My dad was always a water person. He played, as a boy, on the banks of a river and he and my mother went on a canoe trip down that river for their very first date. During his entire life he wanted to live on water, and he accomplished that when I was a kid, and then again later in life.

The love of water is one of the gifts my parents gave us. And another is their home. Tucked away on a big lake in a warm state it’s a place their kids gather to relax and spend time together.

I was thinking about what a wonderful gift the love of water is as we were out on their lake today. Big puffy white clouds interspersed with ominous dark streaks floated above us as my brother skied, as we floated near our favorite island, as we visited the mountain near where their ashes were spread eleven years ago.

Water. The basis of life. Magical, ever changing. Beautiful.

Aren’t we lucky that our folks passed on their love of water and then made sure we were able to enjoy it for years to come.

And aren’t we lucky we get to spend time on a beautiful lake while thinking about them, telling stories about them, appreciating them.

Remembering them.