My mind has been on weddings lately. My daughter will be marrying next year at this time. Naturally, or maybe not, our ideas of the perfect occasion are not always in sync. She is particular while I am less so. Nevertheless, we manage to plow through our discussions of arrangements without too much acrimony. My ideal wedding would take place in the Ballyseedy Castle Hotel in Tralee, Ireland, a setting reminiscent of the great houses of the Irish Ascendancy, those absentee landlords who withheld food from the masses and forced millions into emigration. My Irish peasant ancestors would be quite delighted to see their own dancing in the great rooms instead of slaving in the kitchen.