A perfect fall day.

Cooler air crept in this weekend, and Jess and I had the house to ourselves.

We cooked steaks over the grill, then added sweet potato fries and salad. As the sun faded, we took Cali for an evening walk before lighting the deck’s fire pit while watching football on a nearby TV.

Does it get any better?

An interesting fact.

This week, I learned about a continent which occupies just 4% of the planet’s surface but has shaped history more than any other over the past 500 years.

Which one?

Europe (not including Russia).

Massive ripple effects have marked the continent's last five centuries in economics, science, politics, culture, and creativity.

Think of these minds:

Copernicus
Galileo
Newton
Einstein
Shakespeare
Voltaire
Michelangelo
Da Vinci
Rembrandt
Mozart
Beethoven
Picasso
Van Gogh

Oh yeah, they gave us The Beatles, too.

Never underestimate the impact of four percent.

The best Christmas gift.

At 13 years old, I found a jewelry-sized box under the tree with my name on it. My dad told me it was my “big” present, which drove me crazy trying to guess.

He confirmed it wasn’t money, and not a ring or necklace. His hints only deepened the mystery.

When Christmas morning finally arrived, I had to wait until the end to open the surprise. And inside the box, nestled on satin lining, rested a tiny key.

I stared at my dad, confused. Then with a grin, he motioned to his bedroom.

Racing through the doorway, my eyes landed on a brown container waiting on his bed. I recognized the shape instantly.

The case for a Bach Stradivarius trumpet.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My dad even had my name engraved near the handle.

For four years, I had played on a cheap beginner model, but all that changed in one amazing moment. Inserting the key, I unlocked the latches and a silver Bach Strad gleamed back at me like the sun. Every serious player had one.

And man, did I use that horn. I performed in jazz bands, orchestras, marching bands, church services, musicals, and Boy Scout camps. High school, college, grad school. Even made a little money along the way.

Today, I don’t play often but the instrument still sits in my closet, a constant reminder of a father’s belief. Who knows? I may make a musical comeback.

Sometimes the best gifts come in the smallest packages.

Pink or blue?

Tonight was Reveal Night, as McKenzie and Will wanted to find out the gender of their 2026 baby.

First came the private moment. They went to a nearby beach, armed with pink and blue flowers.

McKenzie turned her back while Will opened the doctor’s email. Selecting the correct bouquet, he tapped her shoulder. When she spun around and saw the color, their celebration began right there in the sand.

But the night wasn’t done.

They drove to our place where we had the kids waiting on FaceTime (out of town at college and work).

Beforehand, we had placed pink and blue balloons in the garage. When the expectant parents arrived, they chose the secret color and tied them to Cali.

Then, at our cue, she burst into the living room, in full view of the camera.

And PINK balloons bounced behind her.

Ahhh, a little girl.

An unforgettable memory for our family. Heaven help our hearts.

A powerful principle.

This week, while prepping for a marketing workshop with William & Mary students, I thought about one of the simplest (but often overlooked) lessons.

The “What/Why.”

What = The details (time, location, cost)

Why = The outcome

Most marketers focus on the details (the What) but forget the deeper benefit (the Why). This is a huge mistake.

People are never just purchasing a product or attending an event. They’re investing in an upgraded version of their lives and subconsciously asking, “How will this make my life better?”

So, here’s a trick for uncovering the Why: add the phrase “so you can” after whatever you’re promoting.

Don’t just say, “Buy a Blackstone Grill!”

Instead, say, “Buy a Blackstone Grill — SO YOU CAN — finally cook restaurant-worthy burgers and steaks in your own backyard.”

When you discover the outcome, you’ve usually found your headline.

My all-time favorite TV theme songs.

I started thinking about this because of a conversation I had with Sam before he left for college.

Here’s my top 3:

3. Sanford and Son - Funky groove, soulful harmonica, smooth jazz… just right.

2. The Flintstones — I know, weird choice, but imagine it as a big band swinger, a brassy declaration of a stone-age good time.

1. Cheers — An emotional ballad that perfectly captures the show’s ethos, and most importantly, the longing for connection.

Honorable mentions: The Jefferson’s, Friends, The Andy Griffith Show, Love Boat, Growing Pains, The Dukes of Hazzard, Highway to Heaven.

If you could model yourself after a character from history or fiction, who would it be and why?

The question was posed at a work retreat last week, and one came to my mind from the movie screen:

Guido Orefice, the main character in Life is Beautiful, played by Roberto Benigni.

Guido, an Italian Jewish man, is one of the most positive figures in film. His optimism defines this Holocaust-era story, when his family is deported to a Nazi concentration camp.

Amazingly, Guido shields his young son from the horrors by pretending the ordeal is a game. How? By convincing the boy that if he follows the rules — such as hiding from guards and staying quiet — he will win an army tank.

Against all odds, the father’s humor and imagination preserves his son’s innocence, allowing the child to survive and later “win” the tank, just as promised.

Guido’s optimism is an act of defiance and models how joy can coexist alongside hardship. Which brings me to my own definition: Optimism is the stubborn courage to imagine light in dark situations.

When I think of Guido, I’m inspired to live and think better.

Did you know a lightning bolt can be five times hotter than the sun?

One night as a boy, I stood in our kitchen during a summer storm. The door to our side porch was open, letting in the smell of rain and the low growl of thunder.

Then it happened. The world lit up.

A blast of bright white ripped through the porch and zapped the fluorescent bulb above my head.

Lightning. Pure shock and fear.

Experts say there’s a one in a million chance of being struck, but I nearly beat the odds. A few more feet and I would have joined the club. To this day, I still flinch when thunder cracks too close.

Recently, I read about a “megaflash” strike that stretched 515 miles (average is 2-10 miles) across 5 states and lasted over seven seconds.

Compared to that, my little kitchen jolt feels quaint.

Oh well, I was (almost) the brightest boy in the room.

A great story of Luke.

In middle school, he met the owner of the Peninsula Pilots, a summer collegiate baseball team. At that point, Luke dreamed of sports broadcasting.

With his typical self-assurance, he walked up and asked if the media booth had any openings. The position was already filled, but the owner admired this 13-year-old’s initiative and offered him a job with the promise of broadcasting time.

So the entire season, I shuttled Luke back and forth to War Memorial Stadium, a historic ballpark in Hampton, where he tackled any task. Then one evening, he finally climbed into the announcer’s booth for a few glorious innings.

Luke’s courage to simply ask, to take a chance, carried him into other unexpected roles at young ages: a financial firm, a state senator’s office, and eventually a college internship at a major Boston tech firm.

To make it happen, he found an apartment in Beantown, then drove twelve hours to get there, not knowing anyone. But his leap of faith paid off when the company offered him a full-time role after graduation.

Opportunities arrive for many people. Some fail to see them, others hesitate in fear. But Luke possesses a special talent for turning them into something remarkable. His mix of confidence and a relentless work ethic sets him apart.

Today, on this August 24, we celebrate the day he entered the world.

Happy Birthday, Luke.

Next… maybe talk your way into the box at Fenway.

A beach all to ourselves.

Here’s how it unfolded:

• A ferry ride across the James River

• Landing at the Scotland Wharf in Surry County

• A 15-minute drive to Chippokes State Park, nestled on the river’s south bank

• Walking down a steep gravel trail to shoreline

• A long, sandy stroll to a secluded stretch

• Leaving the main area for a small opening in the treeline

• Taking the hidden path along wooded twists and turns

• Stepping out of the brush to our own tiny cove, a private beach the size of a living room

• Spreading a blanket and enjoying a picnic with the water lapping just a few feet away

A perfect Saturday afternoon with Jess and Cali, even if paradise took a bit of work to get there.

Date nights are special.

I think of our earliest ones, when Jess’s little sister, Molly, often joined as a fun tagalong.

Then I look to this season of life, the house suddenly quiet now that the kids are grown. But the constant through it all has been our commitment to dating.

We've prioritized romance, even when our kids were small, thanks to family who stepped in so we could hit the town.

Tonight, we explored the new location of an old restaurant favorite. A forty-five-minute wait simply gave an excuse to wander through surrounding stores and stretch our legs.

We enjoyed yummy food and great conversation — the best way to cap the work week.

This habit deserves protecting forever.

Maybe we should even invite Molly to join us again.

How many people does it take to make a pencil?

The question sounds silly at first, yet I love using it with teams. Economist Leonard Read inspired the concept back in 1958 with his essay, “I, Pencil.”

The big idea? This humble tool is far too complicated for a single person to produce alone.

Creating one requires a vast and invisible web of cooperation, starting with the harvesting of a tree. Imagine the loggers, truck drivers, and the workers in sawmills and factories.

But a pencil is more than just cedar wood. Consider the graphite, glue, paint, metal, and rubber, with each component requiring more experts. Miners extract ore. Chemists produce synthetic mixtures. Then there’s shipping and distribution.

Layer by layer, the number grows countless. Tens of thousands of people, maybe hundreds of thousands, contribute directly and indirectly.

One object carries global stories. So the next time you pick up a pencil, think about the multitude of hidden hands who made it possible.

Suddenly, snapping one in half feels like a crime.

Why do I write a daily blog?

On January 12th, 2025, I challenged myself: one post a day, for an entire year.

Each entry is about capturing family life snapshots while stitching in some tales from the past. A time capsule of our history, told using bite-sized storytelling.

This week I read an article that many wealthy retirees are investing in ghostwritten memoirs, some costing as much as $100,000, to document their lives for loved ones.

I’m doing the same thing, but with my own words and without the price tag. And the plan is to turn these crazy insights into a printed keepsake.

Come January 12, 2026, the daily blogs will fade to black.

Maybe I’ll finally take up pickleball.

This summer, Sam watched the show How I Met Your Mother, which inspired today’s blog post.

So… to my kids, who may wonder, “Dad, how did you meet Mom?”

Rewind to 1994. My grad school roommate, Chris, was a youth pastor who held an event at a local YMCA and invited me to tag along. Jessica, who attended his church, stood inside watching whatever the teens were doing. I stepped up beside her and said Hello.

That was it. Just a simple greeting at a “chance” encounter.

But months later, when I became a part of the congregation, we got to know each other better. Another year and a half went by — August 1995 — until we started dating.

By then, she couldn’t resist me.

Sometimes fate doesn’t come with fireworks or an a-ha moment, but slips in quietly, during an ordinary evening at an unexpected place.

That’s why life is such a great adventure.

Now turn up the song and form the letters with your arms: Y-M-C-A.

Storytellers embrace questions.

Before a single word finds the page, I probe an idea. And questions are my favorite tools, helping me dig for the hidden pulse of a tale.

I’ve learned to begin with the end in mind. And while there are other foundational pillars such as audience, genre, and point of view, those are not my focus here.

So, let’s say I’m writing a novel. To uncover its bones, I lean on 17 deceptively simple prompts. These reveal if my ideas have enough muscle to carry the weight of a full story.

• Who/what does the hero care about in their ordinary world?

• What belief does the hero state that will be overturned at the end?

• What event rattles them hard enough to shatter their status quo?

• How do they stall, dodge, or debate the call to change?

• What does this new “upside-down” world look like and what immediate challenge awaits?

• Who steps in as the new friend, mentor, rival, or love interest?

• How does the hero either flounder or succeed in this new world?

• What would the hero NEVER think, say, or do… before it happens in this moment?

• How do they look in the mirror and confront the truth?

• What “door” must the hero open to glimpse resolution?

• What “bad guys” are working against the hero?

• How is their life worse off than the start of the story?

• What forgotten object, memory, or symbol sparks their courage to keep fighting?

• How does the hero finally grasp the story’s deeper theme?

• How do they put their plan into motion?

• How do they dig deep down when the original plan doesn’t work?

• At last, how has the hero changed?

Seventeen questions. Seventeen doors opening one by one, letting the light spill out from within, like finding hidden treasure.

When you ask them, the story will speak back.

A picture of determination.

Last year, Sam and a friend tackled a hike. They left before sunrise for a 3 1/2 hr trip to the mountains and spent the day winding through trails before heading back late that evening.

But when he unpacked his bag at home, his iPhone was missing. He remembered slipping it into a side pocket near the end of the hike but then dozed off in the car, forgetting to check. Only when he got back did he realize the device had vanished.

Years ago, losing technology meant goodbye forever. But Apple’s built-in location services make recovery a lot easier.

So Sam pinged the phone, and the map showed it resting at the path's end. His heart sank. I told him not to worry since we’d file an insurance claim and get a replacement.

But determined, he and his buddy woke up early the next morning and made another long journey to the mountains. Hours later, following the ping, they found the untouched phone where it had fallen.

Amazing.

That kind of single-mindedness is rare in everyday life. But losing something precious can ignite an intensity, somehow shifting the mind into a different gear and refusing to rest until the mystery is solved.

For Sam, the search felt almost epic, and the return trip became part of the quest. As the years go by, he and his buddy probably won’t remember the hike as much as the rescue mission.

Which brings me to one of my favorite definitions: Determination is hope made stubborn.

Sam, thanks for showing me what that looks like.

The older you get, keep this in mind.

This week, I read a fascinating article about “super-agers,” people in their 80s who perform well on memory tests, often rivaling those thirty years younger.

Researchers found a common thread among those who age gracefully, beyond eating kale salads or playing pickleball.

The secret? Friendships.

Those who socialize are more resistant to cognitive decline. But isolation is a major dementia risk, as dangerous as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.

Science tells us healthy aging means movement plus mental exercise. Still true, but also remember to foster the friendships.

Brains thrive when they’re in company with others.

So… before you forget… call your BFF for brunch.

The surprise of a lifetime (literally).

Tonight, McKenzie and Will brought dinner over. For reference, anytime someone shows up with food, I’m 100% in.

They arrived carrying two large pizza boxes, and for just the four of us, we had enough for a feast.

Opening one, steam rose from a pepperoni pizza. YUM.

Will pointed to the second box and described it as “special.” I’m thinking, “What? Anchovies?”

But after opening the lid, there was no pizza in sight.

Instead, inside was…

A card… two grandparent books… baby shoes… and ultrasound pictures.

Plot twist.

A split-second later, Jess and I understood. We stood speechless, caught completely off guard.

And then we erupted.

Our first grandchild on the way! The best news ever.

Baby Siebels arrives in late March (or early April) 2026.

I’ll never look at pizza the same again.

Why?

Some things leave me baffled, such as the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, or how socks vanish in the dryer.

But here’s another one I recently read about: a new ice cream hitting the market that tastes like… wait for it… breast milk.

Huh? While not made of the real thing, this frozen dessert mimics it.

Breast Milk Ice Cream is “sweet, a little salty, smooth, with hints of honey and sprinkles of colostrum, and features a distinct… yellow tinge.”

Uh, nope. Hard pass. I haven’t had this flavor since I wore Pampers, and that’s good enough for me.

What’s next for sweet treats? “Wet Dog Delight” or “Gas Station Sushi”?

Thanks, but I’ll stick with the cookie dough.

The last one out the door.

Sam left for his sophomore year today. Our youngest, our final summer holdout, the remaining thread between this season and the next.

The house pulsed with life while he was here because he always brought friends, filling the downstairs with laughter and the sound of poker chips clattering past midnight.

But this morning, after hugs, he pulled out in a loaded car, to an off-campus rental filled with his buddies. No more dorm living.

As he turned off Spring Branch, the summer sounds went with him. All gone with one right turn.

We’ve been here before, so this ritual isn’t new. But that doesn’t make it easy. These days, the goodbyes have less shock, but more ache. We know the kids will return, but the empty chairs at dinner are proof of the passage of time.

Yeah, our home stays cleaner. The laundry pile shrinks and the grocery bill drops. And yet the silence in the hallways and bedrooms is louder than Swifties at a Tay Tay concert.

We usually keep a living room light on for late-night arrivals. But tonight it went dark early. There’s no reason to leave the lamp burning.

Life goes on, and we’ll have adventures of our own. But we’ll also be waiting for the familiar creak of the side door opening when fall break rolls around.

Proud of you, Sam.