every now and then i'm struck by how many of my parents' rituals, habits, and loves i carry with me. there's the big stuff; the decision to take up guitar, which i've referenced elsewhere, which i was first prodded to try by my mother (and a few years later, by a cute girl). i was sixteen, and i was young and dumb and surly, and it didn't stick, though when i picked it up in my twenties, something fundamentally changed, and i've played it almost daily since.
but besides guitar, there are other things. a drink before supper, usually a finger of whisky; coffee after supper, made in the moka pot. i have an armchair in the corner of the living room where i do my reading. i often forget my glasses, and when gently chided about it by my partner, reply back that i barely even need them (this is, of course, a lie).
to say nothing of how much of me i owe to friends. and so on.
it reminds me of this tumblr post i saw a while ago:
