The death of my late father's second oldest brother, at 93, ends the run of the John and Ada Crawford family. While my uncle left a daunting number of children (5), and grandchildren and great grandchildren in the dozens, it is the loss to his wife Vida that will be the most significant. They had been married almost 63 years. Ada, Vida: names from an American immigrant past.

His obituary in the Reno paper sports his nom de plume, Shorty Muldoon. This was not a name behind which he hid -- rather it was an alter ego, which I always assumed was intended to suggest a wiry Irish buckaroo. His literal genealogy, however, was Scots, as he always boasted.

What does it mean to choose an imaginary variant on the Celtic theme which I admire for its stubborn sameness through many travels? Maybe this meaning, in my uncle's case, will remain hidden. I will have to add to these thoughts, however, because I find that my own attraction to Celtic music has nothing to do with varieties. It all seems to stir my blood equally, for the same irrational reasons. There is an ur-Celt, if you will, which looms large and awkward behind some Americans in the unhealthful mists of time, some man whose destiny is burial in a bog.

My uncle's burial will be in the granular, alkaline earth of Nevada. May his memories be for a blessing, but may his passing be celebrated with an Irish wake.