There is nothing else to be said but thanks dad.
I love music. I learned to play guitar, piano and trumpet as I was growing up. I sang in choirs. I can’t say my voice is anywhere as good as either my daughters or my niece Megan but its ok. I loved that guitar though. Christmas day most like 1970ish. I still own a guitar today, and while I don’t play anywhere near as well as I would like I do try to improve. I love music because I grew up in a house where music was played. There were only 5 channels of TV when I was little and for the most part you could only watch 4. Later on we got cable and added WGN but when we were really little there were only two stations. I got my own radio when I was 8 years old. I loved that radio (it was my link to Armed Forces radio out of Vietnam while we lived in Thailand.
Mom tells me I am my own person and my love of water comes from being me. I will postulate instead that my love of water comes from the people I grew up with who loved water and music. I love both for many different reasons. I love boats and boating because of my grandfather Johnston and my father. Dad loved canoes (I have two) and Grandpa loved power boats (I had one for many years). Mom loves the beach. She would take us to the beach in Indiana all the time (Fairfax on Lake Monroe). It was the highlight of the summer, mom piling all of us into the old Mercury station wagon. When mom drove we used the air conditioning. When dad drove we enjoyed conditioned air (what happens when air goes through the open window of a car). Mom took us to that beach at Lake Monroe a number of times every summer. It was a thousand times the size of the beach Grandpa built at Lake Ripley but it was never as good as Lake Ripley. I learned to swim there at Fairfax beach. So in the end my love of water comes from the people I grew up with. My love of music though, that comes from my mom and dad. Dad used to sing in the car as he was driving (one song, over and over for 100’s of miles). Mom used to listen to Peter, Paul and Mary and other music of the 1960’s. We used to sing songs in the car all the time. Well mom, Lynne, Barb and I would sing songs. Dad would sing as well. “Detour there’s a muddy road ahead. Detour.” Over and over again. All it took to get that song out of his head was a detour sign. He did also sing songs he learned from his father at times. Mostly songs about world war I. “Oh we won’t come back till its over over there. Over there. Over there. The Yanks are coming. The Yanks are coming. And we won’t be back till its over over there.” Over and over and over. The two songs. I can honestly still hear them in my head. Every single car trip of more than 30 minutes had those two songs sung by dad.
Let’s end with when you live in the land of quilts you make do.