I’m in rough shape. My arms and shoulders ache, my stomach feels like it’s a sea of razor blades, and my ankle is giving me the business all day. See, we went to the Twin Cities last week for a birthday party and a wedding reception.
The birthday party was an annual event that we went to for years. A gentleman who we shall call The Lutheran Brother hosts this fondue feed in February for his birthday. Like me, he loves a good beer (more on this in a day or two). So on Friday night we joined the Lutheran Brother, his family, and a couple friends for fondue. I must have sampled at least eight-ten brews (we kinda lost track) that night and may have eaten some under-fondued chicken (more on that later).
Saturday at noon we met a group from the old gang at The Publishing Company at Cafe Latte. We sat in the back which is always a good idea on a Saturday when the Cafe is mobbed by over-privileged entitled rich women. This is not a misogynistic opinion. Anyone that has been to Cafe Latte is nodding in agreement right now. But it was good to see some of the old crew again and just catch up.
The wedding reception was for the son of The Singing Farmer. The kids got married at a small civil ceremony in St Paul and then held a rollicking reception at the legendary Brit’s Pub in Minneapolis. Most of my extended family was there. I cannot recall the last time I have hugged and been hugged by so many people. It was a lovely event and worth the long trip.
Because I am getting old I get occasional bouts of acid indigestion when I overdo it. This was two nights straight of overdoing it and I spent a couple sleepless hours Saturday night waiting for my stomach to settle down. It never really did but I did eventually fall asleep.
On Sunday we had lunch with the Pharmacists at Cosetta’s. If there is one thing I miss about the Twin Cities (other than friends and family) it’s eating at Cosetta’s. Anyhoo, after lunch we got in the Family Truckster and headed home, a grinding ten hour drive. My guts were aching by then but I figured I could tough it out. We had priorities. Carjo was also somewhat fried. Social events wear her down and she had more than her share that weekend. Our dogs are boarded at a farm somewhere between Ross and Powers Lake. The kennel owner is a fantastic older woman who will actually turn over your dogs at a late hour, provided it’s before eleven pm. We made it with just minutes to spare.
Pippin was enthusiastic to see me, climbing my leg and bouncing around like his stumpy little legs. Merry, the neurotic chihuahua, had never been separated from us since we got her so she um, well, basket case is a good description. The little wretch was whimpering, writhing, and crying in Carjo’s lap until we were about ten miles from home. Once she got inside she ran sprints up and down the hallway. I guess she was a little homesick.
It was then I decided (or it was decided for me) that I had some sort of stomach bug. I’ll spare the exact details. It could have been chicken that didn’t sit in the fondue pot long enough, it could have been a bug I picked up from the Lutheran Brother’s kids, or maybe just a penalty for overindulgence. But I’ve spent most of today treating my midsection with tender care and respect. I’m definitely glad to be home.
By now some may be wondering why the image of a Steely Dan album is the image for the day. Well, I thought it was kind of obvious: