When it comes time to change the music in March, I set out always to find nice Irish music. Appropriate, yes? But then, every time, it seems incomplete without a Welsh air, some Scottish pipes, because my very bones seem to demand it.
Does one develop a particular fondness for certain music?
Or, like birds that seem to simply "know" how to build nests, how to fly South, do we recognize the reverberation of certain instruments, certain sounds from our genetic makeup?
I don't know the answer, but I know what I like!
March - the month in which, more than any other, we, at our house, celebrate in music, in food and in the gathering of kith and kin, our heritage, our roots.
We are American, of course.
But to be American is to be one knitted from yarns pulled from across the world.
A mélange, if you will rich with variation.
So I imagine it will be corned beef and cabbage and red potatoes, no doubt some potato and leek soup, some soda bread, maybe a touch of Guinnes Stew, I'm not sure what I will "bring to the table" but I know it will inspire the sense of grounding - some sense of recognition of from whence I came.
A nostalgic month for me is March.
Goes with Spring, I guess. Looking back at what is past, what has been lost. Looking forward to what might yet be.
Giving thanks for all of it.
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