I don’t have a big family, myself. I’m the bratty single kid, and so was my mom. No siblings to play with, and no aunts or uncles from my mother’s side. Just a bunch of more distant types from the Old World. From my father, things were a little more promising; he had sisters. One of those, my Auntie Irene, is my godmother. I talked to her last night.
But this all pales in comparison with Ti. Her mom, Lucie, was one of twenty one children (no, I didn’t add too many zeros there), and her dad, Jerry, has four brothers and sisters.
Or rather, had. One of those, the one I now call Uncle Jimmy, died this morning after a long fight with cancer.
Old men go fishing with black line and spoons,
And if they catch nothing they never complain,
And I wish I was with them again
Jimmy lived and died a Cape Bretoner. Some of you will recognize the lyrics of this song.
Like most, he was handed either a guitar or a fiddle when he was born, and probably learned how to play it before he learned how to walk. To add to the stereotype, the event was a home grown, real live Ceilidh. “Cay-lee”, to those of you not in the shizzle. You know, a dozen or so of your closest friends, a dozen guitars, some fiddles, a lap steel.
And a touch of the sauce.
Teasing the ones that they dearly adore
And into the evening the courting begins,
And I wish I was with them again
There were more than that, but I was caught up in the whirl of the evening. Jimmy handed me his beloved Gibson (actually Louise’s, if I recall), and away we went. Jigs, reels, a whole of of bluegrass, and even a few songs I knew. I tried to keep up. Thank God most of the songs were in honest major keys, with none of that E7 flat crap.
Bonfires blaze to the children’s delight
They dance round the flames singing songs with their friends,
And I wish I was with them again.
But I do have an admission to make, and I’m not very proud of it. You see, ceilidhs are circular things. You sit in a circle (or the periphery of the rectangular porch, if that’s what you have) and the music goes round. The tradition is that when it’s your turn, you stand and deliver, and lead the next number.
I couldn’t.
Of witches and werewolves and Oak Island gold.
Stars on the riverface sparkle and spin.
I wish I was with them again
To be truthfully honest, I don’t think I’d ever been so intimidated in my life. Here, in the presence of Jimmy and other master musicians, I could not, would not choose a song. And not for not knowing any… back in my previous life, I’d actually performed a lot of the down home favourites.
But I had not prepared, and had feared looking the western fool by requesting The Island, or some Stan Rogers standby. Jimmy kept needling me… “these guys are pretty talented”, he’d say more than once. “They probably know anything that you know”. But I could not.
They’ll treat you to homebrew, and help you unwind.
And if you come broken they’ll see that you mend
I wish I was with them again
After, many hours after, when time came to unwind, I told Jimmy that next time I’d be more prepared, and I’d come with songs. He looked at me and smiled, as if to say “Sure, kid. Sure.”
Even then, you see, he was recovering from treatment. They had removed his salivary glands, so his mouth was always dry. And his voice, well it was a whisper at times. Dry, raspy. He could not sing, although it was clear to me that he wanted to. Instead, he sat back playing his guitar, mouthing the words to all the songs.
And he was happy. In his element. I have seldom seen such joy in a man’s face.
Sweet be your dreams, and your happiness swell.
I’ll leave you here for my journey begins,
I’m going to be with them again.
Of course, I won’t be making it back to play with Jimmy, and that saddens me. I wish I’d screwed up the courage to lose my inhibitions and just jump in when called to. But I did play, and I think he took some little happiness in that.
At least, I imagine he did. I know that it was my great pleasures of that trip. I hope he realized it.
To Louise, his wife, and the rest of the Sollazzo family, we send our deep condolences. I only met Jimmy that one time. Clearly, it was not enough. But when do we ever get to know someone well enough?
Louise and Jimmy took care of us during our trip out east with grace and elan, and I wish we could have returned the favour. Louise, if you happen to read this, please know that our hearts are with you, and we share just a little bit of your pain and sorrow.
More fit for princes and Kings
I’ll trade you ten of your cities For Marion Bridge
And the pleasure it brings
Out on the Mira By Allister MacGillivray