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Alex Rose:  We brought you this little housewarming gift.  [gives Mrs. Connelly a bottle of wine] Mrs. Connelly:  Oh, that's very kind of you, thank you.  I'll open it for you.  I don't drink myself, it's a sin. Alex Rose:  [to Nancy]  Irish Catholics don't drink? Mrs. Connelly:  Sit down, dears, sit down!  I brought ya a little something to nibble on as well. Alex Rose:  Oh, Bugles.  Wow, I didn't realise they even still made Bugles. Mrs. Connelly:  [offering Alex a Bugle dipped in French onion dip]  Come along, dear, it's French onion. Alex Rose:  [nibbles while looking at Bugles box; sees expiration date reads "October 1997"]  Magnificent parrot. Mrs. Connelly:  It's not a parrot, dear.  He's a macaw.  He's named after my late husband, Richard.  I've had Little Dick for forty years.  [Alex and Nancy smile]  Now tell me about yourselves.  What do you do, Allen? Alex Rose:  [correcting her]  Alex. Nancy Kendricks:  Alex is a writer. Mrs. Connelly:  Oh, a writer. I always thought of that as more of a hobby than a real job.  I suppose I'm forgettin' about Joyce. Alex Rose:  Joyce, James Joyce, of course.  Wonderful writer. Mrs. Connelly:  He died drunk and penniless. Nancy Kendricks:  Well, Alex's first novel was published in hardback, and he's just about to finish his second one. Mrs. Connelly:  Oh, what's it about? Alex Rose:  Well, I like to call it an urban epic.  It's about three generations of this family in New York that own a printing press, and I tell a story mainly about— Mrs. Connelly:  [bored, cutting him off]  Oh, that's nice.  Let me give you a refill.  Big Dick had the taste, too.  He was a seaman.  The drink took him from me in 1963.  We'd been married for 58 years.  [Nancy counts silently]

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