Retirement Career—or Calling?

I retired just this last February, and had begun using the term retirement career (which I heard somewhere last year) instead of retirement when telling others about my plans—mostly because I didn’t want to convey the impression that I don’t expect to work. On the contrary, I hope to do a lot of work. But as I began to think about things more deliberately and write down some thoughts about my transition, I found that term was lacking, too. True work is not necessarily about a career or job at all. What I really hope to experience is the living out of a retirement calling—a retirement vocation, if you prefer. The so-called “golden handcuffs” may have come off, the fulltime corporate job may be over, but there are still responsibilities to be fulfilled.

Ever since I became aware that God loved me, ever since I heard God “whispering my name,” as Robert Benson puts it in Between the Dreaming and the Coming True, I’ve known that there was only one possible response: total surrender. No tithe—10% or otherwise—would be enough. It had to be everything. I knew that whatever I did with my life, however I ended up using the talents and aptitudes and insights God had given me, God had to be at the helm of the enterprise. It wasn’t just a matter of tipping my hat in God’s direction and then going on my merry way. As each new job possibility came along, it would have to meet some special criteria, not just be a way to make some money.

As Benson reminds us in his excellent book, the Dreamer spoke us into being because he has a dream for us. That dream won’t come true—no one will become that name God whispered into existence, no one will become Doug, or Jan, or Chele, or David—unless we hear that word, and be that word. To put it in the simplest terms, the reason we were sent into this world is to be the one who was sent into this world. Trouble is, that turns out not to be quite as simple as it sounds. Too easily we get lost in all the things we think we should be, and what others tell us our life should look like. Before we realize it, we’re measuring our success by the American Dream instead of the Dreamer’s Dream. And finding our way back to the person we were meant to be is no more (and no less) than finding our way back to the Dreamer.

So, yeah. Retirement calling is more like it.

Working Folk

I come from a long line of working folk. Farmers, mostly. When I was seven years old, we moved a few miles into the country to an 80-acre farm with an apple orchard. Although my Dad didn’t think farming was sufficient to provide a family livelihood without supplementation—he kept his job as a Consumers Power serviceman—he had had a love of farming from the time he was a boy, and grew up on a family farm himself, established in the late 1800s by his great-grandfather just a few miles away. Our homestead near Sidney, Michigan gave Dad a chance to realize that dream up close and personal.

Of course, a son’s typical part in this kind of dream is to provide labor, and maybe take over the farm someday. Though the future part didn’t work out, the labor part certainly did! Though I wouldn’t say I was cut out for farming, I got pretty good at some of my tasks, especially pruning. And believe me, with 10 acres of old trees already there, plus the hundreds of trees Dad planted over the first few years, I got plenty of practice. Taking care of the orchard was a family affair, from planting trees to caring for trees and fruit to harvest-time activities, including picking, sorting, merchandising, and making cider. We all worked together sometimes, including grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins, and sometimes just my brother Curt and I. There was plenty of time working on my own, too, which provided ample opportunity for reflection (which sounds a little better than daydreaming, I suppose), and even writing a few songs. Mind you, I don’t think Dad had that in mind when he handed out the assignments.

You learn a lot about life on a farm, and although there was a time I would gladly have traded the experience, I wouldn’t do it now. For one thing, you learn that you’re part of a very big world, and that world doesn’t revolve around you. You learn a few things about how dependent you are on the land, the animals, the weather, the seasons. You learn how to work whether you feel like it or not, what you’re good (and not so good) at, and the importance of doing your best. You learn how even the most mundane tasks are a necessary part of the whole picture, and that everything, no matter how little, has a purpose.

And as it happens, on that farm in the middle of lower Michigan, I developed interests in music, writing, astronomy and architecture. You know, over the last few days I’ve looked through a couple folders of memorabilia my Mom had kept for me that made the trip to Hawaiʻi. It was a sort of “Doug’s accomplishments” scrapbook, I guess. I found some amazing things in these snapshots from my past (a few of which I’ve included in the photos below): I found newspaper clippings, receipts for collections of encyclopedias and music books bought on time for us kids, telescope manuals, contest adjudication sheets, teacher evaluations, newsletters from groups I’d been involved with, photos, medals, album inserts, magazine ads, cards, letters from friends whom they had hosted at the farm at one time or another… But without doubt the most remarkable thing I found in this “career cornucopia” was love. Love and support. The love and support of a family that would have been behind me no matter which area I decided to pursue. A family that taught me to listen for God’s whisper in the first place, and then outfitted me for the journey, wherever it led. All to say that I can’t leave life on the farm without pointing out the most important thing I learned there: God loves me. Yes, I grew up with as many problems and self-doubts as the next guy, but thank God, I also managed to pick up the most important, the bedrock belief of my life: God loves me! I take no credit for this. It’s not too hard to pick up such a belief when that love is modeled around you daily through parents, great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts and uncles and scads of cousins.

I’m very grateful that life on the farm prepared me to face my future in so many important ways, because life in a university came as quite a shock. To start with, there were twelve times as many people in my dorm as there were in my hometown. Standing there, in front of Bursley Hall, watching my folks drive away was one of the loneliest moments I can remember. But though the change was a shock in the “rude awakening” sense, it was a shock in the “revelation” sense, too, and it turned out to be a wonderful, deepening, broadening experience. Not just in relation to music (which I chose to be my focus in school), but in learning my place in the world, and developing my own voice. After three years at the University of Michigan School of Music, where I studied music composition and held a couple part-time jobs, my career path took a few unexpected turns. I left college early to serve with Huron Valley Youth for Christ as musical director and member of the YFC music group, New Jerusalem. That was quickly followed by two years with Good News Circle, a traveling evangelistic music group who put on community-wide, five-day-long crusades all over the country, with each meeting combining both music and preaching. [If you’d like a little highlight, you can view a rare video of GNC performing at a Billy Graham crusade in 1975. Beware! You may be assaulted by leisure suits and bell-bottoms.]

During this time, I was writing, recording and conducting music in addition to performing as soloist, keyboardist, vocalist and ersatz soundman. By the time I left GNC, I’d recorded three solo albums (the first of which is thankfully hard to find), one album with New Jerusalem, one album with Good News Circle, and several albums serving as sideman, arranger or writer.

Singer in the King’s Service

I embarked on a solo music career then for some 18 years, moving to Wichita, Kansas, then back to Ann Arbor, Michigan. During that period, I gave many concerts all over the U.S., but mainly in the Midwest. There were three more solo albums, too, thanks again to my long-time “discoverer” and producer and music partner and friend, Mike Kuzma. One of these was a double-album called Singer in the King’s Service, and Songs from Hannah Hurnard’s Classic Hinds’ Feet on High Places, a soundtrack-to-the-book recorded with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at Abbey Road in London. As usual, I held down part-time jobs when necessary to keep body and soul together. Once I found myself back in Ann Arbor—and only one year away from having to take all my courses over again—I finished my bachelor degree in music composition.

I gradually did less and less traveling, though. Not only was life on the road stretching me very thin, but my contemporary Christian music career was getting harder to navigate due to the constant strain of having to do all my own bookings, not to mention my deepening sexual confusion—and since that subject’s more book-sized than blog-sized, I’ll move on for now. (But you can read a lot more about that in the notes from the Truth album.)

I started doing more studio work to fill in the gaps. I was writing and arranging a lot—including profitable and not-so-profitable ventures. One memorable example was arranging and singing on a Domino’s Pizza commercial, where I made $10,000 for a two-week flight (airplay schedule)! And the project you are most likely to have heard is probably the string arrangement I did for “One Shining Moment,” a great David Barrett song that is still used as the final theme of the Final Four NCAA basketball tournament over 40 years later. I arranged, produced and sang on the Parents’ Choice Award-winning album by the SongSisters, Hello Sun, Goodnight Moon, as well as contributing to other albums for local artists, and some not so local. B. J. Thomas of “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” fame recorded one of my songs, and Chris Christian recorded a couple, too, as well as a few other artists. There were a lot of high points mixed in with those piles of forgotten demos done gratis.

The Hinds’ Feet album is a supreme illustration of the up-and-down nature of my “borderline” career at this point (as Jimmy Webb puts it). Although the album sold nearly 100,000 copies, more than all my other albums put together, it was mainly distributed through Christian bookstores, which were mostly small in size and low on cash, and which usually carried no other titles from our company. That meant we had absolutely no leverage, and believe it or not, we ended up never receiving payment on the lion’s share of our “sales.” So the money flow was, as it is for most in the music business, unreliable at best.

The last of my jobs in this music-centric period was as Composer with Media Station (yes, my official title was Composer!), an Ann Arbor-based multimedia production company, who had produced the CD-ROM version of The Lion King for Disney. At Media Station, I truly wrote music for a living, and got to write and perform music soundtracks for a dozen children’s “storybook” CD-ROMs like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree, Lamb Chop Loves Music, Barbie as Rapunzel, Tonka Raceway, and more. This was as close to a dream job as I’ve ever had, I think. Until…in only the second year, the bottom suddenly dropped out of the CD-ROM market. It only took one short Friday afternoon meeting for the sublime Composer position to revert back to Lowly Consultant. I made a few attempts to continue this career with other multimedia producers, but since the entire CD-ROM industry was tanking, with most of the work being done in either Seattle or New York, and me not willing to leave Michigan, it was a dead end. So it was time for the old career path to take another turn.

Writing, Webbing, and Such

By this point, I’d taught myself a lot about computers. In fact, I depended on computer hardware and software to create those music soundtracks I just mentioned. I’d even used an old (but cool) program called Hypercard to create my own income tax and genealogy programs for fun. And no matter what new application I learned, there was one constant: I was always complaining to David about how poorly written the documentation was. So I decided to try my hand at tech writing.

After only a few months, I got a job with Borders Books and Music, and during 12 years there under 13 bosses, I went from Tech Writer to Senior Tech Writer to Information Architect to Business Analyst. But a month after my biggest project went live, I was let go along with a couple hundred others by an army of people in white shirts with briefcases. So much for the dependable corporate job.

I enjoyed working freelance again, but eventually took a fulltime Web Communications Manager position with Internet2, a research and education (R&E) technical community dedicated to helping its members (high-research U.S. universities, as well as smaller schools and other educational and governmental organizations) collaborate to accomplish more than they could do alone. They regularly convene the R&E community to discuss the future of networking, and they own and operate the fastest R&E network in the world. Working the last nine years with Internet2 was without doubt the pinnacle of the non-musical portion of the career path.

This was a job where I felt I was doing some good in the world, as opposed to writing copy about hamburgers (which I have also done). But it also took me deeper into the technical weeds than ever, where I had to do things like use local development environments and push CSS and Javascript changes to git repositories and test changes on development, test and production systems. Even though I’ve found that web development is much like creating music, and can be very satisfying in many of the same ways, I couldn’t help feeling that there were others who could do my job. Maybe they wouldn’t do it with the same style as I did, but they could do it just fine, and it was time I let someone else make their own mark on things.

Calling All Retirees

In Benson’s book, he quotes a friend of his as suspecting that “we die with half our music left in us.” That would definitely be the case with me if I passed through the veil today, for there are more songs that have not been recorded than those that have been, as well as a few folders full of notes scrawled on napkins, programs and various other slips of paper that haven’t even made it to songhood yet. Who else could record all those unrecorded songs, or interpret all my musical hen scratchings, or complete the half-written songs? The older I got—and especially after the prostate cancer diagnosis—it just seemed more and more like I should be spending whatever time I had left doing things that only I could do, rather than “selling my life by the hour to someone who had no idea of the purchase they were making.”

I remember my great-grandfather Ralph Waldo Emerson May telling me when I was just a boy, “Work for yourself, Doug. Even if you only just make a living.” I did that for many years, Grandpa, but I guess I faltered and wandered into a 20-odd-year tech period after that. ’Course there were some important things that came about because of those jobs, minor details such as health insurance coverage, big debts retired and the like, and I was still able to do quite a lot of music “on the side,” as they say. I have Borders to thank for the privilege of once owning a grand piano, for instance. Anyway, I didn’t want to start second guessing all the twists and turns of my career, such as it is. I just wanted to get on with whatever my retirement calling would turn out to be.

As exciting as this whole retirement business has been, there’s been a good dose of fear mixed in. And I’ve had a few roadblocks come up, the biggest being my own self-doubts: So I have a songbook full of unrecorded songs. Who cares? In my most doubtful moments, I’ve thought to myself, You know, you never could make a real go of things the first time around, so what makes you think there’s any point in doing more now? Or I hear someone sing something really beautifully and find myself thinking: You can’t sing anywhere near that well. You can’t even sing as well as you used to! I wondered sometimes if I’d just lacked the faith all those years ago to push harder against the closed doors. I wondered if I’d get all prepared and make all these plans only to have the cancer return. Or whether I might not even live until a retirement date that still seemed light-years away. But deep down, I knew all these thoughts had more to do with the American Dream than the Dreamer’s Dream.

I battled similar thoughts as I was preparing to release my most recent album, Jimmy & Me, in 2010. You can read more about that on the album page. You also might notice there that the album is dedicated to David, my husband and partner in life. In 1989, he became the latest, most important member of my loving and supportive family.

Part of the reason I’ve always had this nagging need to do something more with the music I’ve been given—particularly during the “wandering years” in tech—is because it’s been drilled into me from a very young age that we are always to be “good and faithful servants” like those in the parable of the talents (Mt 25:14-30). We’re supposed to use what we’ve been given, not just bury it in a hole. Whether anyone else cares or not. Whether you get any recognition or not. Whether you make any money or not. To quote Benson again, if we do not sing the words God’s given us to sing, “it is not just our own little melody that suffers; the whole chorus is not as good.” In fact, “if you leave out enough of the words, even the Song of the whole universe will sound funny. The Song needs my word. It is not the same song without it. And I am the only one who has ever heard it…”

And as if that isn’t good enough reason in itself, as the months approaching the expected retirement date unfolded it seemed I was being given ever one more compelling reason.

On my way to work one morning, as I drove along beautiful Scio Church Road, I was praying about just that. “Lord, if it be your will, give me the strength and the time to work on these songs you’ve given me, so that they can be shared with others instead of just sitting in a musty old book.” As the bugs swirled in hazy clouds alongside the fields, I heard an answer. Not audible, but as clear as day. The same kind of answer I’ve heard several other times in my life: “I didn’t give you those songs because you have to do something with them. I gave them to you because I love you.”

The tears started, and I felt the doubts fall away. It’s true. Every single song, every one was first and foremost a gift from God to me, to tell me of his love for me in some special moment, or through some special person, or through a bluebird—or to help me through another lonely night, or to explain to me why something happened or didn’t happen. To urge me on, or to stop me in my tracks. But whatever each one was, whatever its message, it came from God, there was no mistake about that. And it came for me. Just for me!

Then came our momentous move to the Big Island in September, and the awesome experience of traveling the Mother Road to Hilo, with all its surprises and lessons. Eventually the fourth Sunday of Advent came along, finding us in a new church ʻohana (family), the Church of the Holy Apostles. For those of you not familiar with the term, Advent is a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the birth of Jesus as well as the return of Jesus at the second coming. David had volunteered to sing the lyric Psalm chosen for that particular day, a song by Tony Alonso called “Forever I Will Sing,” based on Psalm 89. But when David was asked to preach and celebrate Eucharist that day instead, I inherited the singing of the psalm. Now that normally wouldn’t have been any big deal, but right then and there it was. From the first time I picked up the music and began to sing, “Forever I will sing, forever I will sing the goodness of the Lord, Forever I will sing,” it hit me like a ton of bricks. Yes, of course I’ll keep on singing. How can I stop singing after God has so luxuriously poured out his grace on me through all these years—a grace that included the very words and music he’d given to me to sing about it!

A few services later, Katlin, our new priest at Holy Apostles, shared a poem with us during her New Year’s sermon, “For a New Beginning,” by John O’Donohue. The last couple of stanzas go like this:

“Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

“Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.”

No, God hadn’t forgotten me, nor had he lost patience with me. He’d been there all the time, helping me find my way back home again even as I moved thousands of miles away. Helping me trust the promise and “unfurl myself into the grace of beginning” (I love that!), even though the destination is not yet clear. Taking the risk to dream a dream with my name on it.

Thankfully, the communication from above goes on. As each new self-doubt rears its head, it seems there’s a faithful message there to counteract it. Even now that the retirement date is retiring. And I can’t help but wonder about you, dear reader. What dream were you put here to realize? Is there a word you alone can hear, or speak? Is there a song only you can complete?

“The journey between the dreaming and the coming true is a journey made on holy ground. It is a journey made through silence and longing where, if we will listen, we can hear the whisper of the Dreamer echoing deep within us, calling us to become what the Dreamer sees when our names were first whispered…

“The Dreamer’s dreams will always come true.” —Robert Benson in Between the Dreaming and the Coming True

Don’t be surprised if I open the gallery with my family. After all, I didn’t fall off a turnip truck. These are my great-grandparents, Nellie and Ralph Waldo Emerson May. I knew them well, and my great-grandma was part of my life into my third year of college. They built an apple farm in Michigan, and then built an orange grove in Florida—where we visited them every year. Great-grandpa May told me to “work for yourself, even if you only just make a living.”

My grandparents, Norval and Twilah Regis. They were very involved in our lives, and were my biggest supporters apart from my parents. They took over my great-grandparents’ apple farm.

My parents, Joyce and Leon Howell, posing in the backyard of the beautiful farm they created together.

An aerial shot of our farm near Sidney, Michigan.

My brother Curt and me in the back, and sister Doreen in the front. Don’t worry. We’re just on the pond by the back orchard at Grandma and Grandpa’s place.

We gathered around Aunt Leota and sang hymns and choruses all the time. So many times! And later, when I could play, I took over once in a while at the keyboard. Here I am with Curt and Doreen, and my cousins, Jeanne (my age), Joanne, and Rusty.

The old pruner and one of the new orchards. We became very good friends—except when it wouldn’t start.

Me and my roommate at MSU Youth Music Camp in the summer of 1966.

Jan (vocals), me (piano) and Janet (drums). We called ourselves The Portable Grapefruit.

Four New Jerusalem members in a 1973 vocal session for our first album, Shout Joyfully.

New Jerusalem brochure for YFC’s music program, Voice of Praise.

What I’ll always think of as the classic photo of my time with the Good News Circle, 1974-76. From left: Mark J, Kathy, Dan, Bob, Mark M, Pam, me! I’m so fortunate to have been part of both of these groups.

We sang one of my songs at the Billy Graham Crusade in Lubbock, TX. Yup, that’s me hiding in the back.

While with Good News Circle, I recorded my first two solo albums. This is from the string session for I’ve Been Freed.

After I left GNC, I moved to Wichita, Kansas. I lived with the wonderful Schultzes at first, later moving to an apartment. Here I am having breakfast at their table with Teddy, my true friend. Yes, I brought him from home. And yes, I know, that says a lot. This photo was in the first newsletter Mike K and I sent out to friends and fans.

I only have a few photos of concerts, usually just those sent in to me by people covering or sponsoring the event. This was taken after singing at a BYF convention in Ohio.

Promo shot for my third album, Singer in the King’s Service.

Bobbi and me singing background vocals for the Singer album.

Ever wondered how it looks from where the performer sits? This was taken at a concert in Wichita.

After the same Wichita concert. I’ve always enjoyed getting to know people after (and before, whenever possible) concerts even more than the performing part.

I worked on my classical piano skills with Joyce Priess, a wonderful pianist and teacher in Wichita. We did two duo-piano concerts together in the space of a couple years. One of the few occasions when I wore a tux. (Thanks to Brian and Cheryl for turning pages!)

On a singing trip to NW Nazarene University, Nampa, ID. Thanks, Sue!

Had to put in a shot of Okoboji Lutheran Bible Camp. What a magical place. This was from a candlelight concert in 1979, but I sang there quite a few times and have so many great memories—and friends. Thanks, Connie and Jeanne!

“Just you and me, Piano” (from “Piano,” by Jimmy Webb). This is my first Kawai, where it sat waiting for me in my Wichita apartment. This is where the songs were prayed and cried and pulled kicking and screaming into existence—where they became whole.

Talking to people after a concert in LaPorte, Indiana.

The crazy crew at Valparaiso University. I sang there eight years in a row. The year the Singer album came out, they asked me to do two shows back to back because there were too many to fit in the hall. Think that’s the only time that happened. Thank you, Valpo!

One of many outdoor concerts. Had to put in a photo with my famous ragtime era hat. I used to don that, along with a matching garter on my sleeve, before launching into “Thankful for the Sunshine.”

I could get people to do some amazing things sometimes! (Thanks for the photo, Steve.)

Paul, Stan, Mike and me during the recording of the first Damascus album (1977).

My last Composer’s Forum at U-M School of Music, when I went back to finish my degree. I wrote a classical piece based on “House on the Ocean.”

I love singing! Take that, Jackie King (of JackieKingLikesToSing.com fame).

No computerized notation programs back then, folks. I had to write out all the parts for the 55-piece RPO sessions by hand. This was the last part copied—the night before. My hand was so sore I had to put bandages and cream on it.

Here are a couple of the first violin parts we placed before the illustrious RPO musicians. I had played French Horn in high school, and paid close attention to how I wrote the four horn parts. The principal horn player came up afterwards to tell me “Good horn writing!” Will never forget that.

What a thrill to see the RPO truck in the driveway at Abbey Road on December 21, 1982.

Mike worked with Peter Mew in the control room during the sessions. Nance sat at the control room window, supervising.

The harpist wanted me to stay down in the studio for moral support (and to conduct her). She played the harp-only accompaniment to “My Beloved.”

My nephew, Christopher, and I, hard at work on my folks’ Florida porch.

It has been a privilege to work on David Barrett’s music. We had so many great times at Solid Sound with Rob and Will. I’ve done strings mainly, but other things too on occasion. I have a whole folder full of Barrett scores in my new bookcase.

A little glimpse into what we have to do many times in commercial music: Make it sound like someone else!

Two of my Barrett favorites. The one on the right you’ve probably already heard at some point (NCAA Final Four theme for over 20 years). The one on the left I hope you will hear one of these days. I think it’s my favorite string chart written for someone else.

Rob and Will from Solid Sound, with Shirley Stockwell, created SASI Sound, and I had a great time working with them all over several years.

Me and Dad at the market. Just wanted to prove that I did go home and work on the farm from time to time.

Met and spent some time with Michael W Smith when GNC was doing a crusade in Kenova, WV. He called me up one day years later to thank me, and it didn’t even dawn on me who he was until I hung up the phone. Here he is with me and my buddy Jonathan, backstage after his concert at Hill Auditorium in Ann Arbor.

My last vinyl album. Our timing was always impeccable. Our last order from the stamping plant must have been just weeks before the last vinyl record was sold in America.

Love Lonnie’s singing on this album (or anywhere!), and here’s the background vocals we did on one of my favorite tracks, “Hollywood.”

One of the most surprising side jobs I did was teaching a variety of aerobics classes—11 hours a week—for U-M Adult Lifestyles division. Everything from dance aerobics to 70-min hard-core sessions, to Fitness Over 50.

Here’s me with some of the die-hards at Fitness Over 50. We met in the middle of the local mall several times a week.

Me and my Davey. We both have great memories of this courtyard.

I directed music for a couple shows, and played for many, many others over the years. I accompanied Greenhills School spring musical rehearsals and performances for 14 years running.

Loved working with SongSisters for several years. We produced this wonderful album of Chris Barton’s amazing children’s music. It was a Parents’ Choice Award winner!

My first CD-ROM soundtrack for Media Station.

My last project with Borders was acting as the business-IT liaison for their new internal website, Bookmark.

I was a member of the Society for Technical Communication for several years, and this is a slide from a talk I gave there about “flexible careers.” Note my four areas of interest.

A few years later, I attended an interesting career workshop, where attendees charted our areas of interest (you’ll notice my gang of four yet again), and their prominence or importance in our careers over time.

Me and Ann Doyle preparing to play an outdoor concert in Depot Town, Ypsilanti, Michigan. We did quite a few, and sang at Ann Arbor’s famous coffeehouse, the Ark, several times.

My Aunt Leota and me. She was not only my piano teacher from age 6 to 16, but an important encourager and role model.

St. Barnabas Mass, my major work from 2015, is a gospel-flavored pop setting of the Episcopal mass. It will be available in various versions on this site if I can ever get around to it. Dedicated to the wonderful brothers and sisters of St. Barnabas, Chelsea, Michigan.

The last page of the St. Barnabas Mass. Last time we played it at St. B before our move.

Me and Mom. I was so glad she could attend the first celebration of the St. Barnabas Mass. Without her… Well, you know the rest!

Me and Ann D not only performed her wonderful music together, we worked our day jobs together! We both worked for Internet2 during my tenure from 2009 to 2018. Here we are at the 2016 Global Summit, Internet2’s 20th Anniversary celebration event in Chicago, Illinois.

Hawksnest East, my gorgeous studio in Manchester, Michigan. Recorded Jimmy & Me there in 2009/2010.

Me in what I’ve decided to call Hawksnest West, my new studio on the Big Island. I love the space (thanks, Davey!), and have already started working on the first new songs. Hope to unleash them on you very soon…