Our soul is fed by the warmth and flavor of our fondest memories...

ON SODA BREAD DREAMS


We were raised on strong tea and soda bread
Ma's hands mixing the dough, wearing that same smile
She smiled whenever she danced the two hand reel with my father
Both their cheeks flushed with excitement
Brought on by the fire of the music and each other

Soda bread marked our hours of existance
Like a clock
The making of it
The breaking of it
Its everpresentness at the table
Whenever the family gathered
A warm slice for every memory
Buttered comfort
A lifeline of sustanance, companionship and fuel

Long lazy days turning into afternoons and evenings
The perpetuality of childhood that goes on forever
The pans of soda bread fresh from the oven
Plates piled high, passed in ritual
Talk of what had been, what was, what will be
Fortunes dreamt and made at the supper table
Tomorrow always being another day

Being raised on soda bread dreams meant expecting nothing to be perfect
Each bite nagging us to find the humor in the bleating sheep that blocks the road
Every crumb willing us to accept the odd rainstorm that drenches the bride
With the same good grace we do the exquisite beauty of a June morning
When dew sparkles on the grass and the faeries turn for home

We were raised on soda bread and with a strong arm
There was always room for one more at the table
Always time for a scolding and a lesson
Always love for each other in our hearts
Now I mix the dough, wearing that same smile my Mother did
Whenever she danced the two hand reel with my father
My cheeks flush with the excitement of remembering our family
The music, the togetherness that came
With a warm slice of buttered comfort -
Being raised on soda bread dreams