We had a plumber at the house yesterday.

Nothing major, we hoped; our pipes whine whenever we flush the toilet, and a quick Google search revealed that whining pipes could be a result of a water pressure issue.  Since moving into the house two months ago, we cringe every time we hear the shrill scream.

We wonder if this time, when we flush, our home will show its age, and something will burst.  We — more accurately, I — have been following the “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” rule, so as not to exacerbate the problem.

And it could be an expensive fix at a time when we are just settling in after buying the house and everything we got to update it.

But what does money matter when “FIX ME!” cries the copper?  “SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT!!” the pipes seem to shriek, making their presence known, ramping up the intensity as the day dies.

I just flushed the toilet again, as I’m getting ready to head to an Easter brunch with my family.  Sure enough, ten seconds later, here comes the whining.  And I’m fine with it.

Why are we getting together on Easter, anyway??

My brother, as far as I can tell, is an atheist who values science and fact above all.  I could be wrong, but I believe my sister-in-law feels the same.

Dad isn’t particularly religious, though he was raised Catholic.

My queen is working a double, so she can’t go, but she sure as hell isn’t religious.

Mom is an ordained minister who performs amazing wedding ceremonies (there isn’t a dry eye in the congregation when she finishes her unique love stories which she writes for each couple she marries).  But she doesn’t go to church or take the eucharist or anything like that.  She simply performs her own private bible studies and walks as righteous a path as possible.

And mom didn’t even set this brunch up, it was my aunt and uncle, in town from Atlanta.

A little background on my family, and how close we are: my father (John) and his brother (Ken) married my mother (Vikki) and her sister (Janet).  Two brothers married two sisters.  Because of these unions, Ken and Janet’s kids — Katherine (Kat) and Kevin — are more like siblings than cousins.  We share many similarities, beyond simply physical features.

Ken and Janet set up the brunch, and I know that when Kat and Kevin were kids, their family would attend church.  Methodist, I believe.

And on Easter Sunday when I was a kid, our grandma, John and Ken’s mom, would pop for a couple of rooms at the Holiday Inn where they hosted a large brunch.

I would always look forward to Easter brunch with grandma; as a fat kid, I loved the chocolate mousse.  We’d get to swim in the pool, play putt-putt, arcade games.  It was awesome.

But we’re not kids anymore.  And grandma died fourteen years ago.

Holidays aren’t the same.  At least not for me.  They used to mean something.  Now it seems as though holidays have become a day when family has to get together.  Regardless of what’s going on in people’s lives, or deadlines, or promises, everything must be put on hold because “it’s a holiday”.

The “holidays” I look forward to now are the ones I create.  The ones I earn by way of hard work.

I’m going on a holiday this Wednesday, in fact.  Gaz Coombes is performing in Chicago on his first U.S. tour since Supergrass disbanded.  Supergrass is my favorite band of all time, and Gaz is my favorite contemporary artist.  His latest album, Matador, was nominated for the Freddie Mercury award for Best New Album.  The Mercury awards are like our Grammys.

So, on Wednesday, I’ll be taking the day off, driving to Chicago, and letting loose while witnessing one of my heroes sing his heart out.  That’s a holiday to me.

Not today.  Today, I have to dress my best (which isn’t saying much, since I still have to order my new suit), and put on hold my studio migration and setup, put on hold the song I’ve been working on, put on hold the priorities I value higher, and attend brunch with the family.

I love my family, don’t get me wrong.  I just feel that “because it’s Easter” or “because it’s a holiday” aren’t good reasons for abandoning what’s important for me to do right now.

But I will.

Because I’m a nice guy, I’ll endure the small talk, the banter.  I’ll bite my tongue when I’m judged for my lifestyle.  I’ll leave my verbal épée in its scabbard.  I’ll do my best to relate to the stories of office work, or the you-had-to-be-there tales which always seem to bubble up when conversation gets dull.

When I was a kid, I dreamed that when I became an adult, I’d finally be accepted and welcomed into the guild of the wise, praised for my intelligence and insight, that I would engage in lofty conversations about important issues and more adult topics.

Not so.  Swearing is frowned upon and actively discouraged.  Table manners are critical, certain topics taboo.  Going against the norm is met with judgment and naysaying.  Being different is just too…different.

When I’m with my family, I feel like I’m still a kid, like I accidentally broke the head off of my uncle’s 3-wood or something (which happened, but that’s another story).  I feel as though I’m under surveillance.

And I think the reason I feel that way is because they still see me as a kid, and treat me as such.

Perception is everything.  They say if you change the way you look at things, then the things you look at will change.  Today, I will employ that mindset.

Today, I will look at my aunt and uncle as two crazy kids who married their sibling’s sibling.  Two people who have experienced their own shares of hardship and fruitfulness, who are still to this day trying to get through this thing called life.  Two baby boomers who are trying to make sense of the world in which they live.

The world of the millennial is taking shape.  The world of the baby boomer is dying.  And it scares the living shit out of them.

By changing my perception, I can create whatever experience I want out of this brunch.  So, too, can we all, in life.

Like the whining pipes…

The plumber, who happens to be the boyfriend of my queen’s cousin, said that there really isn’t an issue.  The pipes are just running through holes cut in the wood joists, and sometimes they vibrate, causing the whining.

Now, with his expert opinion, I can relax.  What was once a terrible annoyance and a harbinger of disaster is now a song my house sings.

Last night, after my queen got home from work and used the restroom, I muted the television and asked her to be silent while we listened to the pipes play.  We sat motionless, eyes closed, and listened intently to the symphony being offered.

It was in B flat major.

Change your perception, change your life.

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Let he who would move the world first move himself. — Socrates

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