If you follow my mom on Facebook, (https://www.facebook.com/TheRealPeggyRowe) you’ve probably heard my dad had a serious heart attack the day after Christmas. Obviously, we’ve all been worried and anxious to understand what comes next. I’m happy to report that he’s home, and beginning what could be a long road back. On the other hand, tough as he is, it’s hard to say. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was rolling bocce balls in a week or so. I sure hope so. Thanks in advance for your thoughts and prayers. The Rowe’s are much obliged.
Munich, Germany
Back in 1984, most of my friends had a porno mustache. I could have grown one myself, I guess, but it wasn’t really my thing. That’s not to say I wasn’t guilty of other dubious fashion statements. Here, for instance, I’m dressed like a black-jack dealer on a break from my duties at The Moulin Rouge. And speaking of rouge, yes, I’m wearing some. As are my old friends, Pat Paul, (porno-stash to my left) and his brother Mike Paul, (porno-stash to his left) and Michael Gellert, (porno-stash to my right.) We were a barbershop quartet called Tyson Street.
I won’t even try to explain why four unapologetically virile, masculine men would dress from time to time in matching outfits and slather on pancake and rouge to compete with other male foursomes in elaborate singing contests. But we did, and it was a hell of a lot of fun. This photo was taken after a competition in Pennsylvania where we came in 17th. Funny, I remember thinking at the time that we had a shot at winning. When they announced that we came in 17th, I remember laughing with my mustachioed friends. I miss the days when we could harmonize, not on the stage or in matching outfits, but in a stairwell, or on a street corner, or in a restaurant, where unsuspecting diners were delighted (were they?) to hear us ring out an old chestnut. Or better yet, on a sailboat anchored somewhere in the Chesapeake, where innocent passersby weren’t subjected to the sounds of a quartet fueled by a cooler full of beer. There are friendships, and there are friendships held together with beer and close harmony. Those friendships are the best.
Mike Gellert turns 70 today. I wish to take this opportunity to acknowledge his dotage. I’m struggling to believe how my old friend can be 70 years old. As always, I’m still nine years younger, but still don’t they go by in a blink? I’m sitting here with my 91-year-old dad this morning, who is doing better every day since his heart attack last week and wondering how quickly the next 30 years will go, if I’m lucky enough to have them. Wish me well, and him, a hell of a happy birthday.
Back in 1984, most of my friends had a porno mustache. I could have grown one myself, I guess, but it wasn’t really my thing. That’s not to say I wasn’t guilty of other dubious fashion statements. Here, for instance, I’m dressed like a black-jack dealer on a break from my duties at The Moulin Rouge. And speaking of rouge, yes, I’m wearing some. As are my old friends, Pat Paul, (porno-stash to my left) and his brother Mike Paul, (porno-stash to his left) and Michael Gellert, (porno-stash to my right.) We were a barbershop quartet called Tyson Street.
I won’t even try to explain why four unapologetically virile, masculine men would dress from time to time in matching outfits and slather on pancake and rouge to compete with other male foursomes in elaborate singing contests. But we did, and it was a hell of a lot of fun. This photo was taken after a competition in Pennsylvania where we came in 17th. Funny, I remember thinking at the time that we had a shot at winning. When they announced that we came in 17th, I remember laughing with my mustachioed friends. I miss the days when we could harmonize, not on the stage or in matching outfits, but in a stairwell, or on a street corner, or in a restaurant, where unsuspecting diners were delighted (were they?) to hear us ring out an old chestnut. Or better yet, on a sailboat anchored somewhere in the Chesapeake, where innocent passersby weren’t subjected to the sounds of a quartet fueled by a cooler full of beer. There are friendships, and there are friendships held together with beer and close harmony. Those friendships are the best.
Mike Gellert turns 70 today. I wish to take this opportunity to acknowledge his dotage. I’m struggling to believe how my old friend can be 70 years old. As always, I’m still nine years younger, but still don’t they go by in a blink? I’m sitting here with my 91-year-old dad this morning, who is doing better every day since his heart attack last week and wondering how quickly the next 30 years will go, if I’m lucky enough to have them. Wish me well, and him, a hell of a happy birthday.
I sure do appreciate all the well wishes from so many of you worried about my dad, who continues to recover at home from a heart attack (or two) the day after Christmas. If you want a more detailed account of his convalescence, including the gradual but nevertheless spectacular reawakening of his lower GI Tract, I’ll direct you to my mother’s page, where details (and photos) await. Here, I’ll keep it tasteful, and simply tell you that for the last week, I personally observed a 91-year-old man get a little stronger and a little more determined with every passing day. At this rate, he’ll be back in the Shuffleboard Tournament this Tuesday. In fact, he probably could have competed this past Tuesday, had his wife permitted it. Here, he can be seen kicking my butt in back-to-back games just a few days ago – 18-9, and 15-13. After that, my mother – with not a trace of pity – vanquished us both in a vicious game of Big 2, which I regret teaching her every time we play.
I’d love to chat, but I’m off to Lichtenstein, for reasons I’ll explain later. Till then,
Weidersehen,
Mike
I sure do appreciate all the well wishes from so many of you worried about my dad, who continues to recover at home from a heart attack (or two) the day after Christmas. If you want a more detailed account of his convalescence, including the gradual but nevertheless spectacular reawakening of his lower GI Tract, I’ll direct you to my mother’s page, where details (and photos) await. Here, I’ll keep it tasteful, and simply tell you that for the last week, I personally observed a 91-year-old man get a little stronger and a little more determined with every passing day. At this rate, he’ll be back in the Shuffleboard Tournament this Tuesday. In fact, he probably could have competed this past Tuesday, had his wife permitted it. Here, he can be seen kicking my butt in back-to-back games just a few days ago – 18-9, and 15-13. After that, my mother – with not a trace of pity – vanquished us both in a vicious game of Big 2, which I regret teaching her every time we play.
I’d love to chat, but I’m off to Lichtenstein, for reasons I’ll explain later. Till then,
Weidersehen,
Mike
I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years.
After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden.
“Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked.
“No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Angel.
After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built.
“Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.”
I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little.
If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years.
After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden.
“Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked.
“No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Angel.
After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built.
“Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.”
I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little.
If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years.
After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden.
“Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked.
“No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Angel.
After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built.
“Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.”
I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little.
If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years.
After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden.
“Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked.
“No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Angel.
After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built.
“Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.”
I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little.
If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years.
After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden.
“Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked.
“No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Angel.
After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built.
“Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.”
I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little.
If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years.
After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden.
“Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked.
“No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Angel.
After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built.
“Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.”
I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little.
If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
My grandfather’s skill and work ethic inspired the foundation I run today. And although his last name, which died with him, is now on a bottle of excellent whiskey, make no mistake–my grandmother was the Knobel who called the shots, and she insisted they marry on the down-low without any family in attendance. That’s why my grandmother said to my mother 40 years ago, when asked if she’d like a party commemorating her 50th wedding anniversary, “Oh no, dear. This day is for your father and me. No one else. This is a day we celebrate alone.”
And so, they did. For 70 years in a row. With a conspicuous absence of hoopla, Carl and Julia celebrated the love that brought them together in the toughest of times and kept them together for seven decades. And maybe in some other realm, under some other name, they are still together, still celebrating, still hoping the rest of us might wind up with a Marriage Report as lasting as theirs.
Happy Anniversary, Nana and Pop, and Many Happy Returns!
.
.
.
@mikeroweworks @knobelwhiskey
My grandfather’s skill and work ethic inspired the foundation I run today. And although his last name, which died with him, is now on a bottle of excellent whiskey, make no mistake–my grandmother was the Knobel who called the shots, and she insisted they marry on the down-low without any family in attendance. That’s why my grandmother said to my mother 40 years ago, when asked if she’d like a party commemorating her 50th wedding anniversary, “Oh no, dear. This day is for your father and me. No one else. This is a day we celebrate alone.”
And so, they did. For 70 years in a row. With a conspicuous absence of hoopla, Carl and Julia celebrated the love that brought them together in the toughest of times and kept them together for seven decades. And maybe in some other realm, under some other name, they are still together, still celebrating, still hoping the rest of us might wind up with a Marriage Report as lasting as theirs.
Happy Anniversary, Nana and Pop, and Many Happy Returns!
.
.
.
@mikeroweworks @knobelwhiskey
My grandfather’s skill and work ethic inspired the foundation I run today. And although his last name, which died with him, is now on a bottle of excellent whiskey, make no mistake–my grandmother was the Knobel who called the shots, and she insisted they marry on the down-low without any family in attendance. That’s why my grandmother said to my mother 40 years ago, when asked if she’d like a party commemorating her 50th wedding anniversary, “Oh no, dear. This day is for your father and me. No one else. This is a day we celebrate alone.”
And so, they did. For 70 years in a row. With a conspicuous absence of hoopla, Carl and Julia celebrated the love that brought them together in the toughest of times and kept them together for seven decades. And maybe in some other realm, under some other name, they are still together, still celebrating, still hoping the rest of us might wind up with a Marriage Report as lasting as theirs.
Happy Anniversary, Nana and Pop, and Many Happy Returns!
.
.
.
@mikeroweworks @knobelwhiskey
Nuts… Munich, Germany
Something to Chew On
It was a trip to the dentist he’d never forget…
Link in bio
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.
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#thewayiheardit #dentist #story
I have two sets of names to share with you today. The first, are the most recent recipients of the work ethic scholarship from @mikeroweWORKS. This is the second scholarship cycle for 2023, and as you can see, we’ve selected 124 recipients totaling $675,000 in scholarship dollars. That brings the grand total for this year to 324 recipients and $1,675,000 in scholarships – our best year since we began, way back on Labor Day of 2008.
If you applied for a scholarship, and you see your name on the attached list, congratulations. If not, don’t be discouraged. You were not “weighed, measured, and found lacking.” You were just in really good company. Every year, more and more people apply for these work ethic scholarships, and every year, I wish we could assist more people who want to learn a useful skill. Please apply again in 2024.
The second list of names I want to share are those supporters who donated to @mikeroweworks in a BIG way. Along with the hundreds of people on this page who support us with regular contributions – and who have my deepest gratitude – these organizations went above and beyond, and allowed us to award more scholarships in a single year than ever before. Many thanks to you all.
Tom and Marilyn Moyer Foundation
Bruce Jacobs Fund at Donors Capital Fund
Engelstad Foundation
Software Engineering of America
J&K Trash Removal, Inc.
Charles Koch Foundation
Contractor Rewards
@dewalttough
@fergusonshowrooms
@wolverineboots
@kochIndustriesinc
@moeninc
@americangiant
@wileyx
I have two sets of names to share with you today. The first, are the most recent recipients of the work ethic scholarship from @mikeroweWORKS. This is the second scholarship cycle for 2023, and as you can see, we’ve selected 124 recipients totaling $675,000 in scholarship dollars. That brings the grand total for this year to 324 recipients and $1,675,000 in scholarships – our best year since we began, way back on Labor Day of 2008.
If you applied for a scholarship, and you see your name on the attached list, congratulations. If not, don’t be discouraged. You were not “weighed, measured, and found lacking.” You were just in really good company. Every year, more and more people apply for these work ethic scholarships, and every year, I wish we could assist more people who want to learn a useful skill. Please apply again in 2024.
The second list of names I want to share are those supporters who donated to @mikeroweworks in a BIG way. Along with the hundreds of people on this page who support us with regular contributions – and who have my deepest gratitude – these organizations went above and beyond, and allowed us to award more scholarships in a single year than ever before. Many thanks to you all.
Tom and Marilyn Moyer Foundation
Bruce Jacobs Fund at Donors Capital Fund
Engelstad Foundation
Software Engineering of America
J&K Trash Removal, Inc.
Charles Koch Foundation
Contractor Rewards
@dewalttough
@fergusonshowrooms
@wolverineboots
@kochIndustriesinc
@moeninc
@americangiant
@wileyx
Big thanks to @drug_city_liquors in Dundalk for hosting a Meet and Greet. And an even bigger thanks to the 200 whiskey aficionados who grabbed a photo with yours truly, along with a signed bottle of Knobel Tennessee Whiskey. I was humbled, as always, by your presence, as well as your presents. Consider this cross-stitch from Amanda. Seriously, zoom and look closely at her handiwork. Amanda, aside from being a talented cross-stitcher, is a chemist, and a waitress. She told me that cross-stitching was cool again, and very relaxing. Maybe I’ll try it one day? But probably not, as I am not that cool.
Amy Cleaver wanted me to know we might be related. She brought a photo that featured a man she claimed was her Uncle Joe Hergenrather, who also happened to be my second cousin of mine, God rest his soul. Not that I doubted her, but after stopping by my parent’s place and consulting the extensive genealogical tome comprised by my Aunt Betty, it appears Amy was telling the truth. We are in fact related. Proving once again, you never know who you’re going to run into at a whiskey bottle signing.
Get a load of Gabe Brooks. Gabe is a former undercover cop in Baltimore who now works for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. I know this because he gave me an ATF Challenge Coin, and promised to make sure Knobel was properly registered. (It is.)
And then there was Bill Pearce. He then presented me with a terrific print from a local artist named Sam Robinson, who captured “The Manor Race,” one of the steeplechase races held every year in Monkton, which Bill’s family started 112 years ago. Bill knew my dad was having a birthday tomorrow, and that my mother was crazy for horses. So, he wanted them to have it, and asked me to give it to them with his regards. I did, and they were delighted. A lovely gift, on this, the 63rd anniversary of their nuptials.
So many other nice people, with so many stories to tell. Thanks for coming out, very much. If you couldn’t make it, you can order a bottle online, a portion benefits the @mikeroweWORKS. Link in bio.
Cheers! Dundalk, Maryland
A few years ago, I narrated a really good documentary, (if I don’t say so myself), called Farmers For America. It’s been airing on PBS ever since, and if you haven’t seen it, you should do so this week. Not on PBS, but right here, for free. Link in bio.
Farmers For America touches on a lot of things I think are really important, including the degree to which many Americans have become disconnected from their food, and the extraordinary obstacles now confronting the next generation of farmers. And perhaps, most importantly, the incredibly small number of people who comprise the next generation of farmers. I don’t know if or where the film will be available in the future, so I encourage you to watch it now while it’s still available. It’ll be accessible from 9 PT tonight, (11/20) through midnight on Sunday. It strikes me a really good thing to watch around Thanksgiving. Also, if you share my addiction to chewing and swallowing things, you can make a contribution on website. 75% of whatever you might donate will go directly to @mikeroweWORKS, and the rest will go to the production of the next farming film.
Finally, if you’re wondering what to do this Wednesday afternoon at 1:30 PT, join me at the Farmers Gratitude Summit. It’s free, and you’d be welcome. Link also in bio.
A few years ago, I narrated a really good documentary, (if I don’t say so myself), called Farmers For America. It’s been airing on PBS ever since, and if you haven’t seen it, you should do so this week. Not on PBS, but right here, for free. Link in bio.
Farmers For America touches on a lot of things I think are really important, including the degree to which many Americans have become disconnected from their food, and the extraordinary obstacles now confronting the next generation of farmers. And perhaps, most importantly, the incredibly small number of people who comprise the next generation of farmers. I don’t know if or where the film will be available in the future, so I encourage you to watch it now while it’s still available. It’ll be accessible from 9 PT tonight, (11/20) through midnight on Sunday. It strikes me a really good thing to watch around Thanksgiving. Also, if you share my addiction to chewing and swallowing things, you can make a contribution on website. 75% of whatever you might donate will go directly to @mikeroweWORKS, and the rest will go to the production of the next farming film.
Finally, if you’re wondering what to do this Wednesday afternoon at 1:30 PT, join me at the Farmers Gratitude Summit. It’s free, and you’d be welcome. Link also in bio.
A lot of you have asked me when @returningthefavorshow will be back and why it went away in the first place. I wish I knew. Until then, I’ve put together a series of short videos with my friends at @standtogether that I think you might enjoy. Each video features a modern-day bloody-do-gooder determined to solve a serious problem with a bottom-up solution. What exactly is a bottom-up solution? It’s a solution that starts with one person, determined to make a difference. In this case, that person is a chef named Chad Houser. Chad runs a five-star restaurant @cafemomentum that’s not much different than any other five-star restaurant, except for the fact that it’s operated almost entirely by a bunch of teenagers who have been in and out of juvenile detention for most of their young lives. As you might have noticed, our juvenile justice system is badly broken. Young criminals have an uncanny way of becoming old criminals, and Chad wants to break the pattern that leads so many kids to a life of chronic incarceration.
Why he took it upon himself to risk everything he’d worked so hard to build was the reason I invited him on my podcast, and what he achieved as the result of that gamble is the reason I made this video. I’m tempted to call it a “Christmas Miracle,” except the miracle has been happening year-round in Dallas since 2015, when Café Momentum first opened. Today, Chad’s customers are still delighted with the service, the food is better than ever, and Café Momentum is the toast of Dallas. You kind of have to see it to believe it, which is why I’m asking you to watch this short video. Chad wants to bring a Café Momentum to every major city, and I’d like to help him. If you’d like to help us, please share it far and wide. And if you want to take a closer look at this particular Christmas miracle.
https://youtu.be/IEuuB1FS59g
To donate to Café Momentum – https://bit.ly/3RxFNSb
