Memories – Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership

The Day We Visited the Taj Mahal and Never Saw It

There are certain destinations in the world that feel larger than life. The Taj Mahal is one of those places. For many travelers, seeing it with their own eyes is a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

We were finally there. We had made it to Agra. All that remained was to step inside the gates and witness the iconic white marble glowing in the sun.

Only one problem.

There was no sun. There was no white marble. There was no Taj Mahal.

There was only fog.

We woke that morning filled with hope. The rooftop restaurant gave us a commanding view of… absolutely nothing. We stared into a wall of haze, sipping coffee and laughing at the absurdity of our timing. Surely the fog would lift. Surely the Taj Mahal would reveal itself.

Our guide, Kuldeep, assured us everything would be fine. He had led more than 500 tours of the Taj Mahal. He knew everything there was to know about its history and its beauty. We boarded our bus, grabbing our special cloth bags with a picture of the Taj printed on them. These were designed to hold the single water bottle we were allowed to bring inside the property. And we set off with excitement.

Fog. All the way there. Fog in the parking lot. Fog at the security lines. Fog as we walked the long approach toward the main viewing area. Each time Kuldeep stopped to point out an “excellent vantage point,” we nodded with wide eyes, imagining the magnificent structure hidden somewhere in the mist.

We took photos pointing at the picture on our water bottle bags. That was the only Taj Mahal available to us from any vantage point.

As we walked toward the building, we eventually reached the outer wall and finally saw something. White marble appeared just a few feet above our heads. Then the stone vanished again into the haze. The grand dome. The sweeping arches. The delicate inlays. All shrouded in fog.

We were standing beside one of the wonders of the world and could only see a sliver of it.

Our group laughed so much that day. Not because we had traveled halfway around the world only to miss the view. We laughed because we were sharing something unforgettable and slightly ridiculous. We were experiencing a story that would last much longer than a postcard-perfect photograph.

Kuldeep shook his head with disbelief. In all his tours, he had never experienced this. He told us we were a very select group of visitors who could claim something few on Earth could say. We visited the Taj Mahal, but we have never actually seen it.

He was right. I still have never seen the Taj Mahal in person.

The destination was never the prize

You might think this would be a disappointment. But when I look back on that trip, the fog made everything richer.

The destination was never the prize. The people were.

We shared meals and conversations and inside jokes. We tried foods that were new to us. We navigated chaos and beauty side by side. We saw India’s contrasts and colors and kindness. We saw devotion expressed in temples and marketplaces. We saw how history and modern life can exist on top of each other without barriers.

The Taj Mahal is extraordinary. I would love to see it someday with clear skies and a rising sun. Yet I already have what I came for.

When I think about all the amazing places I have been blessed to visit, a pattern appears. I never say, “Remember when we saw that famous landmark.” I say things like:

– Remember how we got lost trying to find it?
– Remember the tiny restaurant we discovered afterward?
– Remember the guide who became a friend?
– Remember that amazing gelato place in the middle of nowhere?

I have my memory of that rooftop breakfast. I have the echo of laughter on the bus. I have the photos of my family and friends pointing to a water bottle bag as if it were the crown jewel of Indian architecture.

The world is full of wonders. But relationships are the wonders that stay with us.

The real bucket list

If someday I return to the Taj Mahal and finally see it, I’ll smile and take it in. But I know the picture etched into my heart is already complete. It’s filled with faces and voices and laughter. It has the beauty of our shared experience.

Checklists are fine for airplanes. But our lives deserve something better.

The best adventures can’t be captured by a camera or a perfect view. What lasts are the relationships made stronger by shared surprises, setbacks, and moments of wonder.

This story, fog and all, remains one of my favorites.

Photo by Mark Harpur on Unsplash showing the majestic beauty of the Taj without fog.

The photos below are mine showing what we actually saw. Unfortunately, the amazing water bottle bag photos are stored on a drive I can’t see…a little bit like that morning in Agra more than a decade ago.

Which Memory Would You Erase?

“If you could erase one memory, what would it be?”

We all have memories that sting. Failures. Regrets. Accidents. Loss. Moments we wish had gone differently. It’s easy to imagine how much lighter life might feel if certain days had never happened.

I wouldn’t erase any of them.

Every memory, good and bad, shapes who I am today. The hard ones give me resilience, humility, and perspective. The joyful ones give me hope and fuel. Together, they’ve woven the story that brought me to this moment.

If I erased regret, I’d lose the lessons.

If I erased pain, I’d lose the growth.

If I erased loss, I’d lose the clarity it gave me about the value of life and love.

I carry each memory with gratitude. Gratitude that even the hardest chapters are part of a larger story. Gratitude that none of it was wasted.

Gratitude that grace has been big enough to redeem even the parts I once wished to forget.

Photo by Jason Thompson on Unsplash – because grace brings life out of the hardest places.

I Was Just Wondering…

Are the stars just as bright from above as they are down here?

Do you get to see the ones you love? Your parents, your brothers and sisters, your old neighbors, that one special friend who always made you laugh?

Is there coffee in Heaven? Is it better than your favorite blend on a cold desert morning?

Do you remember everything now? Things once forgotten.

And now that you know, what do you know?

Do you hear us when we talk about you? When we laugh at your stories and try to retell them just right?

Do you miss us, or does love work differently there?

Can you see how much we love you still?

Are you proud of the life we’re trying to live?

Do you see how we carry your lessons forward, quietly passing your wisdom down, one small act at a time.

I wonder if you recognize your love moving through our family in the lives your grandkids and great-grandkids are creating.

And I was just wondering…

When it’s my time, when I finally get to see what you see, will you be waiting for me with open arms, and smiles, and one of your special meals that feels so much like home?

I think so.

But for now, I’ll keep wondering.

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Reflections on Campo Sahuaro

At kilometer 32 just south of San Felipe,
where warm breezes wandered,
and stars blanketed the sky —
more stars than anywhere I’ve ever been.

Off-road racing brought us there,
wide sandy beaches just a short walk away,
bathtub-warm waters stretching out forever,
the tides carving their quiet stories in the sand.

Under their shady palapa,
watching the sun rise and fall on the horizon,
Mom and Dad built their place from scratch,
one humble project at a time.
It was luxury camping at its very best.

Their place was just across the arroyo from the beach,
where Dad taught Julianne to drive a stick shift
on the wide-open sand.

How I long to beam back there.
To see them again.

To hear their voices busy with new plans,
to see what they’ve been working on,
to sit with them in the shade at cocktail hour,
chips, salsa, and all the shrimp we could eat,
as the afternoon melts softly into evening.

I’d love to hear who’s come to visit lately.

Both are gone now, but the memories remain.
Their laughter rides the breeze,
as fresh as the salty air,
that still stirs in my heart.

Backstory: A Campo Sahuaro Adventure

When Mom and Dad bought their lot around 1988, it was nothing more than a small concrete slab and four stakes marking the corners of their sandy “oasis.” What made this campo special was its access to a fresh water well…rare in that part of Baja.

Their lot sat on a bluff overlooking an arroyo, with the Sea of Cortez just beyond the sandy beach. In Mexico, buying a lot like this meant purchasing a long-term lease from the property owner. As long as you pay the annual lease (which was under $1,000 per year) you control the land. Anything they built on it was theirs.

Because Mexico has nationalized property in the past, many Americans build semi-permanent structures that can be dismantled and hauled away if needed. That kind of caution remains, even though nothing like that has happened in a very long time.

Being a concrete guy, Dad’s priority was pouring a lot of concrete. He laid down a huge patio that would become the base for everything else, including one of the largest shade structures I’ve ever seen. It didn’t happen overnight. This was a multi-trip (multi-year) endeavor, often coinciding with supporting Team Honda’s off-road racing efforts. They’d haul supplies and tools down along with pit equipment. In the early ’90s, sourcing building materials in Baja was still hit or miss so they brought most of what they needed with them.

By around 1991, Dad was ready to build a workshop. It would be like a shipping container, made of wood, with big swing-down doors on each end that doubled as ramps. He welded little leveling stands to the top of each door so they could serve as sleeping platforms when opened. I slept on those doors under the stars every chance I got.

As with everything at Campo Sahuaro, there’s a story behind that build.

We were down there pitting for Team Honda, which meant several fellow pit crew members were staying at my parents’ place. At that point, it was mostly a shaded patio and a small pump room. Many of the guys were carpenters, so they brought their tools and were ready to build.

Dad’s motorhome was packed. The center aisle was filled with 2x4s, stacked at least five feet high. Getting around inside was nearly impossible. Behind the motorhome, he towed a converted motorcycle trailer that he’d built at least ten years earlier. It was loaded with a perfectly stacked cube of 4×8 plywood sheets. The walls of the future workshop.

I happened to be traveling with them on that trip, ready to help with both pitting and construction. About 50 miles from the campo, we heard a loud crash and scraping noise. We were driving across a dry lakebed, the road raised 15–20 feet above the flat terrain. I looked out just in time to see the trailer tumbling down the embankment.

Dad got the motorhome stopped, and we rushed out to assess the damage. The trailer tongue had sheared clean off under the weight of the plywood. Thankfully, it hadn’t failed earlier, during high-traffic sections of our trip. The trailer was upside down in the lakebed, still lashed to its cargo. That cube of plywood was completely intact.

Within minutes, two vans carrying some of our crew pulled up behind us. We counted heads — at least ten of us, including a few high school football players. It wouldn’t take long to relocate all that wood.

A chain gang formed. We passed sheet after sheet of plywood up the embankment and loaded it onto the vans, lashing them down with tie-downs and ropes we’d salvaged from the trailer. We even hauled the trailer carcass back up the hill. At the very least, we figured we’d salvage the tires and axle.

That’s when an old Toyota pickup rolled up. A local man hopped out. I greeted him with my high-school-turned-Baja-race-pit-guy-Spanish. Lots of smiling, gesturing, and broken sentences later, we learned he was a welder and fabricator. He was heading to San Felipe to visit family and watch the race.

He looked over our trailer, nodding thoughtfully. He said he could take the trailer on his truck bed along with the remains of the tongue and hitch. He’d rebuild it and leave the rebuilt trailer at his brother’s restaurant in San Felipe. We asked him how much he’d charge us for that service. His response was $20(!).

I confirmed that his plan was to haul our trailer back to his shop (about 40-50 miles back), rebuild it, and then he’d tow it all the way down to San Felipe for $20. We told him there was no way we’d let him do that for anything less than $200. His eyes got real wide. I don’t think he believed what I was saying. I said that we’d gladly pay him that amount for all that he’d be doing for us.

We loaded the trailer carcass onto his truck bed, shook his hand, and paid him the agreed $200. We wouldn’t be able to see him at the conclusion of the job, so pre-payment was our only option. He turned around with his new load and headed back to his shop.

We mounted up and continued to Campo Sahuaro, wondering if we’d ever see that trailer again.

The Workshop Rises

The race went great. The workshop was built in a day or two with the expert help of our crew. The carpenters led the way and the rest of us did our best to help and stay out of their way. Copious amounts of alcohol were consumed around the campfire, many snacks and excellent meals were eaten, heroic stories (some of them true) were shared with lots of laughter along the way.

On the way home, we stopped at Baja 2000, the restaurant where our mystery welder said he’d leave the repaired trailer. And there it was.

Not only had he fixed it. He’d reinforced it, straightened the bent parts, and welded it all back together better than before.

Legacy

Over the years, I visited Campo Sahuaro many times, sometimes with my wife and daughters. As mentioned earlier, Dad taught my oldest daughter to drive a stick shift truck on the beach in front of their place when she was probably 12 or 13 years old.

I loved knowing the stories behind everything built there. Most of the stories involved improvisation, imagination, and always perseverance. There were a ton of lessons at their property about staying focused and overcoming obstacles in the pursuit of your goals.

I loved sleeping under that blanket of stars, watching satellites traverse the sky (there’s a lot more of them up there nowadays). I loved swimming in the warm ocean. Most of all, I loved being with Mom and Dad, sharing good times and making memories with them at their special place, 32 kilometers south of San Felipe.

p/c – I asked ChatGPT to make an image of a starry night on the beach based on my story. Amazingly, the image it rendered is mostly how I remember it…except for the houses on the front row (Mom and Dad’s place was on the second row), and the dry-docked fishing skiffs that used the campo as their base of operations.

Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

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?

No matter how long it’s been.

Photo by Ethan Walsweer on Unsplash – not a 7th grader, but a cool water skiing photo.

Splitting Logs – The Firewood’s Promise (and my “Why”)

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.

I can’t think of a better “why” than this.

Photo by Kevin Erdvig on Unsplash

The Strangeness of September

As a kid, September marked the end of summer’s glorious freedom and the start of another school year. Truth is, by mid-August, all the kids on my street were getting bored and restless, ready for something new.

My birthday is in September. But because it coincided with back-to-school season, my presents were school clothes. Useful, yes, but hardly the exciting stuff of childhood fantasies. My brother, whose birthday is also in September, was in the same boat—more school clothes. Still, it usually meant two cakes in one month, which always felt like a win.

Fast forward to adulthood. September takes on a new meaning, especially if you own or run a business. It’s the last month of the third quarter—the point where you should have a pretty good idea if your business is on track for the year. Strategic planning for next year is underway — the annual cycle never stops. Little time to pause and reflect. There’s always a new deadline, a new target. September is less about questions and more about answers and execution.

Then life throws in its own strange layers. In 2019, my father passed away on my birthday. A heavy twist of fate that turned my annual day of celebration into something far more complicated. In a strange twist of symmetry, last year, my mom died on my brother’s birthday.

Now, both of our birthdays are marked not just by the passage of time, but by the memories of losing our parents, their passing dates forever linked to our birth dates.

September marks the birth of my oldest son-in-law, my youngest daughter (32 years ago tomorrow), and one of our eight grandchildren (also tomorrow). Lots of celebrating and gift giving…and some ice cream, of course.

All of it adds up to a certain strangeness in September for me—a month of beginnings and of endings. A mix of personal milestones and bittersweet memories.

p/c – Blessing Ri on Unsplash

What is your favorite quote?

I’m working on an autobiography of sorts. It’s a compilation of my answers to a series of questions. There are about 75 of them that act as prompts. Here are some examples:

Tell me about your childhood home.
What were your school days like?
What was your favorite fashion trend when you were a kid?
How did you meet your spouse?

The idea is that my kids and grandkids and anyone else who’s interested can learn more about my life as they read through my answers to these questions. It’s been a fun project that I’ve been working on over the past 3-4 months.

I just finished answering this question and thought I’d share my answer here:

Can you share a favorite quote or saying of yours?

Life is a journey, not a destination.

I’m not sure who said this first. It’s something I said for years before learning that it was a famous quote from someone else. Turns out there are posters and artwork that you can buy that highlight this quote. Maybe I saw the quote decades ago and it lived in my subconscious mind until later in life.

I don’t have anything against goal setting or visualizing a future and going after it. But it’s important to avoid having tunnel vision in your pursuit of goal achievement since you may miss other opportunities and experiences that introduce themselves along the way.

I’m reminded of a drawing of a stickperson on a ladder. They are locked in on their goal: reaching the top of that ladder before anyone else. This person even jumps over someone and kicks another person off the ladder in their effort to reach the top first. When this person finally reaches the top, they find that the ladder doesn’t actually lead anywhere. Their ladder is standing in the air and not leaning against anything.

The lesson is to make sure the ladder you’re climbing is going somewhere you really want to go.

When you reach your goal, no matter how lofty and difficult it was to achieve, you are merely at a new starting point or more accurately, you’ve made it to one of an infinite number of stops in your life-long journey.

The real goal should be to maximize your enjoyment of the journey itself. To appreciate the small things that happen, the surprises, the diversions, the successes and the failures, the people you meet, and the places you get to experience along the way.

Life is that thing that happens while you’re busy making other plans.

This one is closely related to the first quote. Life is a series of “nows” that are happening in real-time. You can make plans, point yourself in a particular direction, and even tell yourself that you’re in control of all the things that are happening in your life (spoiler alert – you’re not in control of all the things, you only control your response to all the things).

The time to start something new or something that will improve your life is always six months ago. While you’re busy talking about your future, it’s already happening. That thing you’re thinking about doing today but procrastinating while you do more planning will become that thing you should have done six months ago.

Plans are valuable, and you should have a broad plan with some key pillars that you can stand on throughout your life. It’s equally important to avoid hiding behind the planning phases of your life and forgetting to live your life purposely. It turns out that life’s happening anyway, so you might as well live it proactively and not reactively.

These are the good times.

The shortened version of this among friends is, “Good times.” Meaning these are the good times we’ll look back on fondly when we get older. No matter how screwed up something is, or how hard the thing you’re doing right now is, or how much you just failed… all of it will be lumped into your mind and memory as “good times” from your past.

In fact, some of your worst life experiences or life failures might even become the fondest memories you share in the future. You might reflect on how great something was, or how it was good that you had that failure or that heartbreak so you could apply what you learned later in life.

It’s unfortunate that we usually don’t realize this when these things are happening to us in the present.

Hourglasses, Egg Cups, and Grandma Anne

We know better. Some moments carry more magic than others.

‘Cause you can’t jump the track,

we’re like cars on a cable,

And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table.

No one can find the rewind button, girl

So cradle your head in your hands

And breathe… just breathe,

Oh breathe, just breathe.

–Anna Nalick

Grandma Anne had a small hourglass in her kitchen. It was her egg timer, and I’m sure thousands of other kitchens had the same thing. In my Grandma’s kitchen, that timer was the magical key to making Eggs in the Egg Cup. The starring attraction was a perfectly soft-boiled egg. The proper dipping tool was a lady finger (toast cut into strips).

Forty years later, I could soft-boil some eggs. I could slice my toast into strips. I could find proper egg cups for serving. It wouldn’t be the same. I don’t have Grandma’s egg timer, or her loving touch.

Hourglasses don’t care about how time passes. Their job is only to measure its passing. Each grain of sand merely represents a moment in time.

We know better. Some moments carry more magic than others.

When I started this post, it was going to be about time passing through the hourglass and how it symbolizes our lives. We only get one pass through the hourglass (it’s glued to the table). We don’t know how much sand is left. We don’t know if our hourglass will fall off the proverbial table and shatter in an instant.

Nothing new there, but I had a sense there was something else, so I started writing to find out.

The image of Grandma Anne’s egg timer and lady fingers filled my head. I haven’t had Egg in the Egg Cup in forty years. Grandma Anne passed away more than twenty years ago. Yet I can see the many breakfasts she served when I spent the night at her house. I smell the bacon. I hear the crunching of the toast.

She taught me Yahtzee, and then Triple Yahtzee. I can hear the dice rolling around in the cup. She folded a napkin in the bottom of the dice cup to keep the noise down. She shared a lot of Grandma wisdom on strategic thinking during those Yahtzee games.

One thing is certain as the sand passes through my hourglass. I get only one pass. But I get to experience my memories as often as I’d like…even when I least expect it. How cool is that!

Photo Credit: Nick Valdovinos

Your Ten Best Days

What if you could choose the ten best days in your life and relive them as many times as you want? You only get to choose ten.

How would you go about choosing your ten best? Here are some possibilities to kick-start your thought process (in no particular order):

The day you learned to ride a bike
The day you lost your first tooth
The day you hit your first homerun
The day you got your driver’s license
The day you graduated from high school
The day you graduated from college
The day you received your first paycheck
The day you bought your first car (which might have been the day after you got your first paycheck)
Your wedding day
The day you finished your first marathon
The days your children were born
The day you became the boss
The day your trained someone else to be the boss
The days your children graduated from high school…how about college?
The days your children were married
Your first visit to the Grand Canyon
The day you went to the top of the Eiffel Tower
The day you and your family swam with dolphins
The day the doctor told you that you were cancer free
The day you watched your grandson being born (a definite front runner for me)
The days you visited your children’s first homes
That super hot day when you and your kids went to the Angel game and tried to keep cool with spray bottles
The day you zip-lined through a rainforest
The day you retired
The day you first had a Tommy’s Burger
The day you helped a complete stranger

The possibilities are infinite, and everyone’s list is different. Have you chosen your ten best days yet? What pictures flash in your mind as you try to decide?

Here’s some good news: you don’t have to choose just ten. And, you get to relive your best days any time you’d like. All you have to do is picture them in your mind, like you just did.

Here’s one more piece of good news: many of your best days are still in front of you, yet to be enjoyed.