Bruce B.: Don't know if you're addressing me or Bee or both of us ... but:

"So where were these parties in Halifax then?"

All over the peninsula; mainly within walking/staggering distance of downtown & Dal.

"I went to a few at Michael Woods house and others, who are you referring to?"

Don't know Michael Woods, I don't think. I don't even know whose places most of those parties were at; they were just places you'd end up at; a friend of a friend; you didn't know how you got there and didn't know how you got home, unless by foot the next morning; you just remembered tunes and girls and laughter and hot tempers and more laughter and more music and deep discussion and a kiss and an insult and a fiddle and people you'd never seen before and people you'd never see again and something spooky like footsteps down an empty hallway or a figure in the doorway when you awoke on a couch in the dark and empties and half-empties all over the place and cigarette smoke and ashtrays bluegrass and pot smoke and guitars and dancing and arguing and blues and laughing and cursing and a mandolin and a story and a joke and a song a thousand songs and a thousand stories and a poster of the Bluenose and Irish jigs and Scottish reels then there's a bouzouki and someone thought bazooka and laughed her head off and sea shanteys and there's a French sailor dancing all by himself in the corner with a little red pom-pom bouncing on the top of his French sailor's cap and a woman rubbing up against you and an Irish rebel song and a famous musician supposed to show up but didn't and whoever left an hour ago on a beer-run never came back and they're ransacking the cupboards then someone remembers home-made beer in the basement maybe ready by now and a long sad ballad about a ship at sea and a long slow kiss and lightning fast fingers across strings and a guitar-case snapped shut in anger and a harmonica wailing with joy and Cuban cigars and St. Pierre liquor and a French-Canadian girl singing Au Chant de l'Alouette and shelves full of books and records and some guy who won't stop arguing under the kitchen table arguing with the feet and a Stan Rogers song and politics and an old man almost gone home with his fiddle turns in the doorway and comes back ...

Bee knows; she was there. Do I got it about right? Can't remember who lived there.

"do I know you?"

If you spent much time in the old days with those dubious characters Bee mentioned you probably do ...