In my mind's eye, I see my ould Da, in the last of his youth, on a crisp morning in New York in the very early 60's or late 50's, hanging out over the Hudson river by one hand and a foot, on the spiked bars that fan out in a half circle to keep one off the pier, an open bottle of champain in his free hand, singing off a friend on the old Queen Elizabeth, when they still knew what an ocean liner was, and Da spiting champain at the ship between verses... Happy new year Da, God rest ye, a damn fine singer and a wild man to make any of us pale with jealousy.
Yer son, where ever your spirit finds itself,
Lor