Funny, but there have been a number of really neat times, one of which occurred during the week of St. Pat's last year. The lads and I are usually booked very heavily that week, but be always make sure to do 2 to 4 "free" gigs. One of these was at The Welcome Home for the Blind. You want to talk about unnerving? When people are watching you with there eyes and listening with their ears, one can do any number of things visually to enhance the performance. But when your audience is 60 or so folks that watch and hear you with only their ears, ....... well, you know that you had better be on the mark. There were so many little things that were wonderful, like the little gal that sat in front and clapped and sang (even when she didn't know the words which was most of the time....*G*) to the little old fella that sat there with his head down, and the only part of his body that acknowledge that he heard was his pinky finger that tapped the beat to every single song or tune. But the best moment came at the end when the last little old gal that was in the room came up and thanked us for the music. She had a twinkle in those sightless eyes that told you she was a pip. And she had a thick Dutch accent that told you she was from Rotterdam. She talked, and told us about her husband, God Bless him, that had passed away. And she told us about her kids. I asked her if I could sing her a song just for her. So she sits down, and I sing The Dutchman for her. You should have seen her as I sang the verses. "When Amsterdam was golden..." and she nods her head. "I've been there" she says. "....sometimes he thinks he's still in Rotterdam...". "That's my town" she says as she puffs her chest. And a tear rolls down her cheek. "....she makes his bed up, humming some old love song...", more tears, as she turns her face to me. I guess you know, I had a hard time finishing the song. When I get done, she stands up, wipes her face, straightens herself like a proper Dutch woman, shakes my hand and proudly carries herself down the hall. Pretty neat moment for me. I straightened meself up like the proper Irish American lad that I am, put away the old Guild 12, and carry my big, blubbering Irish arse to the car.

A good memory. Thanks, Deckman, for starting this one. And thanks to all for your great memories.

Mick