MerleFest 2010

        We rolled in late. I stopped at the desk. An elderly man in overalls and a railroad hat is seated in a chair in the lobby. “Evening, Doc.”

        “Good to see you, John. I trust you’ve had a good year.”

         He stroked a long gray beard, turned his head to the side, and coughed. “Breathing but not bragging, Doc.”

        “Been out to the music?”

        “All day. Too cold at night for me anymore. My back freezes up. Down with old Arthur most of the winter.”  

        “”Hope it gets better.”

         “It won’t, but what the hell.”

         The desk clerk checks us in. “Your usual room, Doc. The one by the pool.”

        “Thanks, kid.” 

        Friday morning. We crest the last hill before the grounds. An American flag flaps in the breeze. Vendors of every brand of acoustic instruments have begun to set up shop. It’s early, but people from all over the world already mill around. There are T-shirts and hot dogs and sand castle artists and kids with their faces painted by some street artist for  a couple bucks. If your idea of a rocking good time is a Board meeting with a bunch of rich guys in suits who hope to finagle another million from someone else who has more than they know what to do with, you don’t need to come here. You’d be bored to tears; this is too real.

        I can smell the roasted peanuts. I think I’ll have a bag of those and a cup of black coffee. It makes a fine bluegrass breakfast. I might follow it up with the morning paper and a nap before the Gibson Brothers crank up.

        It’s Merlefest, the only event I look forward to as much as the Harvey County Fair. I’ll eat all the wrong food, I’ll stay up half the night and sleep in between sets. I’ll sleep with one eye open, though. I ain’t gonna miss a thing.

Dr. B

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Talk About Suffering Here Below

        Darin Aldridge called me yesterday. One of his band members had some sickness in the family, and he wanted to know if I could fill in. He asked if I would troop over after the office to play a church revival service.  I checked my watch and the rest of the afternoon schedule and had enough time to make it with thirty minutes to spare. It took two seconds to decide.

        “Yes.”

        If you know me at all you know this. If I’m not on call, and you want me to play music, it’s “have mandolin will travel.”  This is extra true with Darin and Brooke Aldridge. One trip through “White Robe” with those children is a revival for old Doc all by itself.

        Ricky Skaggs does an old spiritual number called “Talk About Suffering.” I see a lot of suffering in my work, and like to believe my music helps dull the pain for a while. I don’t know if it does for other folks but it sure does help me.

        Last night the preacher talked about suffering. No human has ever suffered more than Christ. When we go through hard times some good can come out of it if we wind up more empathetic to our fellow human beings. If we can somehow deal with our troubles more like Christ would it puts us a step closer to perfection even though we can never get there on our own. We aren’t gonna be perfect, and just have to accept the Grace that forgives us for that.

        I believe some people wind up as excellent counselors, ministers, nurses, or doctors because they were able to take their own suffering, come to terms with it, and then use the insight as a tool to develop empathy. But here’s the human coming out in me. It seems like some of my people have suffered enough. They are already as Christ-like as any humans I know, and more keeps coming at ‘em. Sometimes I want to ask God how come he doesn’t put some of that on the bad guys who seem to be more in need of the lessons. I guess it’s because I’m only human and it isn’t for me to understand. I ain’t the Judge.

        Maybe it’s because we are supposed to pray for the bad guys too. I often fall short on that, so I’ll work on it. But I’m still gonna pray my friends are relieved of suffering too. Pain and suffering are against my office policy, and I need all the help I can get.

Dr. B

A Tip For Those Who Serve

        Years ago my wife and I used to take the kids to a little pizza place here in Harvey County. It was our idea of a big night on the town. We got the same waitress almost every time; a young girl who looked about high school age. Our kids were good young’uns, but like any other young family we made a mess; food on the floor etc. I’m one to tip okay anyway, but this kid was always nice and we made it a point to leave a little extra. My wife was a waitress when she was in high school and she hadn’t forgotten what it was like. We were just starting out and had a lot of debt at the time, but we figured we were better off than this child, and besides the service was always good. 

        When the kids grew up a little and started to go out with their friends we got out of the habit of going there. My wife and I didn’t much need to eat a lot of pizza anyway, and without the kids the outing wasn’t the same. We lost track of the young waitress.

        Several years ago a young lady showed up at the office and asked to speak to me. They paged me and then brought her back to my office. “Doc, do you remember me?” she asked.

       “You look familiar, but no kid, I can’t quite place you.”

        “I’m Kathy. I was the waitress at Pizza Joe’s.”

        “Well, son of a gun. Good to see you. What you up to nowadays?”

       “I’m a nurse in Raleigh. I was just passing through and wanted to say hello. Back then I was struggling and working two jobs. I always looked forward to seeing your family. It wasn’t just that you tipped good, you didn’t fuss at me and treated me nice. I wanted to say thanks.”

        I didn’t know what to say.

        She pulled her wallet out of her pocketbook and showed me pictures of her husband and children. “When we go out to eat we try to act like your family. I appreciate you being nice to me, and the tips sure did help me get through school.”

        I shook her hand and she went on her way. I thought about that for a minute. I can understand if a man doesn’t have anything and maybe he can be excused if he’s not too generous. But when I see a guy who owns some business worth eight million bucks be mean to a young waitress who works hard to make his life easier, and then stiffs her on a little tip, I can’t understand it. I want to walk over to his table and say, “Pal, what goes around comes around. For all you know that kid might be a nurse who looks after you in the nursing home some day. What’s wrong with you?”

        I know one thing. That young lady and her husband are doing quite well these days, but I’m sure they haven’t forgotten where they come from, and I bet they still tip good, too.

Dr. B

Journey of The People’s Mandolin Update

        The People’s Mandolin is ready for its long journey home.  As I said I’m gonna drop it off at MerleFest to start its voyage.  There it will be picked up by Ted and Irene Lehmann. They have had some discussion with Gabrielle Gray of The International Bluegrass Music Museum about the best way to send it off, so we’ll see what they have in store for it.

        I know there are skeptics from the non bluegrass world. They say it won’t make it. I’m betting it does. Ms. Gray and Lehmanns think it will too. You see, John Hartford used to say bluegrass was the last American small town where everybody knows everybody; a place where you can leave your doors unlocked and windows wide open. I am not naive. I know the world has changed. I also know bluegrass is growing and we have new people all the time. Still, my bet is we haven’t changed that much.

        Just think, if the case makes it five years and winds up back at MerleFest in 2015, we all have a chance at a tiny corner of the world’s biggest bluegrass museum. I can envision it in a shadow box with a legend to identify each geographic area represented by the travels of the case. It could even be set up with one of those little gadgets where you could punch in a number to hear a certain clip. Let’s say Missy Werner from Cincinnati or little Kathy Boyd way out in Portland ran across the mandolin on its journey and logged onto my blog with a YouTube clip of their band at a festival out there. We could turn all those posts over to the museum. Then someday when you see the exhibit of “The People’s Mandolin” and click on clip #73, there they’d be for all time. You’d hear them and learn where all the good festivals were around the country. Pretty cool huh?

        One disclaimer here, though. These are just my early thoughts. Ms. Gray has a museum to run and I’m just a country doctor. How they decide to present it I’ll need to leave entirely to their judgment.

         Of course all this is just a bunch of dreaming of old Doc. If the naysayers turn out to be right and the case is lost, it can’t wind up in the museum at all, so we’ll see. But again, I like its odds.

        By the way, folks have already written to tell me the page for “The Journey of The People’s Mandolin” is hard to find.  Right now it is in the upper right hand corner of my blog just below “Home,” “About Dr. Bibey,” “Disclaimer,” and “The Charitable Arm.” A web site is in development for “The Mandolin Case” and will have a link or a page devoted to the “Journey of  The People’s Mandolin.”

         And also I wanted to tell you I have seen the layout of my book. Very, very, cool. I can’t help but believe it is gonna be good for bluegrass. I say this because already folks from my other worlds (medicine, law, business, etc.) want to know where my serenity comes from. They come out of environments that are often hyper-competitive, aggressive, or just downright mean. When they step into my music world they have trouble believing it could be real. After a while they realize it is, and more than one has decided we bluegrass folks are onto something.

        We coulda all told ’em that a long time ago, but some folks are slow to believe. One at a time though, they’re coming around.

Dr. B

Message in a Mandolin Bottle- The Journey of The People’s Mandolin

        As a kid I was fascinated with the idea of messages and far-away lands. I was just a country kid who loved to read books and had a big imagination. In reality, my odds of a Tahiti tour were about as good as Jimmy Stewarts’ character George Bailey in “A Wonderful Life,” but it didn’t stop me from being a dreamer at times.  I always wanted to put a message in a bottle, toss it in the ocean and see where it would wind up.

        As an adult I haven’t changed much. The life I chose was the right one for me, but it kept me close to home.  I was good with books and people and a country doc was just the right career. I loved music but didn’t have the talent or the temperament for the road. But at times I still dream. My wife and I plan to see some of the country before we get too old to go, and we hope my book will be our tour ticket to find all the right people.

        The other day I came up with an idea I want to run by my readers.  Even though I’m an old man, deep inside I’m a kid who still wants to float that message out to far-flung places I’ve never seen. I decided for me it had to be a message in a mandolin bottle.

        I’m sure you must wonder what I mean. Who ever heard of a message in a mandolin bottle? I guess it would take a fellow who wrote a book called “The Mandolin Case” to dream it up. Here’s how I’m gonna send it out there.

        I have an old Kentucky ‘A’ style mandolin I’ve had for many years. Sometime back a luthier friend dressed out the frets and replaced a broken bridge. The pick guard was lost years ago. It is not any kind of investment grade mandolin but it is very playable. I decided this mandolin was the perfect vehicle to float out my message. It is the people’s mandolin.

        The people’s mandolin will begin its journey at MerleFest, 2010. There I’m gonna turn it over to some picker who lives far away and ask them to kick off the journey.  After they play it and sign it, I want them to pass it on the someone else.

        There are only a few prerequisites to participation in the message. I ask that no one keep it more than one month. I want each person who plays it to sign the mandolin before they pass it on to the next person. You may pass it on to anyone you wish, but I hope you will try to choose true bluegrassers. You know who they are.

         I would like for folks to put on a case sticker to promo their geographic area or favorite band. Also, I want you to log onto the “Journey of the People’s Mandolin” page and leave me a note and picture of your neck of the woods so I can post it on my blog to document the mandolin’s travels. If my mandolin shows up at your favorite festival maybe a picture of you holding it beside a banner to promo your event would help your cause. My blog now has readers all over the world, so it can’t hurt.

        When you find it, leave me a post as to its whereabouts. I’ll plug it into one of those maps with the dots to show where it is and we can watch it criss-cross the country. Who knows, maybe I can convince one of my favorite bands to take it abroad when they tour Europe or destinations even farther removed.

         I hope at times it might serve to introduce kids to the instrument. If your grandchild were to borrow my little mandolin and learn “You are My Sunshine” off my double stop lesson of April 14, 2010, that would be very cool. I would want to hear about anything like that, and would love to post links to You-tube videos of this kind of thing.

        It is hope that my mandolin message in a bottle will find me new bluegrass friends and serve as a scout of sorts to show me and my wife the path to festivals and bluegrass events around the country.

        As the mandolin makes it journey if you are uncertain of its authenticity, you can take it to the record table of festival performers to be sure it is the right one. Mandolin pickers like Darin Aldridge, Wayne Benson, Alan Bibey, Mike Marshall, Darren Nicholson, and many others will verify that I am real and the little Kentucky is indeed my mandolin. Buy a CD from them, the road is hard and they make great music. Ask them to slap on one of their case stickers when you see them.

        Pass it on. I would like to get the mandolin back in five years or when I wind up in the nursing home, whichever comes first. But don’t forget, it belongs to the people.  After I get it back I want to donate it to some music museum if anyone will have it. They should, because anyone with any sense should know this music belongs to the people. If we all stick together, no one can take it away from us.

Dr. B

Classical Mandolin- Bach

        Wayne Benson has me working on a Bach piece right now, “Prelude From Suite 1.” When you get up with the early birds and sit on the back porch and play a tune like this, you can’t help but feel like you are part of something bigger than just your little self. As I struggle to get the piece under my fingers, I realize nothing good every came easy to most of us. My mind wanders. Maybe it did to Bach, but I bet he put in his time too. The wind whistles through the trees. I think Bach could hear the ancient tones just like Monroe. As Wayne says, “it’s all music.” 

        At the turn of the last century, as Mike Marshall says, “mandolin orchestras roamed the earth.” I think my friend Butch Baldassari might have made it happen again if he had not died so young.  Maybe Mike will see mandolins rule again. I do know this; I believe our kids would be better off in the orchestras than to watch reality television. T.V. is all instant gratification. For me, the best of life came from long years of commitment, be it to family, friends, doctor books, or cello suites.

        Maybe it’s just what they call “cognitive dissonance” where you have to believe in your cause for your existence to have meaning, but I feel like so far I’ve used my time on earth the best I could, and I’m gonna continue in my quest until the end. My talents are humble but I’m gonna do my best with ’em every day.

Dr. B

And The Employee of The Month is….

        Me! You might not find that so special, but as far as I know I’m the only Doc at the clinic who has ever been honored as such. I didn’t know it was coming either. Maybe it’s because I’m getting a lot of gray hair and they feel sorry for me, but I was rather proud. In spite of the fact I’m a guy it’s a clear indication I’m just one of the girls, and I take that as a compliment. The best awards are the ones who come from the people who know what goes on every day, and trust me my office ladies do.

        Except for Dr. Dee, our P.A., and our X-ray tech, I work around women all day. I try to treat them all like sisters, even though I only had brothers and really don’t know exactly how to do that. I can be peculiar about my relationship with them. I don’t go out to eat with them, I don’t play golf with them, and as a doc I’ll only treat them from the neck up and the knees down. We have two lady doctors they can see for any other troubles. I don’t get into their personal problems, although they don’t seem to have many. It’s just as well, one time one of ’em got real sick and I ’bout got tore down over it. (Like you would if it was your sister I guess.)

        I was proud to win that award, but the truth is I wouldn’t be the doc I am without them. My nurses have worked along side of me more than a quarter century. They always put the patient first, they’ve never shaded the truth, they do not seek personal gain, and they’ve never acted the wrong way towards me. It’s take a pretty thick-headed guy not to make a decent doc under those circumstances.

        Sometimes the group will do things I don’t understand. I ain’t nobody’s Secret Santa, and I’m not much for hat day mostly ’cause I’ve got such a fat head the darn things look silly perched on top of my gray mop. When they have a party and open presents I might say a gift is precious even though I’m not sure why.  I think it is sort of like when Andy Griffith tried to make Ernest T. Bass a bit more presentable for that tea party.

        But they all go along with what I am. They let me play my mandolin at the Christmas party, and they understand I am particular about patient care to a fault. I can be stubborn as an old mule if anyone wants me to do something I view as potentially dangerous and I am decidedly boring. My idea of risky behavior is to hit a seven iron over the water when it might call for a six, or throw in a jazz phrase in an old-time tune.

        I am protective of them. A patient is better off to test their luck cussing me than my people. One time one did, and I told him those ladies worked their hinnys off for him all day long and only got to pee twice so he’d best take his chances being mean to me instead. He declined.

        Someone once said all men are dumb and all women are crazy, just in different ways and degrees. Somehow I haven’t been too dumb and my office ladies aren’t too crazy. I am dumb in a way, though. I’ll put on blinders and work like a pack mule with no complaints and expect no reward other than an apple and the satisfaction of being the best I can be. All men are dumb animals; women just have to decide what kinda dumb animal they want to live or work with. 

        I’ve found when you work with women you do have to pay attention to the details.  If they disagree with you they ain’t gonna rassle you or punch you in the nose. They expect a civilized adult human being to understand subtlety, and they will get a little crazy if the only way you’ll pay attention is for them to hit you over the head with a two-by-four. And their verbal negotiation skills far exceed most men I’ve worked with. Maybe that’s part of how I became a writer.

        Maybe I ain’t all dumb. I understood enough to be the only guy in the office who ever won Employee of the Month, and that’s good enough for me. If I make them happy enough to vote for me and I didn’t even campaign for it, I must be doing  something right.

You Are My Sunshine and the Double Stop Mandolin Lesson

        First of all credit where due.  I didn’t invent this idea. I got it from Wayne Benson and I think he got it from Bach. I’ve learned a lot of mandolin from Wayne and from Darin Aldridge too. The main thing I learned was I better hang onto my stethoscope; these guys are good. So if you like this lesson, don’t send me money, buy a CD from either III Tyme Out or Darin and Brooke Aldridge.

        So here’s the idea behind the lesson. If you can hum “You Are My Sunshine” you can play the mandolin. Don’t worry if you are off-key a little; I’ve been that way for years, and it hasn’t stopped me yet. First go buy or borrow a mandolin.  Before you start the lesson, do three things.

        1. Put the mandolin in your hands. You can’t take a mandolin lesson without a mandolin. Heck I wrote most of “The Mandolin Case” while I played the mandolin. When I wrote passages with a stethoscope around my neck the book was way too boring.

        2. Learn the names of the strings. Starting from the high-pitched skinny ones they are E, A, D, and G. If you don’t want to memorize all four yet, for this lesson you can get by if you know the skinniest string is E and the next one down is A. Repeat it over and over.  E/A,  E/A, E/A. (Wonder how I got to be a doctor yet?!)

        3. Memorize he following mantra: One major, two minor, three minor, four major, five major, six minor, and seven is a half-diminished hoop-te-do. (Don’t worry too much about the last one.)  Do it over and over: one major, two minor, three minor, etc. until you can repeat it in your sleep.  If the mandolin doesn’t work out don’t worry, all this list memorization biz could be your start in the doc gig.

        Now all you gotta do is learn the double stops on the top two strings. (again, the “E” and “A” strings.)  Make what I call a little G chord. This is the top two notes of the big G chord. (We bluegrassers would say the top two notes of a chop chord) This double stop represents the “one” or Roman numeral “I” chord. Remember our mantra; one is major. (One or “I” is always major in the chord scale.)

        The notation for this little G chord in this lesson is 3/2, which means the third fret on the E string and the second fret on the A string.

        Important point here: Notice your two fingers are only one fret, not two frets apart.  This is very important because this means it is a major double stop, as opposed to a minor as you would have in the II, III, and VI chords in the chord scale. (Don’t worry why it is major or minor for now)

        Now slide up to the Am double stop. This is the II chord. (Remember in the chord scale II is always minor.) The notation here is 5/3. (Fifth fret on E string, third fret on A string) Notice your fingers are two frets apart here. This is what makes it minor. If you want to impress your friends and neighbors here, just look real serious and say, “You see, this is a minor double stop because I have flatted the third.” Or if you just want to play it, then all you have to do is move your index finger down one fret to turn a major into a minor here. Try it and see.

        One old fellow figured this out on his own. After the first set of a gig, he came up to speak to me.

        “I done figured out what you’s a doing up there.” He squinted and turned his head side-ways as he looked at my mandolin. “You put your fingers on that thing and if you don’t like what you hear you just slide ’em up or down ’till you do.”

        “Ain’t nothing to it,” I said. “Easy as doctoring.”

        Okay, back to the lesson.

        Continue up the neck to the two notes of the Bm chord. This is the III minor chord. (Again in the chord scale III is always minor) The notation here is 7/5. (Yep, two frets apart or minor)

        Continue up the neck to the IV chord or C. Remember your mantra. Four is always major. The notation here is 8/7. Low and behold there is only one fret difference here, voila, major!

        Following the same logic, V is major, or “D”. Because it is major you can now predict how many frets apart your index and middle are gonna be. You’re right. The answer is one, and the notation is 10/9.

        The VI chord is not only minor but a very important minor. It is the 6th or the relative minor. In the G scale this is E. The notation here is double-stop land is 12/10.

        If you are in Nashville at a party and someone plays a sad sort of tune (as in a killing song) look up from your drink and say, “I believe they hit the six minor there (or relative minor) and odds are you will be right. The person you espouse this to will nod their head yes and at least think you know what the heck you are talking about. When you play and you’re not sure which minor you need try go the relative minor. It is easy to find and will be the sixth note in the chord scale.

        The F, or seven, is what they call half-diminished. (Think of it as you will be half crazy before you figure it out) Okay, I know you are getting bored. Because you are sitting there with a mandolin around your neck and haven’t played a song yet, and because the 7th isn’t in “You Are My Sunshine” I’m gonna not explain this. (The fact I can’t very easily is immaterial)

        So if you are still with me, here is “You Are My Sunshine.” I put the fret notation for the chord above the word I want you to sing with it and also the number. (ex like the II in parentheses beside that) One other note here: one place here you’ll see PCDS. This means it is a passing chord double stop in between the ones you learned above. Make sure you sing along or the lesson won’t work.

3/2 (I)    5/3 (II)         6/4 (PCDS)      7/5 (III)      7/5 (III)
You         are                   my                      sun               shine

7/5 (III)         5/3 (II)             7/5 (III)        3/2 (I)          3/2 (I)
My                      on……………..ly                       sun                shine.

3/2 (I)           5/3 (III)       7/5 (III)        8/7 (IV)                 12/10 (VI)
You                make             me                     hap………………..py

12/10 (VI)        10/9 (V)      8/7 (IV)    7/5  (III)
When                   skies              are               gray.

3/2 (I)      5/3 (II)     7/5 (III)       8/7 (IV)         12/10 (VI)
You’ll         ne…………ver                  know               dear

12/10 (VI)    10/9 (V)   8/7 (IV)     7/5 (III)     3/2 (I)
How                 much         I                     love               you.

3/2 (I)    5/3 (II)    7/5 (III)   8/7 (IV)   5/3 (II)   5/3(II)    7/5(III)
Please     don’t          take             my              sun           shine        a

3/2 (I)
way

        If you like this stuff and live in South Carolina go see Wayne Benson, or Darin Aldridge in N.C. They both tour pretty heavy but will take you on if you are serious and want to learn. Tell ’em Dr. B sent you. These guys are very good at what they do; good enough to make a mandolin player out of an old doctor. And that, my friends, is even more of a feat than making a writer out of one.

Dr. B

Corey and Lorena From New Jersey and “Act Naturally”

        You remember Cory and Lorena from New Jersey?  They are on an extended stay in the South and gonna be here about a month. They came for the Darin and Brooke Aldridge festival and looked up me and Marfar.

        They’ve got ’em a new 5th wheel type rig and parked here in Harvey County for a few days. Bluegrass people have a sixth sense of where the best places are. I’m always amazed at their intuition. Cory and Lorena are only about a mile upstream from Indie’s cabin on the river. Indie always said it was the best spot in the County.

          They invited us over to jam tonight.  We cooked some chops on the grill, and split open a cantaloupe. I sat back and picked Cory’s fine Deering banjo and watched the birds fly and the water rush along. The river was slow a few weeks back, but we’ve had some good rain. The weather was perfect and I didn’t pull on a sweat shirt until dark thirty.

       Cory and Lorena are gonna be at MerleFest. I’ll have to tell Ted and Irene Lehmann about them.  Isn’t New Jersey up there near New Hampshire somewhere? I bet they’d enjoy getting to know them, ’cause wherever you go bluegrass folks are kindred spirits.

        I’ve heard from my publisher. Out of superstition I’m not gonna name ’em yet, but I grow more confident every week. Right now they are on a final line edit to check for periods and commas, so it is close.

        They told me a newspaper man who liked bluegrass got wind of the project and asked to preview it.  He liked it so much he wanted to render a quote for the jacket. That tickled me ’cause I’d never met him before. I don’t know what he’ll say, but I figure I’m a  doctor and this man writes for a living. If he says I write okay for a doctor, that’s good enough for me.  If he likes it, I musta done something right.

        Really though, I’m just like Buck Owens. All I know how to do is act naturally. I ain’t Hemingway. I’m just good old Dr. B, and it’ll have to do.

Dr. B

If I Were King of The World This Sunday Morning

        If I were King of The World this Sunday morning, I’d make sure every school child on the planet got to eat home-made ice cream on the front row of an acoustic music festival. I think it’d end all hate and violence.

        How could any human being ever harbor any ill will as they listen to Ricky Wasson croon country on “Lefty’s Old Guitar” or Balsam Range rip through “Last Train to Kitty Hawk?” Pass me some of that peach, brother.

       It that doesn’t cure folks up, how ’bout The Harris Brothers as they slide through some soul and the electric suitcase thumps through your chest? If you aren’t there yet throw in some double D twin mandolin work on “I Got My Mojo Working.” (Darin Aldridge and Darren Nicholson).  By the way, a couple scoops of strawberry were just right.

        At night get a cup of coffee and hear Brooke soar along on “White Robe.” You could see her breath with every phrase; she was undeterred by the night chill. That right there is a child of God.

        We piled up in the car and bumped along the field until we reached the road. I fell asleep before we hit the black-top. (My horse was in town to take me home.)

        I ain’t King of The World, but when He comes back I’ll be ready. I’ve had more ice cream and music in my life than what any human deserves, and I am forever grateful.

Dr. B