We’re in the process of cleaning out seventy years of stuff…a lifetime of work…piled up high into five barns. I’m spending a lot of time in these barns. Looking through the artifacts of love ones’ lives. And even though it’s stupid degrees outside, I feel so lucky to be given the task. It’s a sober rush of nostalgia, intrigue and pride, tied up with a quiet reminder of how short our time here really is. I swear, if these barns could speak, they’d be telling me exactly that…intertwined with a few hundred hilarious stories. And if they could sing, they’d sound like this….