Caruso by Ricki T Thues

Caruso

 

Caruso loved everyone he met. His interest in you was genuine and focused.

Sometimes it was hard to learn about Caruso, so understated his ego, so intent his interest.

 

When Caruso questioned himself, he often knew the answer. He was like losing a twin brother at birth and acquiring both the dominant and the deferential personalities of both. In conversation, you never knew who was in control. Was it you as the center of attention or Caruso as the puppeteer?

 

I met Caruso at a local bar. He walked up to the bar and took the stool next to me. He was dressed in a smart suit and well-groomed. His disarming smile was immediately captivating.

I turned to him and said, “Hi, I’m Thomas. Do you come here often?”

“Yes, I’m a local businessman. Nice to meet you, Thomas… or do you prefer Tom?”

“People call me Thomas.”

“Names are important, Thomas. I once read a novel that included a conversation with a tree. It took the tree twenty days to say its name. Do you like fantasy?”

“Oh yes. I love to read Ursula LeGuinn.”

“Which book is your favorite?”

“Actually, three. The Earthsea trilogy tells the story of a wizard from his birth to his death and his relationship with a dragon.”

“Tell me more,” said Caruso. He had me retelling the highlights of the books I love so well.

 

In the middle of my story, a friend from work walked up and sat on my other side. I gave him a nod and finished my thought.

Dillan listened to my story and said, “How can you like those fantastical tales? You should be more grounded in reality.” I gave him a Spock eyebrow.

“Oh Dillan,” I said. “This is my new friend Caruso.”

Shaking hands, Caruso said, “Hello Dillan. Speaking of grounded, what types of books do you like to read?”

“I like biographies, especially about people in my field.”

“That’s a great way to get ahead. When I am learning a new skill, I always seek out an experienced mentor who is already adept. Who do you admire in your field?”

“I am in AI and computing sales, so I look up to Jensen Huang of NVIDIA.”

Caruso asked me, “Wouldn’t it be fun to ask an AI to write a fantasy tale starring Huang as the hero?”

“Should he be a knight, a king, or a wizard?” I quipped.

“What do you think, Dillan?” asked Caruso. “When it comes down to it, fantasy is about human beings. Do you think your AI could write that story?”

The rest of the conversation was Dillian musing about what kind of wizard Jensen Huang would be.

 

Dillan can sometimes be abrasive. There were people at the bar who I wouldn’t think a good fit for Dillian. One of them was Sally. She is quiet, the definition of a wallflower. When I saw her across the room, I waved and told Caruso, “Sally is shy, but an excellent AI engineer.” She was dressed plainly, her hair pinned up in a utilitarian do. Her eyes shone with a pretty, intelligent sparkle. She hugged her hand to her side and gave me a small palm wave. Caruso looked at me with raised eyes. He struck across the room with a focused intent. People instinctively parted to let him through. I watched as Caruso shook Sally’s hand, chatted briefly, then led Sally back across the room to my growing circle of friends. Dillan and I stood and the four of us sat at a table nearby.

 

Dillan knew Sally. “How’s the geek squad?” he said in a mild taunt. She hung her head a little and managed a stuttered “F-fine.”

“Sally is the finest coder I’ve ever met,” I said.

Caruso asked, “What kind of project are you working on, Sally?”

Her eyes lit up as she said, “It’s a specialized chatbot that will write magazine articles. We call her MagChat.”

“Dillian was interested in an AI writing a fantasy story casting Jensen Huang as a wizard. Is that something your bot could do?” asked Caruso.

“Well, yes,” she said, now excited. Turning to Dillian, she said, “If you can describe the characters and the plot, my chatbot can write the story. Just use facts you know about Huang’s management style and personality, and MagChat will do the rest.”

“Sorry about the geek squad comment. I was just joking,” Dillan said to Sally sheepishly. “This sounds like a fun story.”

“Come by Engineering sometime and I’ll show you the system.”

Dillan asked Sally if he could buy her a drink. As he stepped up to the bar, Sally let her hair down. Caruso gave me a wink.

 

Caruso wove himself through all the conversations. He would throw out a tidbit of himself as a catalyst to bring out the best in others. One of the men at a table near our group stood up and smiled down at us. “My name is Fred, call me Freddy. May I join you?” I motioned to the empty chair and Freddy said, “Sorry to eavesdrop. I used to work as a hardware engineer at NVIDIA and knew Jensen Huang pretty well.” Freddy sat down.

“I know a little about fiction plot lines,” said Caruso. “I’ve done some writing and know that solid characters are essential in a story. How would you cast the Huang fantasy story Freddy?”

“Well, I like Huang as the wizard. His engineers can be his acolytes. I would cast the ChatRTX AI as the dragon. The NVIDIA LLM expert, Nancy Agrwal, will be the princess who was kidnapped by the sorcerer Elon Musk for her engineering expertise.”

 

Sally took out her tablet and asked Dillan for a few details about Huang. She added the cast of Freddy’s characters. Then she asked MagChat for an outline of a fantasy story. The following appeared on her tablet:

 

Title: The Wizard of Silicon Vale

I. Setup

•           Silicon Vale: A magical kingdom powered by enchanted circuits.

•           Huang Jensen: The wizard, guiding engineers as his acolytes.

•           RTX: A dragon whose power can reshape reality.

•           Agarwa Nancer: Princess and LLM sorceress, key to controlling the dragon.

 

II. Conflict

•           Villain: Sorcerer Muskrat Nole, rogue technomancer seeking Agarwa to exploit her knowledge and enslave the dragon.

•           Inciting Incident: Agarwa is kidnapped, angering the dragon and threatening the kingdom’s magic.

 

III. Quest

•           Objective: Rescue Agarwa and restore balance.

•           Challenges:

•           Firewall Mountains (glitches and rogue programs)

•           Desert of Deprecated Spells (forgotten, dangerous magic)

•           Mechanized Fortress (Elon’s enchanted hacking machines)

•           Dragon’s Role: A powerful ally, but only responsive to Agarwa’s guidance.

 

IV. Climax

•           Huang confronts Muskrat.

•           Agarwa deciphers the dragon’s language, freeing it to defeat Muskrat’s schemes.

 

V. Resolution

•           Agarwa returns as princess. She becomes an apprentice of Huang, mentoring acolytes and guiding ChatRTX.

•           Kingdom stronger, with foreshadowing of future adventures.

 

Sally passes around the tablet. Dillan’s mouth drops open. He stammers, “T-This has such a real-life parallel.”

Caruso smiled, “Some names have been changed to protect the innocent.”

“Just barely,” said Sally. “Let’s meet in my Engineering office tomorrow, and you all can help me turn this into a fleshed-out story. MagChat will be thrilled to give it a go.”

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

“I would love to join you, if that’s all right?” asked Caruso.

We told him the address of SpecialTech and agreed on a time. Caruso ordered another round of drinks.

 

The party started to wind down. Caruso asked, “Anyone want a bite to eat? I know a nice little restaurant right down the street.”

Everyone in our circle chimed in with an enthusiastic “YES.”

 

We followed Caruso out of the bar and strolled down the street. The night was young and our little group was famished.

 

Caruso stopped in front of the Green Table, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with a beautifully painted emerald green door and a lighted light green lace-curtained window. He bowed and gestured toward the door with a flourish of one arm. Magically, a Maître d’ opened the door and invited us in. Alfred was the picture of quiet authority, polish, and hospitality. He was formal in his black, finely tailored tuxedo jacket, bow tie, and crisp white dress shirt. There was the requisite linen towel over his left forearm. Alfred looked at Caruso and said, “Sir?”

“These are my friends, Alfred. Please prepare my table. “It is ready, sir. Please follow me lady and gentlemen.” He turned on a heel and we all followed him into the classy restaurant and through a back-room door.

 

The room was a scene out of The Godfather: old-world refinement, linen tablecloths, subdued lighting, polished wood, and a sense of exclusivity. As we were being seated, Caruso said, “Alfred will take care of you. I couldn’t run this restaurant without him,” then turned and disappeared through a side door. Alfred took our drink orders and disappeared as well.

 

“What a surprise,” I said.

“Who is this guy anyway?” asked Dillan

“I like him,” said Sally.

Freddy said, “He owns this place?”

 

Alfred returned with our aperitifs.

 

Just then, Caruso came through the kitchen door, arm in arm with the chef.

“This is Graham. He is the heart of the Green Door. Graham, some new friends, Sally, Freddy, Dillan, and Thomas.”

“My pleasure,” said Graham. “I would like to prepare one of my gourmet favorites, Salmon en Croûte. Would that please the table?”

We all nodded and Graham disappeared.

 

The Salmon en Croûte arrived at the table like a small ceremony. The pastry was burnished and golden, its surface lightly blistered, giving way beneath the knife with a soft, buttery sigh. Steam escaped, carrying the scent of herbs and sea—dill, lemon, and the faint sweetness of the salmon within. Inside, the fish was pale and tender, held in quiet balance by a layer of greens and cream, protected and ennobled by its crisp shell. It was a dish that spoke of patience and restraint, of warmth carefully contained, and of elegance achieved not by excess, but by craft.

 

An after-dinner digestif was served. The gentle herbal sweetness of the yellow Chartreuse echoed the subtle herbs of the salmon. When everyone finished sipping the Chartreuse, Caruso said, “The dinner check is covered. Thank you all for a lovely evening. I look forward to our meeting at SpecialTech tomorrow.

 

The next day, we all arrived at SpecialTech. Sally fired up MagChat. With subtle nudging guidance from Caruso, we disparate five pitched in to create a gripping fantasy story. 

 

Sally pulled some strings with Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine. The story was published the following month, bearing MagChat’s and all five of our bylines.

 

The night of the publication we all met at the Green Door. We had a delicious dinner that couldn’t be beat. Our pride of “The Wizard of Silicon Vale” was tangible. The evening was filled with celebration of our new friendships.

 

Caruso raised his glass. “To all of you.”

“And to you, Caruso!” 

Pixar's 22 Rules of Sttorytelling

 Pixar’s 22 Rules of Storytelling

#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their success.
(We love the strugglers more than the flawless.)

#2: You have to keep keep in mind what’s interesting to you as an audience, not what’s fun to do as a writer. They can be very different.
(Hard truth: your clever wordplay might not land. Focus on connection.)

#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won’t see what the story is actually about until you’re at the end of it. Now rewrite.

#4: The story frame:
Once upon a time there was ___.
Every day, ___.
One day ___.
Because of that, ___.
Because of that, ___.
Until finally ___.
(Yes, this works for pitch decks too.)

#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.
(Translation: cut the fluff. Always.)

#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?
(Comfort zones don’t sell tickets—or products.)

#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front.
(Same for content: know the CTA before you start writing.)

#8: Finish your story, let go even if it’s not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time.

#9: When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up.
(Brainstorm in reverse. Brilliant hack. This also works for figuring out who your ideal customers are… start by knowing who they aren’t.)

#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you’ve got to recognize it before you can use it.
(Deconstruction is the fastest way to level up.)

#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone.

#12: Discount the first thing that comes to mind. And the second, the third, fourth, fifth…get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself.

#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it’s poison to the audience.
(No vanilla. Same for brand voice.)

#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What’s the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That’s the heart of it.

#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations.
(Empathy > everything.)

#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against.

#17: No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on. It’ll come back around to be useful later.

#18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining.
(Perfectionism kills stories. And, well, everything.)

#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.

#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d’you rearrange them into what you DO like?

#21: You gotta identify with your situation and characters. You can’t just write ‘cool’. What would make YOU act that way?

#22: What’s the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there.

Why This List Still Hits

Pixar’s movies work because they understand that stories don’t live in plot twists or witty dialogue. They live in truth.

Each of these rules is a way of getting to the truth of your story, faster. It doesn’t matter if it’s a novel, a keynote or a LinkedIn Post. And that’s the part worth stealing. The real magic isn’t that toys come to life. It’s that you believe it, and by the end, you feel changed.

Father & Son by Paul Delgado

 

Father & Son

It has been 17 years since my dad passed away at age 84. 

He was in so many ways bigger than life…My hero and mentor and his words of wisdom are still my guiding compass today.

Looking back at my life now that I am in my seventies, the regrets and mistakes on my life’s journey resound in the depths of the night.  Lying in bed looking out at the ocean from my bedroom window, I often think about the times I didn’t listen to him and foolishly jumped off the cliff of bad judgement into a pool of regret. 

He used to tell me so many times…

”I give you this advice because I have been down that path before and don’t want you to step on a landmine”.

His words of wisdom were especially meaningful when I turned eighteen.

It was September of 1971, and I had just registered for the draft. 

My lottery number was 95 and although not a particularly low number, I was still on the cusp of easily being drafted.

The Viet Nam war was a divisive time in America, and I remember joining a peace March organized by Whittier College students. The war had already claimed fifty thousand young American lives and there was no clear path ahead as to an end. I was quite torn as to what to do. 

Should I enlist? My cousin Art was six years older and had enlisted a few years before. Since childhood he was my big brother and best friend. His pals. Mike, Adrian and Raulie, who I had also respected since grammar school, joined the army in 1968 and saw combat as infantrymen.

Needless to say, the draft was a dilemma that weighed heavily on me. During my first semester in college the anti-war sentiment was strong. I personally felt the war was misguided and pointless, yet, I was torn as to what path to take. My intuition told me to avoid this war at all costs. Yet, my father’s distinguished military service in WWII made me think twice about being a potential draft dodger. 

An advantage of enlisting back then was you could select an area of service such as an aviation mechanic, rather than being drafted and another infantry boot on the ground. It seemed to me that by enlisting I perhaps could control a bit of my destiny. If there was such a thing.

In early January of the following year,1972, The Vietnamese launched a major offensive in the Quang Tri province along the DMZ (border between the North and South). In response, Nixon unleashed Operation Linebacker, the unrestricted bombing of all military targets in North Vietnam. It looked like this would be a new phase in the war and an immediate need for more draftees.

What to do?

Early one Saturday morning, sitting on the patio of our home in La Mirada, I was lost in thought. My dad sat down on the lawn chair next to me with two cups of coffee and commented on the beautiful morning. Crisp blue sky and typical early January Southern California weather.

He didn’t say anything as he handed me a cup while he sipped his coffee. 

I told him I was worried about the direction of the war and wasn’t sure what to do regarding the draft.

As we sat and drank our coffee, he quietly listened as I explained my inner struggle. 

“Should I enlist?”

“Should I wait and get drafted?”

“Should I go to Canada??”

I told him I wanted to do the right thing and not disappoint him.

He sat quietly and listened intently.

“Dad…what should I do?”

He had a distant look in his eyes when he spoke.

“Paul…War is a terrible thing… There are no words to describe the horror you will see and the terror you will feel.

“There is no easy answer to your question.

“When I was your age and confronted with the same question, the only choice for the western world was to fight and defeat Nazi Germany and Japan.

“But this war is much different.”

His eyes were filled with tears as he said,

“I could not bear the thought of losing you.

“But you must follow your heart.

“Whatever you decide, I stand shoulder to shoulder with you.

“But if I were you, I would roll the dice.

 “If you get drafted…Serve with honor.

“But I believe this war will end soon.

“Stay in school.”

And so I did.

He was always right.

Aunt Nancy by Don Taco

  I had news this morning. My Aunt Nancy passed away.

  She was well into her 80s, had been ailing a while, had recently broken an arm in a fall, made it to the family's Thanksgiving dinner, held out long enough for her eldest daughter, Ellen, and her husband Ray, to finish traveling across the country and have a visit, and then peacefully drifted off. Life can treat you worse that that. As our clan well knows.

  My clan, our clan, and I choose that word very deliberately, is matriarchal, and I choose that word very deliberately as well. Some of you knew or met my mother. My sisters also. No more needs to be said. Women hold up much more than half the sky in my world. I'm fine with that. It seems perfectly normal, and it works. It works a hell of a lot better than the government and the culture here in the country I grew up in. 

  My grandmother, Harriet, Nancy's mother, didn't like the term Grandma. She was Nannie. She may have inherited that from her mother, Old Nannie. I am not sure if I was ever old enough to meet Old Nannie, but as I am among the eldest of my generation, she may have met me. Old Nannie was famous for beginning the festivities at the big holiday dinners by waving a turkey leg around and shouting, "Down with the Roosians!" Having heard this story all our lives from our parents, me and my two dozen cousins always begged Nannie to take up that cry. But she didn't like the turkey legs, and was reluctant to become her mother, for whatever reasons. 

  Harriet herself lived to be 101 and a half, and you could have used her for the dictionary illustration of frail, but she was lucid to the end.

  We have a reunion every three years. Anywhere up to 150 people might attend. The next one after Nannie passed, (it almost seems disrespectful to say Harriet. She was always Nannie to me), it occurred to me that we had never gathered without her, and I went and found Nancy, the eldest of her four children, and pointed out that she was now the eldest generation. She whooped, "I AM THE MATRIARCH!" And I said, "Yes, you are!" It occurs to me now that she wasn't much older then than I am now.

  Nancy was Harriet's eldest, and my mother, Sally, was next. She has been gone a while now. The two youngest are the boys, Ed and John, my uncles, who are still with us. This next statement, if I was to say it in earshot of my clan members, would elicit gales of laughter, for the truth of it. My uncles are NOT clan leaders.

  So, where does that leave us? Steve and I, born a few months apart, are the oldest of the male cousins. His sister Ellen, a few years older, is the only one born before us. For better or worse, she has inherited the position. Whether our generation feels ready or not. 

  I hope we're worthy. But, you know what? I believe we are. We stand on the shoulders of giants.

Beating Hearts And Legacy By Mike Freeman

 Beating Hearts And Legacy

By Mike Freeman

I miss my birth. People say I was there. But I have no recollection. I also miss my wife's birth. I'm a robust two-year-old in Southern California when a doctor slaps her fanny in Northern California.

I explore the universe by flying my secret rocket ship disguised as an orange tree in our backyard. I discover ant hills and play with my red fire truck, which has a working hose. Sometimes, I drown ants while trying to rescue them from imaginary fires.

My wife and I got married 18 months after our first date. Our two beating hearts are now responsible for bringing seven beating hearts to this planet. I do not know how they will impact the over 8 billion beating hearts on Earth. I experience their beginning. Their contributions and endings are in the fog of the future.

Each of our three children's births is an adventure.

Beating Heart One

DeeAnn and I finalize the last details of our baby's room. We celebrate with a large pizza and look forward to a great night's sleep. Our baby is due in three weeks. It is a great plan. Our baby disagrees.

Late that night, my wife wakes up and says, "The baby is coming!"

I compassionately reply, "The baby bumped your bladder. Forget it."

Wife and baby win the argument. Our departure to the hospital reminds me of a Keystone cops movie clip.

A few hours later, our doctor says, "Congratulations! You have a conehead baby boy!"

A nurse uses a blue pullover hat to hide our son's conehead.

Another nurse lays Jay down on DeeAnn's chest. Her face is glowing with love and joy. A short while later, she turns and says," I can do this again!"

I am agast. I am just beginning to process our life transition!

Beating Heart Two

Our next baby decides to be born during the sixth month of pregnancy. DeeAnn goes on bed rest. Over the next few months, we rush to the hospital a few times, thinking today is the day. Each time we return empty-handed.

I stopped for a Carl's Jr. hamburger one day, while working. As I wait for my meal, the restaurant manager yells into the dining area, "Is Mike Freeman here?"

"Here I am," I answer.

He tells me to call my workplace. Cell phones are a few decades away.

I call my work on a landline.

They say, "Your wife is on the way to the hospital to have the baby."

I drive to the hospital like a madman. I am experiencing a horrific vision of my wife and a highway patrol officer delivering our baby on the side of the freeway.

I sprint into the hospital looking for my wife. I bounce back and forth between the emergency and delivery rooms. No DeeAnn!

I desperately call home, waking her up. She changed her mind while driving into the hospital and returned home to nap.

She left me a message at work. I start thinking about investing in walkie-talkies.

One hospital visit, our doctor proclaims, "It is time."

Our nurse checks DeeAnn and says, "It will be a while."

The doctor decides to give my wife an epidural.

DeeAnn sits up and says, "The baby is coming!"

"No way," says the nurse, "I just checked."

She checks again.

"The baby is coming!" she exclaims.

Nurses sprint down a long hallway, towing DeeAnn on a cart to the delivery room. Our doctor is putting on his garments as he runs by me.

"Put these on." He says, throwing my garments to me.

My doctor's expertise in dressing while running is impressive. I stumble down the hallway, tripping over my pants.

I careen around the corner, running into the delivery room. I begin coaching DeeAnn to take slow, deep breaths. On her third breath, our son Zack is born. Then her epidural kicks in.

Beating Heart Three

"How will our third child fit into our family?" I wonder. "There are no corners to go into. Do we evolve from a square into a pentagon?"

It is a gorgeous September Sunday morning. Early morning sunlight cascades into our hospital room. Our doctor announces that this is the day. We will have a new family member.

"There goes our relaxing football Sundays," I muse.

My wife is an avid San Diego Charger fan. We hope to watch one last game before the flurry of infant care.

My hope for watching the game evaporates. My wife is determined.

"We've got to have this baby before game time!" DeeAnn declares.

Everyone laughs. This unpredictable process takes time.

I will never understand the miracle of birth. That is God's territory. Our daughter, Hannah, quietly arrives with eyes open, minutes before kickoff. She does not want to miss the football game either!

Our three little beating hearts grow up. They make our beating hearts proud. They also provide a few near heart attacks along the journey.

Beating Hearts Four and Five

Both sons marry. They begin their families.

DeeAnn and I fly to Texas for the birth of our first grandchild. Finn, a bald bundle of boy joy, arrives. We instantly fall in love. We travel to Northern California five months later. Granddaughter Kayden makes her majestic entrance into the world and our immediate love.

We instantly start spoiling our grandkids with many gifts. We refuse to discipline them. That is the role of parents. We discover tremendous satisfaction watching our children discipline their tantruming children, changing dirty diapers, and enduring sleepless nights. Some of the words and instructions they give our grandchildren echo from our distant past. We do not say anything. We smile and leave when the chaos is overwhelming.

One week after Kayden is born, I fall down concrete stairs while hiking and break my neck. I am now a quadriplegic. Traveling with a wheelchair is a complex challenge. The only time I see our grandchildren is when they visit us.

Beating Hearts Six and Seven

Two years later, Jordan is triumphantly born. Callum makes his energetic appearance six months later. I am physically unable to attend their births, but am there spiritually and emotionally.

DeeAnn and I continue savoring our roles as parents and grandparents. We now have seven beating hearts to nurture and encourage. We thank God for the time we have to enjoy this. I can now travel to visit our children and grandchildren.

I wonder how long DeeAnn's and mine hearts will continue beating. If my wife's heart stops beating before mine, she says I am free to marry again. She doesn't mean it.

If my heart stops beating before hers, I tell her to do whatever makes her happy. I mean it.

If I am in heaven, I will joyfully wait for her and the others to join me. If in hell, I have bigger things to be concerned about. If atheists are right and I disappear into nothingness, it won't matter.

Will I leave a legacy? All the people I share my life with will either be gone before or with me. Only my children and grandchildren will know me personally in that future. Will I be that person in a photograph that future generations do not know or care about?

Do I think leaving a legacy is important? I sense it is. It seems to be the measure of a well-lived life. But how to measure it?

Poet Maya Angelou says, "Your legacy is written in the number of lives you touch, not the things you own."

I believe my best legacy is living and sharing values that encourage people to reach their full God-given potential. I want to be a contagion to everyone. What values allow me to achieve this?

DeeAnn and I work to instill the following values into our seven beating hearts:

1. Perfection is not the standard.
2. Everything is redeemable.
3. Speak your truth and listen with the intention of being influenced.
4. Embrace the ambiguity. Our life adventure unravels at its own pace.

After becoming a quadriplegic, I learn two more:

1. Help others and allow them to help you.
2. Be grateful for all things, all the time.

Bill Graham says, "The greatest legacy one can pass on to one's children and grandchildren is not money or material things accumulated in one's life, but rather a legacy of character."

DeeAnn’s and my legacy is living our values and the seven beating hearts we help bring into the world. Maybe one of these seven beating hearts can help influence or become the next Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jr., or Billy Graham.