Frank's recorder

Thanks to the tenor recorder I'm borrowing, and the recorder lessons that Terri and Bernie have started recently, the dulcet (and sometimes very squeaky) tones of recorders have been echoing through the house. Just now upstairs, I was playing Danny Boy with music spread around me, and Frank, who had just got out of the bath, plopped down beside me and began to "play" on a water recorder, with his eyes firmly fixed on his "music", a.k.a. a Cherokee clothes tag.