The moon, not the pizza, awakens the old man

A big, round, full, April moon, blasting through the bedroom window, got Stan up extra early this morning. Old people get up early anyway, but this is ridiculous, he grumbled to himself as he sorted through his socks box in the pale yellow moonlight.

Last night's pizza had nothing to do with it.

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As promised, Kathleen brought home a favorite medium sausage from Old Chicago on Lariat in Eden Prairie. Old Chicago advertises that they are "More than Just Pizza and Beer" and have developed a big Italian menu to prove it, but all Stan and Kathleen ever get is the big, round sausage pizza.

Stan had the oven tuned to 350 when Kathleen got home with the warm cardboard box. She had already returned the granddaughter to her mother, first stopping by that paper and party place by Office Max for a red helium balloon to replace the one that got up, up and away last week. A wizened Emily gripped much tighter this week, grandma reported with a smile.

As usual, the pizza was served on that big, round, heavy stone Linda gave them years ago that they thought they would never, ever use, but thanked her politely and enthusiastically anyway. The pizza was hot, tomatoey, spicy, crusty and with the sausage cut like little roast beef slices. Stan had intended to take its picture, but by the time he had remembered to do it, the pizza was gone.

There's never a fight over the last piece. Stan always eats it first.