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anarchyandscotch:

Years ago, I worked for a newspaper with a woman named Jane. Jane was the newsroom coordinator, which sort of made her the Mama Bear of the newsroom. She was the one who knew where everything was, knew exactly which reporter to refer calls to, and had been working at the paper long enough to know all the major players on all the major beats. She was an indispensable part of the team.

For the first year I worked at that paper, my desk was right next to Jane’s, so we chatted frequently. She and I were very different people, so our conversations tended to be interesting. But what I most remember about Jane was that she was a member of the local Moose Lodge. And she liked to talk about it. A lot.

I had always thought of “lodges” as being places where retired men gathered to drink, wear stupid hats, and get away from their wives. But Jane changed my view of this, telling me that the Moose Lodge was a “family fraternity” and people of all ages were members.

Mostly, she liked the fact that the bartender there knew her well, and when she ordered a beer, always gave her a straw and a glass of ice with it. Jane wasn’t the first person I’d met who drank beer through a straw, but I never knew what the ice was for.

I’m not sure why this is on my mind. But she always spoke really highly of being part of the Moose Lodge. It made her happy.

Life, it would seem, is better in a Moose Lodge.

My grandfather was a Moose member. He was very much a family man and I remember attending Moose parties when I was a very wee tyke. Lots of good memories from my grandfather’s lodge.