Say what? It was about a million years ago when Monday Coffee at Barry’s was Monday Coffee at Cafe Zola. There were a few more participants in those days. Vicki and I had been raving about our favorite neighborhood pub, Knight’s Steakhouse, and one particularly vocal anti-Republican member of our little klatch seemed totally astounded that we would be caught dead in such an establishment.

We looked at each other in amazement. Hmm. Let’s dissect this. First. Republicans? Well, okay, neither one of us are card-carrying members of *any* political party. At least I know I’m not. I’ve known Vick long enough to be able to pretty well guess that she isn’t either. I don’t always agree with Republican *or* Democratic politics but I have voted for candidates from both parties in my life. Political issues come in about a gazillion colors for me, not just black and white. Life is hard and I’d rather slog through it without exhausting myself further by engaging in political arguments. I think that if great big bugs from outer space were to invade the earth, we’d all get onto the same page pretty darn quick.

So, onto Knight’s. Knight’s is what it is. It is not a fancy, upscale restaurant. It is an old-fashioned steakhouse. It attracts a relatively older crowd, especially during the lunch hour, when wheelchairs are a prevalent means of locomotion. Knight’s specializes in steak. The fish and seafood are pretty darn good too. Vegetarians can eat there although that’s not the restaurant’s specialty. The fast, friendly servers don’t tell you every last detail about the special of the day. The bartenders make a *strong* drink. And that’s okay because it’s within an easy walking distance of my house.

I think my favorite Knight’s memories involve the middle school science fair that Vicki and I used to run. The science fair took place for five days every February. Saturday night was midway through it all and came at a time when we could begin to relax a bit. The exhibits were all registered, set up, and judged. There were still two days to go but we had time to go out, eat and carouse a little bit. Get in out of the snow and stand in the crowd at the bar drinking a manhattan and laughing and talking at the top of our lungs while we waited for a table. Good times.

It’s March. That means it’s still winter here in the Great White North. It’s the month my hair absolutely drives me *nuts*. Dry and ugly and static-elucky-shucky. And I am so sick of putting tights on underneath all my clothes so I don’t freeze when I go outside. March can be a long slog. Karen’s been slogging along too, a slightly different slog than mine, perhaps. The antidote? Knight’s. Manhattans. Steak or whatever. Talk. A sleepover. With dogz. Republicans? Yeah, probably a few of those too. Who cares?

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