I've been silent for awhile...

...and that is rare for me. I've had an incredibly musical couple of weeks. Most of the experiences have been great, other aspects have been frustrating. I guess that's what we call life. The good has been out-weighing the frustrating so I figure that's a net gain. It's good to feel supported by people in your "neighborhood" and I've had a lot of that. It's refreshing.
     Speaking of neighborhoods, I really like the concept of "it takes a village to raise a child." Perhaps our society has let this go a bit but I think it is still relevant. I found out this morning that a foundation of my personal village passed on to his next adventure. When I was younger, this great uncle treated me, and my siblings like grandkids. He and my great aunt (pronounced ant in case any of you were wondering..) were the relatives that lived closest to us and we loved going over to their house. I still remember lounging on the shag carpet in their den, the color of which resembled that giant yarn-dog on Sesame Street, Barkley. Their beagle Zambo occasionally stayed with us when they went away. We loved Zambo, our father not so much, especially after Zambo left some marks on the door during a thunder storm. Those claw marks are still on the door at my father's house...When they retired, they moved out-of-state to live next door to my grandparents so we got to see them on a somewhat regular basis. 
     Our great uncle was an incredible person. He loved to joke around yet was a man of deep personal faith. He was a war hero, having been in the U.S. Navy in WWII in the Pacific. We always felt loved by him and I know I still adore him to this day, even though I hadn't seen him or talked to him in years. 
     So this blog entry/post actually has to do with music. This great uncle of whom I speak gave me a nickname that few people anymore know of. It's kind of an inside family joke. As I kid I remember wondering if he actually knew my real name. Okay, as an adult I'm still not sure. This nickname was well earned. Every time I saw Uncle Gordy, out would come the plastic yellow banjo and I'd enthrall him with renditions of Clementine, or the Garden Song (a la John Denver) or any other ditty I had in my head at the time. I seem to recall endless versions of Tomorrow from Annie as well. He'd encourage me, or egg me on, by yodeling along at the top of his lungs. 
     I don't know if I'd be a singer today if it hadn't been for several factors, and a big one was Uncle Gordy. He was a big part of the village that has made me who I am, like it or not. I tend to like it. I'm not ashamed to say that I shed a few tears this morning, and I'm also not ashamed to say that I've had Clementine running through my head all day. 

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