My parents visited me over Thanksgiving week. It seems like every time they’re here, I get a chance to talk about music in a different way than I normally do. It helps us understand each other.

During this visit, my Dad was relating a story about someone who’d done some work in their house and played in a band. “I guess he still has that dream,” my Dad said. Then, as I started to jump in, he corrected, “well, dream’s the wrong word.”

“It’s not a dream,” I elaborated. “You like working in your garden. Music is my garden. It’s what I do.”

Music is just that other guy’s garden as well. Why would we stop tending it?

I think that got us on the same page.