sunny day?
Thinking about how to tell you about the infinite power of love, I realize how important it is to share this letter with you. To help you understand just how much love will shape your lives.
You’re still growing, discovering who you are and what you want from the world. As I reflect on everything I’ve learned and everything I’ve seen, I can’t help but realize that love has been the guiding force in all of it. If there’s one truth I want you to know, it’s this: love is the one thing that never runs out. It is truly infinite.
Love has no limits. It’s a gift from God that never empties. “True love is infinite. It has no end, no limits, and no boundaries” (Unknown). I want you to remember this when life gets tough or when you start to feel like there’s not enough love to go around. The love you give will always come back to you. It grows, just like a tiny mustard seed turns into a mighty tree. The more you pour out, the more you’ll have. And love? It keeps on giving.
Love has the power to change things. To transform everything. It’s not just a feeling. It’s something far more powerful than that. Love is what changes hearts. It softens the hardest of feelings and brings people together.
I’ve seen this truth unfold many times in my life. When you approach someone with love, even if they’ve hurt you, that love has the power to melt away your bitterness, to open a door where there was once a wall. “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend” (Martin Luther King Jr.). That’s the kind of love I want for you. The kind that can heal, the kind that builds bridges instead of walls.
Love isn’t passive. It’s not something that just happens to you. It’s something you choose every day. Love calls for action, for intention. It’s an active force. And when you lead with love, you’ll see the world differently. I’ve learned that love moves you in ways you can’t predict, but it will always be the guide that matters most.
You will never have all the answers. Just choose love. “To love is to will the good of another” (St. Thomas Aquinas). That’s the essence of it. When you love someone, you are choosing to want the best for them, to care for them, and to be there for them, even when it’s hard.
Sometimes, we make mistakes. We hurt each other. There are moments when we carry the burden of regret or hard feelings. But love, I’ve learned, is about letting go. It’s about forgiving. You can’t move forward while holding on to old wounds. Love is what frees you from that burden. It’s what gives you the strength to keep going, even when it feels impossible. “Love is an endless act of forgiveness” (Maya Angelou). This resonates deeply with me, even when I forget its lesson. You see, when you forgive, you allow love to take root again, to grow and bring healing.
And the beautiful thing about love is that it never ends. Even when someone leaves us, their love remains. It stays with us. It lives on in the memories we carry and in the ways we continue to love others by their example. The love we give and receive stays with us, shaping us, and guiding us through the rest of our lives. “Love has no age, no limit; and no death” (John Galsworthy). When someone you love passes away, their love is still alive within you. It never dies. It’s a part of who you are forever.
I want you to know that love isn’t something you will always understand. It’s not something that always makes sense. Sometimes it feels irrational or confusing, but that’s what makes it so powerful.
Love comes from a place deep inside that logic can’t explain. It’s a mystery. “The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing” (Blaise Pascal). That’s the beauty of love. It doesn’t need to be explained. You feel it. You know it. And that’s all there is.
Love is also not confined by time or space. It’s already free. “Love is an infinite ocean, where every drop is a reflection of the entire universe” (Unknown). Love stretches. It connects us all, no matter where we are, no matter what we’ve been through. It doesn’t have walls. Love is limitless. It grows as we share it, and the more we live it.
I think about St. Paul’s words to the Corinthians when he wrote about love. It’s a love that’s patient and kind, that doesn’t boast or get angry easily. It’s love that seeks the good, that keeps no record of wrongs, that always protects, always trusts, always hopes. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7). That’s the love I want you to know.
At its core, love is what makes life worth living. Without love, we would have nothing. Without love, we would be lost. “Love is the only reality, and it is not a mere sentiment. It is the ultimate truth that lies at the heart of creation” (Rabindranath Tagore). God’s creation. It’s love that drives us to seek goodness for others, not just ourselves. It makes the world a better place, one loving act at a time.
There’s one last thing I want you to know. Love never runs out. Its supply is unlimited. “There is no remedy for love but to love more” (Henry David Thoreau). That’s the key. The more you love, the more you’ll understand, the more you’ll see. Love opens new possibilities that you didn’t even know were there. It’s a wellspring that you can always draw upon, as long as you’re willing to give.
Love is the one thing that will always be with you. It doesn’t matter where life takes you or how far you go. It will be there. Love is constant, unchanging, but always expanding. And in that love, you’ll find the freedom to be who you’re meant to be, to live fully, by loving deeply.
The more you love, the freer you become. The more love you give, the more you’ll find in return.
As your grandpa, I love each of you with all my heart and soul. I want nothing more than for you to lead lives filled with love—guided by love, surrounded by love, and sharing love with everyone you meet.
A life full of love is a life full of joy and meaning.
Love always,
Grandpa Bob
Photo by Diane Anderson – That’s 7 of our 8 grandkids…and we have another on the way in May. Diane is their great grandmother. God is good.
There are some paintings that do more than just depict a subject. They capture an entire story, an entire lifetime, in a single moment. This piece is one of those rare works that demands to be seen. It grips its viewer, pulling them into a world of experience, emotion, and wisdom.
I see far more than just an old man with a pipe. I see the passage of time written across his face. Lines carved by laughter, sorrow, resilience, and acceptance.
His piercing gaze holds stories of joy, regret, belief, triumph, failure, love, admiration, and appreciation. His expression speaks of a man who has not just existed but has truly lived, embracing all that life has offered, both the good and the bad.
Beyond his gaze, I see a hand that tells a story all its own. His hands have endured hard work. They’ve held the people he loves. These hands have fought, and they’ve also comforted. They are worn, yet steady. A testament to a life of resilience, labor, and tenderness.
His grip on the pipe isn’t just a habit. It’s a ritual. A moment of reflection held between calloused fingers that have stood the test of time.
I didn’t know Richard Hatch personally before his recent passing. But I can see through his painting that he had a remarkable ability to portray humanity on canvas. He wasn’t just painting a face. He was capturing the soul of this man for each of us to see.
Every brushstroke tells a story. Every shade of color conveys emotion, and every detail reflects a life filled with lessons. His is the kind of art that doesn’t just sit on a wall. It reaches out, starts a conversation, and lingers in your mind long after you’ve looked away.
Our days become years, our years become decades, and before we know it, our decades are a lifetime. This painting reminds me of that stark reality. Not in a sad way, but in a way that urges me to embrace every moment while I can. To live fully, to love deeply, and to accept this journey for the adventure that it is.
Mr. Hatch’s painting reminds us of the beauty in aging, the dignity in experience, and the wisdom of acceptance.
Thought leaders play a critical role in any organization. Sometimes, they have titles like CEO, COO, CIO, etc. Other times, the real thought leaders are deep within the organization—formally or informally influencing the speed and direction of progress. Often, it’s a mix of both (most ideal, in my opinion).
It doesn’t take long working with people (in business or everyday life) to recognize some common personality types. See if any of these sound familiar:
The Opportunist – “What’s in it for me?”
The Rule Follower – “What will our boss think?”
The Naysayer – “Let me tell you all the ways this won’t work.”
The Over-Analyzer – “Shouldn’t we think about this more?”
The Idea Generator – ”What about this new approach to the problem?”
The Go-Getter – “Why are we sitting here doing nothing… let’s move!”
The Rebel – “Who cares what the boss thinks?”
The Doer – “We’ve got all we need, so let’s start.”
The Supporter – “How can I help you with your goals?”
The Invisible Worker – “I don’t want to get noticed.”
The Minimalist – “How can I get by doing the least amount of work?”
The Escape Artist – “If this goes wrong, I wasn’t here.”
Which one is best?
That depends on the situation.
I tend to gravitate toward those who accept responsibility, take risks, and aggressively seek solutions. I like working with people who act first, ask for forgiveness later, and push organizations toward innovation and progress.
But even the most action-driven person benefits from a counterbalance. Someone who asks the tough questions, who sees the risks, who insists on analyzing every angle. Their input can temper an ambitious plan, provide a broader perspective, and uncover blind spots the team might otherwise miss.
Too many cautious over-analyzers, and an organization stalls. But completely ignoring their input? That’s a recipe for reckless decision making.
Look around your organization, your circle of friends, and the people you admire. How many of them fit into one or more of these categories? More importantly, which one(s) fits you?
And if you’re building a team for your next big project, who do you want on that team? Who will give your project the highest chance of success?
The key to a successful team isn’t about having just one type of person. It’s about striking the right balance. Recognizing that the strengths and weaknesses of each personality type will allow you to build a team that works effectively together, balancing momentum with careful consideration.
The best teams blend different perspectives and working styles to make smarter decisions and drive lasting progress.
Choose wisely, because the right mix can be the difference between failure and success.
If you were to visit me on my mountainside, next to a huge pile of bucked-up logs that I’ve cut and collected over the past year, using my fancy new log splitter, what would you see?
A grandpa dressed in a snow suit and beanie, warding off the low-teens temperature and wind chill, wearing eye and ear protection, splitting one log after another.
I’m stacking the split firewood into an “outdoor fire” bin (the crummy stuff that’s showing some signs of water damage that may or may not burn so great), and an “indoor fire bin” for the good stuff. We have so much that I use IBC totes that I can forklift and move around with my tractor.
What you’d miss is what this guy’s thinking. Of all the campfires these logs will deliver. The warmth, the beauty, and the cheery faces reflected in the golden firelight. The togetherness, the raucous fun, and always the smoke that’ll chase each of us in time.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about words that rhyme with stories, memories, starlight, marshmallows, love, and family. Of a way to express my “why” behind all this work.
My new splitter hums, its rhythm is true, Each log cracks clean, split in two. And with each piece, I see what’s ahead— Fires that warm, where stories are said.
Golden flames dance in their eyes, Joyful voices filling the skies. Kids with marshmallows on sticks they will hold, Turning white fluff to crispy gold.
The stars above will steal their gaze, A quiet pause from the firelight’s haze. But soon enough, they’ll leap to their feet, Cousins chasing cousins, the night complete.
This work is heavy, my labor long, But in each log, I hear a song. A promise of warmth, connection, and love, Of smoke below and stars above.
Each crack of the wood a memory in waiting, Moments of joy we’ll spend creating. I keep splitting, I’ll keep the pace, Knowing the fire will hold its place.
One split, one stack, one stick at a time, Building a future that’s warm and divine. A pile of firewood, yes—but so much more, It’s family, it’s laughter, it’s life to the core.
There’s a line in a Frank Sinatra song that asks if we’d like to, “…carry moonbeams home in a jar.” A crazy idea. Moonbeams can’t be contained or put in a jar, but their magic can be carried home just the same. What if we could carry home the kind of wonder and light that moonbeams represent?
Life throws challenges at us every day. Deadlines. Difficult conversations. The relentless tug-of-war between expectations and reality. Yet, amid the noise, we often stumble upon moments of beauty. Unexpected acts of kindness, moments of connection with strangers, or simply a sunrise or sunset that stops us in our tracks. These are moonbeams.
Have you ever met someone for the first time and felt their kindness so deeply that it stayed with you? Maybe it was a stranger who gave you directions with a smile, a colleague who truly listened, or someone who saw you struggling and extended their hand. These are glimpses of humanity’s greatness. Magic moments where we see the best of who we are reflected in someone else.
What if we made it our mission to carry that magic home with us?
It’s easy to bring home the worries of the day. Our frustrations, our stresses, our nagging self-doubt. But alongside these, we can also bring moonbeams: the small, bright moments of beauty, hope, and love that we encounter every day. We can share the wonder of a chance conversation, the joy of something new we learned, or the inspiration we felt when we saw someone overcoming adversity.
Carrying moonbeams is about being conscious of what we pass on to those we love. It’s about choosing to share curiosity instead of cynicism, gratitude instead of grumbling. It’s about being the explorer who brings back stories of the world’s beauty to share with those at home, inspiring them to see the magic in their own lives, too.
Imagine if we all carried moonbeams in our metaphorical jars. How much brighter would our homes, our communities, and our world become?
What if we could embrace the day with the motivated curiosity of an explorer. Purposely looking for the moonbeams—the fleeting magic of kindness, beauty, and connection.
Imagine carrying them home to share, not in jars, but in our words, our actions, and our presence.
Because moonbeams, once shared, have a way of multiplying.
Photo by me, capturing a “moonbeam” of a sunrise view outside my kitchen window the other day
Life is a long and winding road. Along the way, music teaches us to let it be, to take it easy, and to carry on. Sometimes, it whispers, “you’ve got a friend,” and other times it shouts, “don’t stop believing!” Through every high and low, music lifts us when we’re down and brings light to our darkest days.
It inspires us to learn to fly, take the long way home, and dream the impossible dream. It tells us to follow the yellow brick road and live like you were dying. When the world gets heavy, we can put our toes in the water, our ass in the sand and live knee deep in the water somewhere. It’s a gentle reminder to hold on loosely or to simply keep the faith.
When we’re all alone, it wraps us in a warm embrace, softly humming, “I’m with you,” and promising, “I’ll stand by you.” It keeps us company when we’re wasting away again in Margaritaville or stranded in the purple rain (whatever that is).
Music sets the tone for life’s moments. It’s the sweet sound of silence in the still of the night, the easy rhythms of cheeseburgers in paradise, and the fiery rush of being thunderstruck. It’s the gentle plea of someone asking, “Have you ever seen the rain?” and the daring call to take a walk on the wild side. It urges us to dance in the dark and reminds us that it’s five o’clock somewhere.
It can challenge us to ask what’s going on, or who are you? It paints visions of wide-open spaces, islands in the sun, and clear mountain mornings. It reminds us that we’re merely candles in the wind and there’s never a wish better than this when you’ve only got one hundred years to live. So, dream until your dreams come true.
Music brings us together to clap our hands, stomp our feet, and feel the beat. It calls us to praise every morning. It’s a bridge over troubled water. It’s an anthem of unity. We’re rockin’ in the free world. There ain’t no stopping us now.
Music is more than sound. It’s a ribbon in the sky, an endless summer, a stairway to heaven, and friends shaking hands. It weaves through our lives, bringing joy to each new day.
Take it to the limit. Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.
After all, music reminds us what a wonderful world it truly is.
A quick word about copyrights. This post is my attempt to create a cohesive thematic message using as many song lyrics as possible (trust me, there are 100’s more that didn’t fit) from artists I’ve loved over the years. Borrowing their words was a fun writing challenge, and an homage to the original artists.
By my quick count, I’ve referenced lyrics from over 50 songs, placing them like Easter eggs or tile fragments in a mosaic. Most are obvious and easy to find…a few may be obscure and tougher to recognize.
In the end, it’s only rock ‘n roll, but I like it. (couldn’t resist one more).
It happens to all of us this time of year. The days get shorter, the winds grow crisper. Something stirs within us that doesn’t quite fit the mold of any other season. There’s joy, sure—joy enough to make us believe in miracles again. But alongside that joy, like the shadows cast by twinkling lights, there’s a touch of sorrow. Like an old friend who shows up every December, pulls up a chair, and says nothing at all.
Words that lie dormant eleven months out of the year come alive at Christmas time. Jingle Bells. Rudolph. Good tidings. Noel. The Manger. Words so beautiful and strange, yet they create beautiful poetry on our hearts. Sugarplums dancing in dreams. Mulling spices on the stove. Decorations we see only in this season but remember more fondly with each passing year—twinkles of joy at their best, empty reminders at their worst. And somehow, merriment and brightness find their way in, even when the years haven’t always been kind.
If you listen closely, you can hear hymns calling us across the cold and lonely nights:
“O come, O come, Emmanuel”
“Silent Night”
“What Child is This?”
There’s a funny thing about Christmas—it’s a season of paradox. A time for rejoicing, and a time for remembering. For celebrating, and for mourning. All in the same breath.
Every year, the world gathers around a single story. A manger in Bethlehem, where our Savior came as a child. It’s a story that whispers hope into the cracks of our broken hearts.
“Fear not, O Zion, be not discouraged!” That’s what the prophet Zephaniah said. “The Lord, your God, is in your midst.” And somehow, two thousand years later, we do believe. We light candles and sing songs of joy—because we need to. Because joy matters.
It’s funny how much effort we put into this season. Trees trimmed. Ornaments hung. Villages built. Wishes made. And when the last batch of cookies or Cornish pasties come out of the oven, we sit at tables crowded with food, and laughter, and the people we love. Sometimes we even catch a glimpse of something eternal in it all—the way the lights reflect off the fancy silverware, or how a child’s eyes light up at the first sight of presents.
But there are empty chairs. They’re harder to discuss. Maybe it’s a father, a mother, a grandparent, or a sister. Maybe it’s a friend, a brother, an aunt or an uncle who have gone far too soon. We feel their absence even more at Christmas. We see them in the lights we hang, and the hot chocolates that we make. We hear them in old songs, the ones we used to sing.
And then there are the faces we miss in another way—our family who are still with us but just too far away. The ones across states, oceans, and time zones. We think of them when we pull out the old family recipes and photo albums. We wish they could be here to see the kids open presents, to share in the laughter over the pies that we burned, or took out too soon. But instead, we send texts and pictures, leave voicemails, and whisper a prayer hoping they know how much they’re loved, even from so far away.
Yet even in sorrow, there’s something beautiful. Because love never really leaves us. And maybe that’s the greatest promise of Christmas—the one hidden behind all the ornaments and stockings, and twinkling lights. That the Child who came to a manger promises us something more. He promises that the story isn’t over. That one day, we’ll all sit at a table that never empties, in a place where joy knows no end.
For now, we celebrate as best we can. We bake our pies and pour our cider. We listen for sleigh bells in the distance and leave room in our hearts for joy to enter—just like it always does.
And when the night gets quiet, and the fire burns low, we remember. We remember the ones we’ve loved, the ones we’ve lost, the ones too far away to join us, and the One who came to bring us home.
That’s Christmas. A little light, a little shadow. A little merry, a little sorrow. A season that changes the very words we speak and, if we let it, changes the very hearts we carry.
So if you’re out there tonight, sipping mulled cider by the window, just know this:
You’re not alone. The Savior is here. He’s in the manger. He’s in the laughter. And He’s in the quiet, too.
And maybe—just maybe—He’s singing over you, as one sings at a festival.
The Bible verse that inspired this post when I heard it in Church last Sunday:
Shout for joy, O daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, O Israel! Be glad and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem! The LORD has removed the judgment against you he has turned away your enemies; the King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst, you have no further misfortune to fear. On that day, it shall be said to Jerusalem: Fear not, O Zion, be not discouraged! The LORD, your God, is in your midst, a mighty savior; he will rejoice over you with gladness, and renew you in his love, he will sing joyfully because of you, as one sings at festivals.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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