Rosary Ladies Party Power

Saturday a coworker of mine had a party to celebrate getting her doctorate in German Linguistics and her new job in Chicago. Jilly Moose and I went together, and I brought Moose Drool beer because, you know, moose. There were two very cute babies named Harry and Malcolm, which I think are great names for babies. They were only a day apart in age, so almost twins brothers from other mothers. OK Cap arrived a little after we did, and Luxuli arrived after Harry and Malcolm had gone home for bedtime, and she noted at that point the Rosary Ladies made up half the party. But of course – it’s just not a party without the Rosary Ladies! We told my coworker there is one more of us, in North Dakota, and just think – if she’d been there, we would have been in the majority at this party!

And yesterday I completely neglected to mention St. Patrick’s Day or my brother’s 40^th birthday. On St. Patrick’s Day, Travalon and I went to Cap’n Bill's, where my health club was putting on a free dinner for club members. The place was so packed that we finally found a couple of chairs in a back corner, because who needs a table? And it turns out Travalon is not a fan of corned beef and cabbage. We left and went to Claddagh Irish Pub, where it was also quite packed but at least there was standing room. We ended up sitting at a table with another couple and a gregarious family physician from Syracuse who was in town to learn the EPIC software system. We all bonded over photos of our pets. Since it was St. Patrick’s Day, which is a church holiday in some places, Travalon and I split a very un-Lenten dessert of chocolate whiskey pecan pie. It was definitely worth the extra calories.

I don’t know what my brother did for his birthday yesterday. I wished him a happy birthday on MyFace but didn’t write an elaborate poem for him like I did when he turned 25:

Happy birthday, Loser,

So now you’re twenty-five.

A quarter of a century,

I’m shocked you’re still alive.

So now that you’re so old,

Go drink some beer that’s cold.

What a masterpiece, eh?  He seemed to like it, for some reason. Guess I should have written another one to commemorate this historical event in his life, but I’m not the poet I was in my twenties. And besides, what rhymes with forty other than “warty”? Shorty? That doesn’t really describe my “little” brother.  He’s nearly as tall as Travalon. 

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