Toga’s are breezy. Breezy is good if you’re a Roman in Rome and your fan flappers are on their 15 minute grape and oil break. Breezy is not so good if you’re a North Dakotan in North Dakota and spring is on winter vacation. Such are the Ides of March in Upstate North Dakota. Unpredictable, volatile, frightening, and maybe even a little beautiful. The birthday crowd not the weather.

My Uncle Tim’s odometer ticked over to the half century mark this past weekend which was good a cause as any for a Caesar inspired celebration. Instead of daggers to the stomach Brutes, Cassius and the gang attempted to bring the emperor down with booze to the liver this time around. The Great Caesar wobbled and swayed under the relentless barrage but refused to fall. Hale Caesar!

Friends, Roman’s, country boy’s…a good time was had by all. My Uncle Tim’s a good man and is well deserving of such a celebration in his honor. I was thankful my family and I were able to slide in between storms and be a part of the festivities. I haven’t had a good excuse to wear a toga since my college days.

Actually the last time I wore a toga I wound up with a wife. Let me rephrase that…I wound up with a girlfriend who eventually became my wife. Don’t want to wind up with a wife it’s hard to run in a toga. A mini skirt is a better choice for high speed zigging and zagging. I would assume.

To be exact, the last time I wore a toga was September 24, 1994. The final day of our college homecoming week, Gypsy Day’s, was at hand and me and buddies decided to rip the sheets off our beds and finish off the festivities Roman style. It seemed like a good plan since I hadn’t done laundry for 17 months and my sheets were somewhat cleaner than any clothes I could hope to wrangle from the depths of my closet. Somewhat.

That decision, that toga, that musky scent I was laying down, may very well have altered my destiny. Who knows where I’d be and what I’d be doing right now if my wife hadn’t been suckered in by the toga tempest. I hear my wife cursing that toga in her sleep some nights…most nights. I kept that toga and after 19 years I finally got to where it again. Yes, it’s been laundered sometime between 1994 and now.

If you’ve never wore a toga you should give it a go. They are quite liberating. Not so handy for holding loose change, swizzle sticks, or nun chucks but sometimes such sacrifices are worthwhile. I must say that Tim looked quite dashing and dapper in his drapery and made a fine emperor for the evening. He carried the chalice well.

Happy Birthday Uncle Tim and Happy St. Patrick’s Day, “May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live.”