It is like my Grandmothers house. It was an enormous (or so it seemed to a young boy) and it was the gathering place for our extended family. It was never empty, never mind the day or the time. It seemed like every room had an uncle or a cousin, a sister and her friends, the sweet lilt of Grandma's voice as she baked. Granda and his old cronies playing cards in the parlor and solving the problems of the day. Always new faces, as someone brought new friends into the circle, they were always welcomed. And someplace always the sound of music. Someone singing, or humming. Playing a whistle or strumming. And the best when the Ceili's would happen. Sometimes spontaneously and sometimes planned. Looking back through the prism of time, I get a very warm feeling. I always knew I belonged there. Just like I feel when I am with all of you, at the old Mudcat Cafe.