For all the growing pains and lumps, this place is still a wonder to behold. Thanks to all of you for your concern and care.

The old fart couldn't even wait til Monday. It was just like him to take off on March 15, just two days before St. Pat's. I can just hear him, "you people have to concentrate". To say that Thursday, Friday and Saturdays gigs were tough would be classic understatement. But we pulled together and got it done. In fact, Saturday we were on fire.

Then came Monday. Jim was buried at St. Patrick's in Parnell, Michigan. This wonderful old church is located in a small, 4 corners village that was named after the great Irishman. I always thought it funny and prophetic that the town, with its Roman Catholic Church was named after a Protestant. The service was wonderful, and all the people that the old man had touched were there. He had shared music with so many people over the years. You cannot imagine the number of folks that came up to us and told us stories of how Jim had got them started on this instrument or that. Just listening to these, or stories about his cantankerous ways, made me miss him all the more. As we walked across the road to the cemetary, I was struck by how appropriate it was. Walking into that cemetary is like walking into another time. All the old Paddy's are there. The giant celtic crosses, all the old families........one can't help but feel the bond between the old land and the new. After the good Father did his duties, the Irish took over. The band and others played his favorite tunes. Jim always liked "Soldiers Joy" and "Over the Waterfall". He had asked that we sing "Hard Times" and we did. Then we sang his favorite song from the band. Jim just loved "The Ferryman". But the old coot could never get the name right. He would say, "Mick, sing me that Liffey song..........you know about the strawberry beds....." For some reason, he just loved that damn song. Then came the hard part. We sang "The Parting Glass" with a special verse just for Jim and his Darla. To say we all broke down is classic understatement. But we made it. We then cracked a bottle of Jameson's 1789, poured a little on the coffin (I think I saw the lid move.......LOL) and passed it around. I then took out the 22" inch bodhran with the big voice and drummed the coffin into the ground. Our way for one drummer to remain behind and to keep the pulse going until the coffin touches down. At exactly that moment, It stops and we leave. Parnell is a farming community, and one of the old timers said to me later that the drum sounded just like an old John Deere two cylinder. Perfect. Rest well, old friend. God be good to you.

Mick