*Post-continued*

As soon as we hit the main highway, we had cell service. We tried calling Josh but his voice mail answered each time. We called the family at camp and told them to have Josh call us if he called them. What were our chances of finding him? It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack but Miss Kayanna hadn’t seen her dad in a year and she had the look – the look of a kid that has waited all year for Christmas and finds out that it’s been cancelled on Christmas Eve. The worst that could happen is that we would drive 70 miles and not hear from him – or find him – and have to head back to camp with no news. The best that could happen is that he would call us and we’d find him back on the road or we’d be there to help him if he needed it.

We immediately had five deer cross the County Road – at different intervals – in front of us; dim shapes just off the road that materialized into living beings as they danced across the blacktop. Kayanna loved it! I hated it! I don’t want to see a deer or any animal materialize out of the dark void as it charges into my path. We saw them in time to slow way down. After we hit the highway, of course, we saw the dead ones by the side of the road, some of them just hit, fresh blood spreading across the pavement, and I hate that too.

My little traveling companion was wide eyed and looking for her dad but within a few minutes, she crashed. The demon from hell had taken over my thoughts once again and I was DRIVING. I went clear through Spokane and turned around up by the airport exit, having tried Josh’s cell several times and routed to his voice mail, I figured we were just going to head for camp. Funny but Spokane is the city of Josh’s birth. It was sort of like going through labor again, hoping he would call/show so I would know he was alright and so my passenger would get her wish…to see her daddy. Damn that labor stuff is painful and it doesn’t all relate to childbirth.

Magic happened. My phone rang. He had just left Spokane, we were behind him; we rendezvoused in Coeur D’Alene about 20 minutes later. I let the beauty queen sleep until we pulled into a gas station. She went to radiant sunshine and beaming light in a heartbeat when her dad tapped on the back window. Nothing like hugs and kisses to warm a heart.

We made the trip back to camp – 45 miles – it was around 1 a.m. by now and everyone was asleep. Josh was settled in the tent next to Kayanna, I was in my cot, Ryan was trying to sleep through all the noise…and Christmas was back on. SWEET!

The lake the next day:

And she’s airborne:

And once again – post-poned…another installment coming.

It’s a lazy afternoon. More family has arrived, mainly from Moses Lake Washington, and our little group is about complete. We’ve dropped from 44 members – at one reunion – to mostly the ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’, their mates, my two traveling companions, and Neomi’s brood – that brings us to 19 people. Neomi is the oldest of our clan, married and has three children, and they have children. Her brood is the only one makes it every year – not all of them because emergencies do happen, but some or most of them make it each year without fail. They live about three hours from here and show up for the weekend, the main event – when we all do poker, food, pictures, reminisce, and share a brief moment of our lives.

The poker game is cranking off after one more meal…another Campsite Food Orgy. The food supply never ends. I’ve eaten more in a few days here than I would in two weeks at home. It seems to be an obsession. Possibly because they have families and kids and everyone eats on a fairly regular schedule but in my world food can be out of sight, out of mind. Sure you wouldn’t believe it if you looked at the body fat on my middle but it’s true. And on that fat around the middle – the older I get, the more difficult it is to shed the baby fat. Ugh!!! But back to the food, it’s incredible. Everyone’s cooking, everyone’s contributing, and everyone’s eating. I stay away from the cooking, I contribute, and unfortunately, I eat! It’s a given when I get here, that I refuse to prepare meals. A sandwich, a hot dog, a burger, or some such trivial sustenance suits me perfectly and that’s what I would do if it were up to me.

*Food break*

Much later, I set up the picnic table with a green flannel sheet (hey…looks like the green felt I spend most of my time on) and get out three racks of chips. We are playing for 5c a chip. Previous years we played for 25c a chip but this year it’s all the young bloods and I want them to have fun, not go broke.

There are only four of us starting the game; Ken came over later and joined the group making it a five some. The players: Ryan, Justin, Kyle, Ken, and me. Neomi came over and stood behind Kyle and Justin, offering advice from time to time. I’ve seen worse play at a poker table but I honestly can’t remember when. *laughing* One of them called all the way with 9 high and finally made a pair of 8’s on the river. When he won the pot, he exclaimed, “I knew he was bluffing!â€?

Yup! He was bluffing with the best hand. It was all a learning experience for me as I tried to explain that you can raise on the River with 6 high but you can’t just flat call with it. Oh well! We are going to email during the year and hopefully we will have more opportunities to face off at the Campfire Green Felt.

It rained earlier, and while we were under cover and still had campfires raging, the temperature dropped way too low for me. I was freezing during the poker game and I just never seemed to warm up after that – maybe it’s my desert blood. Or it’s possible Idaho jumped from summer to winter in one day.

Ken, Vickie, and me were wearing our Wal-Mart Plastic Bag hats for rain protection and Vickie and me had chopped holes in garbage bags so we could walk around in the rain. Ken insisted that we had to look ‘grim’ – like we were street people…this is our best sad look while we are laughing our butts off.

And even while it was raining, Vickie ran around with a glass of wine and a cigarette and Kayanna held an umbrella over her head while The Camp Chef-ette prepared the evening meal.

This night produced some stress, mainly for Kayanna. Josh, her dad, was supposed to have arrived hours earlier – enroute from Portland – and we finally got a late phone call from him. He was ‘broke down’ out of Spokane. Crap! My cell phone was ‘out of service’ at the campground and I was bumming phones from Neomi and her brood. Finally…around 11 p.m., I just gave up and asked Miss Kayanna if she wanted to take a ride into Spokane. Her sad face broke into the warmest thing I’d seen in hours; that beautiful smile even lit up the entire camp ground as she jumped at the chance.

*Post-poned until tomorrow*

Ah-h-h…the campground. It’s quieter this year than I ever remember it being and this is our fourth year. An occasional vehicle drives by – either looking for a camping spot or a tenant returning to their site. It’s close to noon, no noise, other than a distant voice carried on the breeze or a crow making a small amount of racket as it announces to the world that it’s alive and here.

This area used to be my home. I lived in and around Sandpoint at different times in my life and most of those memories are filled with emotional pain and death. One of my husbands, my mother, one of my brothers, and a brother-in-law are buried here. It was all a life time ago and only bothers me when I’m going through the ‘shake out all the memories mode’. And when I’m in that mode, I’m ready to cry…so I do. Being here doesn’t even drag out the old memories and I rarely go to the gravesites. I honor those I love with warm thought and life not a plot of land with a marker on it…but that’s my way of dealing with it.

Funny but when I lived here, I never visited this campground…there’s even a day use area for picnic/lake activities. The campground is about 12 miles out of Sandpoint and the nice part of having lived here previously is that I’m very familiar with where everything is and how to navigate the highways and byways if I want to go anywhere in particular. While it’s wonderful to be here, I could never live here again. That quiet, laid back, let’s go shovel snow so we can get out of the driveway just doesn’t do it for me. And there’s no place to play poker that I know of, except the Internet and the connection through here is still mostly phone line…ugh!!!!

I’ve had two of my pet peeves shoved in my face on this trip. The first is the Highway Dip Shit that sees me rapidly overtaking them and there’s a slow moving vehicle a quarter of a mile in front of them. They immediately pull out in front of me and proceed to drive at 70 MPH – the speed limit is 75 – and it takes them ten minutes to overcome and pass the slow moving vehicle…not to mention what it does to my brain. If you’re going to pass, why not just step on the gas and pass? That’s what I do when I see a vehicle coming up behind me…come to think of it, there aren’t too many that come up behind me. Courtesy should be extended in all areas of life, especially when behind the wheel of a vehicle.

The second is the Dip Shit With Dogs. I have nothing against dogs. If I wanted one in my face and sniffing my leg, I’d get one of my own…having owned several previously, I know what I’m talking about. The campground rules are specifically set out “all pets must be on a leash”. Perhaps it should read “all pets must be on a leash and the owner must wear an electronic collar”. That would really be sweet. If the link from the owner – to leash – to pet was broken, the electronic collar would zap the owner until they grabbed the leash or released it to a clip ring on their site that over rode the collar effect.

I took my two young traveling companions out on a trail ride early a.m. Ryan rode my bike, Kayanna was on hers, and I walked/jogged the trail with them – an old road that is used now only for hiking and bike riding. The trail circles the lake but becomes almost impossible to bike after about a mile and a half. We made the ‘out’ and started on the ‘back’. Kayanna had ridden ahead (they took turns running off and leaving me as I was plodding along and they were full of piss and vinegar – ready to roll) and I heard a dog start barking in a frenzy that sent off bells in my head. I barked at Ryan, “Catch up to Kayanna and both of you stop and wait for me.”

He took off and before he disappeared around a bend, two older women and one white Chow were on the trail in front of him. The dog was not on a leash and ran towards him, snapping and barking. Ryan stopped and waited. I was moving up fast by this time.

The lead woman held a leash, “He won’t hurt you. It’s ok, he won’t hurt you. He just wants to make sure you won’t hurt me.”

The dog backed off a few feet and charged back at Ryan again. I had my trusty walking stick, (thanks Wayne), and I was getting ready to just stab the damn dog.

The lead woman called the dog and again took off with, “He won’t hurt you.”

By now the dog was by her side and I asked, “Did you see a little girl on a bike?”

The lead woman must’ve been a broken human that couldn’t comprehend anything except her canned phrase because she replied, “He won’t hurt you.”

The second woman heard me and said, “Yes, we passed her and she’s alright.”

I snorted, “You’re dog’s supposed to be on a leash!”

As Ryan and I passed them, the lead woman was finally putting the dog on the leash. I didn’t want to slap the dog, I wanted to slap her. Dip Shit Human!

I run into that kind of stuff all the time when I’m hiking in Red Rock. People that think the rest of the world is supposed to be happy to see their dog charging at them when the owner is 100 yards or so behind the animal . “He won’t hurt you.” – “He doesn’t bite.” Yeah right!

I’ve decided that I will have a canned reply from now on, “I will hurt him. Please protect your dog.”

I’m going to start carrying pepper spray. When I walk in town I always carry a PR-24. It’s the perfect club for smacking an attacking dog. I carry it for all four-legged and two-legged animals that might try to accost me when out in the wilds of the city. Hey…I’m not a violent person. I also refuse to go down without a struggle.

On a happier note, some of my little poker playing buddies will be coming into the campground tomorrow.

It’s hard to sleep when you’re coming down off of exhaustion – add the fact that it’s a strange bed – and there’s more to do before leaving for the final leg of the trip, and even after reaching the end of the road, still a huge menu of chores. A tent to set up, cots to put together, camp stove and tables, chairs, fine dining at the picnic table which ends up decorated with plastic table cloths, utensils, and paper/Styrofoam plates and cups. We really know how to rough it. *laughing*

We threw the last minute touches on making sure everything was locked up and loaded – Vickie’s truck was loaded, I had to stop for gas and wash a zillion dead bugs off of the windshield. I know I took out so many of them on the trip up that there shouldn’t be any left in the world, but there they were, stuck all over the front of my truck and blocking my view…and just to give an example of how nature works, the wasps were thronging to the front of the truck to eat their dead buddies.

Out of the hotel and road hopping by 10 a.m. Mountain Time. We gain an hour when we hit the Panhandle of Idaho…Pacific Time. We raced up I-90 until we hit a few construction zones and the aftermath of a forest fire at Alberton. Down right damn scary. That highway was closed recently due to the fire. When the news said the fire was being fought right at the edge of yards and residences, they weren’t kidding. The burn was broken – in some areas the trees were scorched and dead, in some areas only small patches of grass along the highway were burned. The cause of the fire is thought to have been a vehicle that was dragging a chain or something that created sparks. That would make sense with the strange patterns of the fire.

We made it! Registered for our campsites, which we reserve on the internet the first part of May, and started the big ‘download’ – that would be all of our gear preparing for set-up. Two of our brothers live here…well hell…come to think of it our only two surviving brothers live here. They are both younger – but not by a lot. Ken is the older of the two and lives about 30 miles from the campground. He’s our main ‘wood’ man. He delivers a ton of split campfire wood for us each year…poor guy. And Vickie manages to burn almost every stick of it before we leave the campground. She’s a little pyro.

Ken showed up with a pick-up truck of wood and started unloading at my site and Vickie’s. Our sites are side by side and we pick the same spots every year. Of course we are conveniently located by the bath house. We had most of our camps set up and ready by around 6ish and Ken had to head for home. His sweet wife’s birthday is today. Her name is Vicky too! She works at the local hospital in Sandpoint and won’t make it to the campground until the weekend.

I was really running out of steam. I’d gotten up at 5 a.m. and been on the go for hours. I opened my first brew when we hit the campground but kept unloading and working as I slugged it down. Oh…and of course I blew bubbles in the middle of unloading and camp set-up. The wonderful ‘catch-a-bubble’ that hang in the air and live in the trees for hours. When the camp was pretty well set, Ryan, Kayanna, and me walked down to the lake so Kayanna could jump off the dock a few times. We didn’t stay long because din-din was almost done. Time for more tomorrow.

Our other brother, Kevin, lives about two miles up the road from the campground and works for the phone company. His wife, Gayl, works also and they arrived when the Chicken Parmesan and pasta salad was hot off the BBQ. Not to worry Vickie thinks she’s the Creative Chefette of the campground. And she is. She creates dishes like Rock Cornish Game Hens and asparagus with hollandaise and a few other things that most people couldn’t build at home let alone at a campfire. So we dined!

We hung out, next to the campfire, visiting, languishing in the fact we were together again – quality time in a serene setting – blanketed from the noise and stress of the world. As it should be!

Then I hit the wall. Time to sleep. Time to escape the body stress and escape into Sand Woman Land with my two traveling companions and my campmate. G’nite Vickie. G’nite Ryan. G’nite Kayanna. G’nite Linda.

The humidity in Vegas was about the only problem with the last few days of last minute chores, packing and list checking. The norm is that one never appears to perspire in the desert – it evaporates/dries instantly. The last few weeks of off and on rain and cloud cover have created a steam room effect. Last minute yard work, drip water system check, and loading the truck were a bitch for this kid. First – I don’t do sunshine, second – heat makes me physically ill if I can’t get out of it, third – mix the two together and it’s ‘ughsville’ to the max. But I managed to get it done.

On the subject of perspiration and dry air, when I was in Aruba last year, one of my co-workers exclaimed that they couldn’t stop perspiring there and they didn’t perspire in Vegas. We had a small tete te tete when I said, “Of course you do.”

“No I don’t. I never sweat in Vegas.”

When I followed up with the fact that a person’s body perspires all the time, to some degree, and in the desert the perspiration dries immediately off the flesh and that’s why it goes unnoticed, I got an emphatic. “No! I do not sweat in the desert.”

I sarcastically retorted, “Ok. You don’t. But the rest of the world does.”

Well enough of sweat. Kayanna arrived on Saturday as scheduled. I got little girl hugs and kisses and we headed for home. We finished the last of truck loading and called for pizza delivery from Red Rock Pizza. Yummy ‘chicken pesto’ for Kayanna and me…scary pepperoni for Ryan (ugh on pepperoni and sausage). I even got a two hour nap while they played computer games. The last minute this and last minute that turned into longer than a few minutes and we finally got on the road around 9 p.m.

I prefer driving at night, goes with the draculaette lifestyle I guess. So Saturday night slipped away with me wishing I could just hyperspace us through the Salt Lake City Slow Down. I hate that part of the trip. The speed limit is 65 MPH and the city seems to go on forever. Plus Salt Lake is close to the halfway mark of my trip. Once I’m past it – either way – it feels like I crossed a monumental milestone.

I was still in Utah when light started creeping over the horizon. Hello dark glasses! I was tired but by now the ‘demon from hell’ had surfaced and I was never going to stop. It always happens this way. I do pull over, take breaks, even try to close my eyes and see if I can sleep but it never works. So I just settle in, crank up the music, suck down the coffee, and keep on wheeling. And man do I love that truck. It handles like a caddy when it’s fully loaded with camping gear and eating up the highway at 85 and 90.

My traveling buddies watched a dvd on the laptop for the first few hours of the trip and slept after that. Ryan woke up at almost every gas stop but Kayanna was in Sandwoman Land until I finally called her out of it when we hit Dillon MT. We were about three hours out of Missoula then and we stopped for food and gas.

Fourteen hours after we left Vegas – almost 1,000 miles later – I was checking into a hotel, calling my sis, Vickie, and preparing to crash – stick a fork in me. I drifted off to sleep and when I woke up a few hours later, the road noise had left my brain and I felt almost normal for a slightly ragged drac-ette. My little entourage and me headed for Vickie’s place and steak dinner. A few hours of relaxation, great food, a Michelob Ultra, and the last few days caught up with me. I was too pooped to pop. Back to the hotel, more sleep, and it’s a new day. Campsite day. Somewhere close to 200 miles more to go, road hopping with Vickie as she’s taking her own rig, and we’ll be setting up tents, kicking back, and languishing in the great american get-a-way. Fresh air, no electricity – other than the bathhouse – campfires, pine trees sighing in the breeze, swimming and fishing, and best of all…family to share it with.

It’s almost time to fly. I’ve spent the week with the minimum of sleep – no reason other than my brain won’t slow down long enough to let my body chill. I’m possessed, driven like a demon from hell to forge ahead into the daylight world and still try to keep my Dracula lifestyle. It’s hell.

The house cleaning, camp gear sorting, yard chores, and last minute shopping are about done. Laundry time, a few miscellaneous things that are bound to pop up, list making and list checking to make sure everything goes the way it should at the last minute are almost yesterday.

BTW, what retard would put a spare under the bed of a truck and put the valve stem on top so the spare had to be dropped to check the tire pressure…must’ve been some sick, sadistic bastard that got his 2-3 off-suit busted off.

The first of my traveling companions showed up tonight. He’s a spunky little cutie, loves to fish and swim – Ryan. He went with me year before last and couldn’t make last year…or so his mom and dad said. The one on the right will be here on Saturday – Kayanna. This is her second trip to Vegas this year and as far as I’m concerned it’s never enough. She could live with me if her mom said it was ok. And they get along amazingly well – makes that 2,400-mile round trip a lot easier to fade. And this is the lake they fish and swim in…hey…they are fishing.

By Saturday night, I’ll be on the road. I’ll make the first and longest part of the road trip to Missoula – almost 1,000 miles – before I give up and check into a hotel room that’s already reserved. Monday, the 8th, I’ll be helping my sis, Vickie, load up her truck and gear, and we’ll be heading for the campground in the panhandle of Idaho – the last 180 miles of the trip. A stop in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho for ice and groceries to slam into the cooler and then fade the damn two lane highway heading North for 40 miles to the State Park.

This is better than a scene out of a movie…a stream that runs out of the lake we camp on…and what the surrounding area looks like.

It appears that our group will be much smaller this year than previous years. Sad. Not because of any tragedies but due to mankind’s inability to plan for an event when they had a year’s advance warning/notice. Go figure. “Gee…I only had a year to figure out when I should take my vacation and put money ahead for the event but I can’t make it!â€?

Late Monday afternoon this will be home for a week.

When I crawl out of the tent on Tuesday, the squirrels will be dropping deadly missiles from 60 feet above (pinecones) and I make it a point to start the coffee and head for the awning that covers my picnic table ASAP. Man those bastards hurt if you take a direct hit. Within in minutes of starting the coffee, someone in our group will head for my campsite, and we’ll be sharing a cup of java and talking about life. Laughing over memories we share and beginning the next chapter of our lives at the same time.

But of course I’m taking a deck of cards and poker chips. I have nieces and nephews that can’t wait to play poker with Aunt Linda. And hey…I can’t remember winning a hand last year. Of course I sat with some of them while they played my chips, and I handed out stacks of chips to those that ‘went bust’, and gently walked them through the doors of Poker Camp. I’m always the banker, and while they have to buy their chips with hard cash, they get a lot of leeway and why not? We’re there to have fun. Maybe one of them will be a world champion someday and tell everyone how they learned to play poker at the family reunion. Sweet!

My next post should be the Missoula Hotel – they have wifi.

A recap of the week at work…almost a no workweek for me. For some reason, when I’m soon to be ‘outta there’ as in taking vacation or time off, I completely lose the desire to work. The beauty of dealing poker is that it’s easy to find the escape hatch when everything quiets down. The downside to it is that I should work – hell yes just for the money – and I can talk myself into signing the E/O list in a heartbeat as soon as I hit the room and it looks like I can get out. That’s exactly what I did. Signed the E/O, played a few hours, hit the time clock, and hit the street.

Monday night was off and on – play and get picked up to deal a few times. Not a good ending from the player’s seat but that’s the way it goes. Tuesday night, I played for about an hour and spent the rest of the night in the dealer’s box. It was the only night I didn’t clock out early.

Wednesday night I was out to play as soon as I walked through the door. Before my butt hit the player’s seat, I visited with Carmen (high brush) standing at the podium in front of Bobby’s Room. There was no game in that room but right in front of the podium, a $40-80 Stud was in progress. A piece of paper, torn out of a magazine, was lying on the floor about two feet from the 7s.

*begin background* During the WSOP Mike Matusow apparently drew unnecessary attention to Minh Ly (one of the regular players in Bobby’s Room). From the way Minh told the story to every one that would listen in Bellagio’s Poker Room, Mike embarrassed Minh by drawing attention to Minh when the cameras were on Mike and Minh was seated beside him. Minh’s version is that Mike put his arm around Minh’s shoulders and started giving a background on Minh to the camera…even though Minh told him to stop it. Mike persisted and it went on way too long for Minh. Minh feels that he was embarrassed by Mike and lost control of his own emotion and consequently finished poorly in the WSOP Championship Event because of it. Minh finished in 19th placed. *end background*

The piece of paper, on the floor, was a picture of Mike. And it had footprints on it. Apparently Minh had put it there and every time Minh walked by, he stepped on Mike’s face. Funny? Hell…it’s hilarious. I like Mike and Minh both but I can see Minh’s point in wanting Mike to leave him alone during the tournament. Not sure I can see the point of stepping on a picture out of a magazine but whatever turns your crank.

But back to Wednesday night and playing. $15-30 and I managed to get even…ugh! I couldn’t put anything together and whenever I picked up a hand, the guy in the 8s picked up a bigger one. They were all jovial and easy to get along with but I finally just gave up…picked up the few chips I had left and went to visit my buddy Jim AKA The Monkey. He was punishing himself in a $30-60 game. Wayne came in and visited with both of us – sitting behind Jim and sweating him for a bit and then sitting behind me and sweating me for a bit. Hey…maybe he’s the reason neither one of us were winning. J Just joking!!! We’re all three making the Aruba trip this year. WOOO HOOO!
Thursday night brought an electrical storm that closed the airport for a few hours. I watched it spark and dance across sky as I hit the freeway. After I entered the area of the manmade electrical show, I played $4-8 H, and laughed my butt off with the boys in the game. The 5s raised almost every hand pre-flop and then released as soon as someone bet the Flop. Go figure. He was extremely pleasant and never seemed to be bothered one way or the other over the Flop or his cards. He had to be in the game at least $400 when I racked up and left for the night. I left with a nice win for $4-8.

Jim was just coming back into the room when I was leaving. He’d been there earlier when I first came in and he left for a few hours. He went back to the poker game. I headed for my little sanctuary away from the rest of the noise of life. Two hours at work, the rest of the day/night was mine.

Friday I signed the E/O list and found out I was on hold. I searched all the $30-60 games figuring Jim would be there, still stuck and jamming. He was MIA as far as I could tell. I jumped into a short $4-8 H game on Table 9, hidden behind Bobby’s Room – back in an ‘L’ shaped part of the room. About 15 minutes later I looked up to see Jim coming around the corner…pig drunk. He’d been playing in the Omaha 8 or Better game. Long and short of it, he got into my game. He’d started drinking within an hour of when I left the night before…and it showed! How in the hell he was even halfway coherent or able to walk was beyond me. I don’t even know how he was still sitting in the chair.

I was off the clock by 8 p.m. and we headed out. I dropped him at his hotel and headed for home. I couldn’t help but think how glad I was that my brain wasn’t trapped in his body…I’d have been puking. There’s no way I can handle alcohol like that and live through it. Ugh!!!

Another incident on Thursday left me in a highly emotional state and thankful that I was so damn lucky to have an angel of mercy right at my shoulder…just when I needed her most. I stopped in Mangia (help’s hall) before I left for the night. Had my tray, food, etc., and as I walked to a table, my heel came down on a spill that was hidden. My foot shot out, my tray went up in the air, silverware flew to the floor, and I was going down. It was going to be ugly because both of my feet would have shot up and I’d have fallen from around four to five feet, flat on my back, on a tile floor.

A woman was right behind me, with nothing in her hands, she grabbed my elbow and gave me just enough support to balance and keep from falling.

I said, “Oh my God! Thank you so much.”

She said, “I was so afraid for you.”

I replied, “Oh my God, if you hadn’t been there, I would’ve fallen for sure. Thank you so much.”

She went on her way. I sat down with Robin, one of our chip runners, and tried to eat what I had picked for my evening meal. I was almost sick to my stomach. There was something red on the heel of my shoe that resembled strawberry jelly…wonder how my blood would’ve looked mixed in with it? There’s no way I could’ve taken that fall without splitting my head open, or breaking a hip, or something really ugly.

I’ve thanked God repeatedly for watching over me…and for sending me an angel.

I have a few favorite blogs that I visit as time permits. Some of these people are slackers. I know the fantasy world (you know the one that we grind our lives out in making the daily nut) gets pretty boring from time to time – and we can’t all live in the real world of poker like I do – but still kids, throw a bone from time to time. Put your ‘liddle finners’ on the keyboard and just go for it. I’m W-A-I-T-I-N-G!!!!

And on the subject of blogs, they are everywhere now – that is a good thing – we need history. One could never begin to keep up with all the blogs on poker, let alone all of the other subjects available in the realm of the mind…whew – that’s scary – the realm of the mind. I find it amusing that some bloggers are ‘hurt’ if they don’t find themselves mentioned somewhere or aren’t on the ‘blog role’ at other blogger’s pages. What’s a ‘blog role’? A link list to other blogs and it is oft times so long that one could never hope to get through it in a week, let alone a day. Blogging should be a personal thing, gratifying to the writer, not requiring approval from others.

On this page – me – I began blogging somewhere back in 1999 (actually even before then as I have hand written notes from the Montana Days). In 1999 I recorded the events as ‘poker tales’, which still resides here, with me, formerly known as The Book of Tales. I wrote Poker Tales because I was afraid to put a person’s name to any of it or relate a specific incident (fear of a problem with work and the subject) so I wrapped it into a story. I really never thought I’d have many readers. But I wanted to write about what was going on in my world…poker and sprinkle in some life away from the table. Eventually I switched it all to ‘dear diary’ and then later to ‘table tango’.

Somewhere around the middle of 2000 is when I kicked off The Diary. Since the changes to PokerWorks and moving to Word Press for my blogging software, I’m still in the process of moving old posts to the new format. I truly started blogging before blogging became cool. I’m often surprised when people are so happy to meet me in person; and to receive emails from readers everywhere…because I started blogging for myself – not for others.

I needed the therapy of being able to voice and get it out of my system. It also irritated me to listen to people exclaim how great a player was, and I knew that when I dealt to that ‘great player’ and they took a beat, they blamed it on me. So in my opinion they are not that great a player because playing is wrapped around wins and losses, and how the player handles it – something else I wanted to express when I wrote – the whole picture and what stupid asses some of these great players are when they are floundering in a bad card run and getting beat.

My writing has evolved…a lot. But I still write for myself and yet there’s nothing greater than receiving an email from someone telling me they ‘read me’ and how they love my picture of what’s going on. And to have them come into the poker room just to meet me when they are in town. Nice! So even though I still write for me, I’m completely aware that others are out there – reading – and they are sharing part of my life.

I’m not looking for links or mentions or being featured. I’m recording history in poker; events and circumstances that are never open to the rest of the world, from my perspective and interaction – and tidbits of my being. I record for myself, for future reading, and in the hope that one-day my children and their children will read about events in my life so they have a window into me – and in reading, they can somehow see me, feel me, and know me.

And that, my friends, is why I would like my ‘slacker blogging buddies’ to get in gear and post. So I can peek through the window now and then and share an intimate part of their life.

You know who you are…move it!

Out of the crazy record-breaking heat that has held the city in its grasp for the last six weeks, the sky split open Sunday morning with one of the most fantastic light shows I’ve witnessed in quite awhile. Not to be outdone, the thunder picked up and carried a long, low rumble of applause to compliment the light show. Then…rain! Beautiful soft, continual rain for most of the day, it washed the dust and heat out of the air in the desert. Nature has a way of calming the spirit and replenishing the Earth…just wish mankind could get into that a little more. But until that happens, there’s always poker.

I pushed into a $30-60 H game last week and Shaunie (semi-regular) in the 9s had two full racks of chips by her arm and stacks of other chips in front of her. When I sat down, I said, “No racks on the table please.”

She said, “Boba’s ok with it.”

Boba is the brush for this game limit and does a great job but it’s certainly not up to him to tell her it’s ok when it’s posted on plaques on the walls and it’s a house rule.

I said, “It’s not up to Boba. It’s a house rule.”

“It’s ok. He’s going to change them for me,” she grouched at me.

Yup. She was grouching. I guess she thought I’d drop it when she told me that but I forced it by calling Boba. When he arrived, I said, “She said you’re going to change those up for her.”

He asked her if she wanted $1,000 chips and when she said yes, he disappeared with the racks and returned with two $1,000 chips for her. She was pissed.

A few minutes later she lost a hand and loudly told the player in the 8s that everything was ok until I had forced her to take the racks off of the table and no other dealer had said anything to her for hours.

I wanted to laugh out loud but instead I replied, “If the other dealers had done their job, you wouldn’t be upset with me.”

She stabbed me with, “No one else said anything.”

I curtly replied, “I apologize for the other dealers for not doing their job.”

She wanted a button so I wouldn’t deal her in…hell, I was happier than she was. How absurd can one get? Like the racks affected her luck and the fact that she was implying that it was all right with the floor man…it’s better than laughable.

I’ve passed her several times between tables since then and I cheerily ask, “Hi! How are you today?”

She’s forced to acknowledge me on a different level. I love it! Yup…there’s a mean streak hiding somewhere in my soul.

*****

I opted to play again last night. It was not a good session but it was a reminder of how one – mainly me – must play damn good to overcome the game. I finally picked up my chips and left the scene of the accident…maybe I was the accident but I can only think of a few hands that I should have played differently.

One thing I’ve found that is funny if put in the proper perspective – some players are always on the transfer list, searching for the game where everyone’s giving away money. That must be a scene from Cinderella plays against the Corporation and wins millions. These players are walking around, checking out the games in limits they play, ready to swoop in a heartbeat if they think a fish is bleeding and floundering somewhere in the shallows, so they stop and ask me, “How’s this game? Any good?”

The bottom line. Why would I want them in my game? If I found a little shoal and it’s teeming with life, why would I want a shark in there tearing up the shallows?

*Note to self – always tell a shark that the game sucks*

I’m a week away from taking a three-week LOA. In all of the working years of my life, this is my first LOA. I managed to speed through all of my vacation days for the year and it’s almost time for the yearly sojourn to the campground in N. Idaho. Hey-hey-hey! Happiness.

The plan, as I see it at this moment, make it through five more nights of work and then it’s kick back, relax, lay around, and do nothing more than play a little poker at Bellagio and on the internet, write, sift through a million miles of things I thought I would have done by now and limit myself to only doing what I feel is necessary…because I’ll be on HOLIDAYS! That’s the first week of the LOA – then I pick up that sweet girl, Kayanna, from the airport on the 6th and we load the trusty Toyota with survival gear for regions of the wild forests, lakes, and down home, damn glad to be here people. Goodbye desert on the 7th. While I’m anticipating…

My week at work went more like a session of playing $15-30 every night except Monday. I did deal a few hours on a few nights but mostly my butt was spent in the player’s chair. I had one losing session but won that back the following night.

I rarely lay open my playing thoughts and explain why I would or would not do something when I play – hey…it’s tough enough to beat the game – and there’s no need to give people a direct look into where I’m at when in my trying to beat them from the player’s seat. Yet…I found myself marveling at some of the play in these games. Where do they come from and how do they get here? An age old question in poker but let’s add, how do they stay in chips or find the money to keep coming back?

One night I played next to Pauline. At one point she told me, “I like to piss them off.” That was after she called with bottom pair all the way to the River and made two pair…it worked…he was pissed. God bless her little gambling heart. She plays more hands in a down than I do in a week. But I have to give her credit for at least making a move on the pot now and then. Some of these people played like they were waiting for a revelation from The Card Fairy before they would raise or bet. And no I’m not complaining, just marveling.

I played next to David another night. He told me that he thinks it’s all luck until you get into $30-60 and higher – then you might find some skill. He also said he’s never had a winning year of poker and he doesn’t believe people do – they just lie about it. Interesting to say the least. He’s got more heart than I do…if I never had a winning year I’d have bagged it long ago.

I saw Mike M. during the week and raced to give him a hug on his victorious 9th place finish at the WSOP Championship Event. Of course he really wouldn’t see it as a victory because he wanted to win all the checkers…and who could blame him. What a long hard, uphill battle. He said he’d just gotten too emotional and lost it (meaning the tournament) because of that but he would take the 1M and be happy with that. He was in Bobby’s Room off and on during the next few days but I don’t know if he played or not.

All in all the room was quiet. A nice break from my perspective, plus the fact I’m in the mood to play, but on the whole it was kind of spooky to see 10 to 11 games down at 7 p.m. and not pick them up during the night – especially after the last few months of total jamming.

Some of the reasons for ‘slow’: There’s a giant bad beat jackpot out at one of the casinos right now…all the casinos of that chain share the same jackpot…and lots of lower and mid-limit players are playing there, hoping for a piece of it. Plus it’s summer and everyone’s about hit the wall in tournament land.

Maybe someone will create a new energy drink to cure the never-ending, all encompassing, burn out fever that’s left after a big tournament. I’ll buy a case…just let me know when it’s on the market.

And in the meantime…visions of the LOA are running through my head.