Some twenty years ago, as I was meandering through this thing called Life, I crashed in my sister’s basement for a while, as one chapter closed and I awaited for the next one to open.  Not to get all Philosophical,, but I’ve come to believe that there’s a reason for where you are at any particular moment.

I was at my sister’s house when my niece was born.  Uncles do what uncles do, I watched their house and answered the phone.  When she was but a toddler, she had a surgery to fix the small hole in her heart.  I spent those quiet days in her room, stripping old wallpaper,  fixing the trim, and painting the walls a girly pink.

I babysat for her and later for her baby brother.  Her wonderful parents tried their best to  provide for a wonderful upbringing, my Sister being a teacher, the teachings were all by the book.

But I was an Uncle.  Not an educator, and I wanted to be sure there was silliness and goffiness and an ability to look at life from several angles.

When Adam was but an infant, and Erin was maybe two, I introduced young Erin to the world of Jimmy Buffett music.  Some folks might not like Jimmy, but I really don’t care.

In the family’s den, dancing hand in hand with her, with her wearing a little white dress and no shoes, we’d wait for that dancing moment after the chorus…

“And there’s that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within”

And then we’d crazy dance, like no one was watching.  Silly dance, unmanly dance, when she’d laugh, I’d laugh, and her Mom would laugh while watching.

Erin’s little brother died last month at age Twenty, and we’re all, as a family, trying to accept that fact.

So anyway, I fell upon this video on YouTube by accident.  Searching around for something else and I came upon this one.

It’s of a Buffet concert,  nearly 10 minutes long and six years old, and I think that I was there:)

But it’s silly, and happy, and makes you want to dance and smile.

I’ve watched it twenty times and cried each time.  I think I’ll make it 21.

I love you, Erin.