How amazing to read this thread! Only last night my brother and I were reminiscing about how, on the occasions when my grandfather came home from the pub not simply "with drink taken" but truly drunk, my grandmother would lock him out of the house. He'd sit on the front stoop for hours and sing mournful Irish ballads like "The Bold Fenian Men," "The Valley of Knockanure," "Sean South of Garryowen," "The Dying Rebel," and "The Croppy Boy." We realize now that the dear man was a lonely alcoholic. Yet my brother and I decided that the very definition of "cozy" was to snuggle under the weight of several scratchy wool blankets after crossing the icy bedroom floor to open the window so we could listen to Papa's lovely tenor voice blow in with the cold night air.

My sons loved the old rebel songs, too, as well as "Let It Be" and "Puff The Magic Dragon." My younger boy, Gabriel, loved Joan Baez's lullaby "Gabriel And Me," of course. So that my older boy wouldn't feel left out, I sang A.A. Milne's poem "Timothy Tim Has Ten Pink Toes" to the tune of "The Skye Boat Song."

One of my sweetest pleasures now is rocking and singing to my three grandsons, ages 1 month, 2 years and 2-1/2 years old. Their fathers complain that I spoil them by continuing to rock and sing to them long after they've fallen asleep in my arms. But sometimes, they'll whisper, "Oh, I loved that song!" and sing along with me. At those moments, it's like the very best of the past and the future coming together -- and my heart just soars!