at O’Brian’s pub for some dinner and music.
After my brother got off work, we headed out for the pub to meet up with yet another fellow-C&Fer. It was easy to spot Lee (“look for Father Christmas in a hat carrying whistles”). It was great fun meeting Lee in person, talking things over, laughing, trying to be nice to an extremely stressed out waitress. After some truly amazing Irish stew/Reubin sandwiches, we headed to the back room and broke out the whistles.
We were the first musicians there, but as soon as the room began to fill up one thing bacame very clear: These people are GOOD. We had, if memory serves, four flute players, two very sensitive and skillful bodhran players, a fiddler, a piper, a mandolin player, and a guitar or three (including Lee), and me on the whistle. All of the players were very, very good…
except, um, me…The trouble was that I didn’t know any of the tunes. When, in the middle of a jig set, they started The Rolling Wave, I tore into it enthusiastically. But that was the only tune the whole evening I knew.
No matter, though. I spent a lot of time listening, but more than listening, absorbing. Sitting there in the middle of it all, I’d close my eyes and just let the music fill up my mind. Everything else faded away. It was almost the same feeling I get crossing a divide in the high mountains–totally overcome by beauty to the point where there is no past or future, just the beauty.
My brother, sadly, had to work the next day, to my enjoyment was cut rather short. When the time came to go, I was so overcome by the music I almost wandered out the door without saying goodbye to Lee. Fortunately, he at least was paying attention. 
We stood out on the street talking and laughing for another good half hour before it was necessary to move on.
Thanks for an evening I’ll never forget, Lee. I hope we can do this again.
God Bless–
Tom
