It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring…not quite. It is raining and has been a steady sprinkle since we hit town yesterday a.m. That means it’s a lot cooler than the normal temperature I’m used to in Vegas – Montana ain’t even close to the desert climate and landscape.

Spending a few hours in a small home with eight kids, all eight or under, could be classed as a form of child abuse – the adults can barely take it – the senses reel with the noise and the kaleidoscoping body parts as they all join in a game of hide and seek, or wrestling, or dog role playing. Dog role playing? I started that with Kayanna before she moved away to MO three years ago. Her dog name is Pleshette and her cousin Robert’s dog name is Francois. Imagine watching six kids nip, bark, yip, paw the air, and traipse through the limited space in the house on their hands and knees, each trying to outrun the pack or be heard over the noise.

Being back in ‘kidland’ is heartwarming and a nice experience but not something I yearn for and could do fulltime. Now if I had a few more days with the older ones, I could teach them how to play poker…

The fair and beautiful Jasmine of Missoula graduates from highschool tomorrow. I’m thinking I need a handful of kleenex because my eyes may just keep dripping like the Montana skies. Damn! I’m just too emotional sometimes.

The poker scene when I hit my last night of work before vacation: The room was fairly quiet when I arrived around 6 p.m. I took a seat in a $4-8 game and managed to eke out a few $$ win before clocking in and dealing. Dealing? I signed the E/O-Play list and was out to play without having dealt a hand. I played for almost three hours before I got picked up – I was stuck.

I was picked up to start a three handed $300-600 LH – $50-100 PLH. Peter, an unknown, and The Grinder. My down was LH and the action in the first ten minutes was unbelievable.

When I hit the next table, $10-20 NLH, someone asked me about the game and wanted to know who was winning…how could I tell? The way the chips were slamming into the pot, if one of them was $15,000 winner when I left, he could be $30,000 loser in the next hour.

The dealer I was pushing said something about ‘The Grinder’. It struck me as a statement of awe and I had the thought…lots of times over other players…that people drift into the poker scene and within a short time everyone knows their name, who they are, what they eat for breakfast, who they love, where they live, what they think, and how they play. The majority of those that drift in and become known end up the same way within a few years, they drift out. No one ever hears about them again. One day you find them in a little $4-8 game across town, or they come in to play and tell you they stopped playing for a few years, or they’ve been out of the country. They always come back around but they’re not the same person or player that held the poker world in awe back when.

I can’t help but wonder how many of the new players that are featured in magazines and winning tournaments and playing high limit now will disappear into the dust of those climbing up the steps now.

The Grinder is a perfect name for a player but while you are grinding, you have to have steel encased brass, a heart that won’t explode when your brain blows up because they caught their single out on the River for the 900th time, and a brain that has a self sealing repair feature or you’ll have fragments of gray matter all over the inside of your skull.

Right now I can’t imagine playing poker for a living. But keep in mind I don’t have to and I’m drinking beer, sitting in a hotel, in Missoula, Montana with the gentle whisper of rain and gloomy skies outside. It’s so nice to be happy wherever I am. Damned if I ain’t.