For the Love of Mucus

I can only attribute it to karma. The forces of life giveth and they also taketh awayeth. So, I won some money in the smoke infested gambling halls of Vegas and brought home a heavier wallet. My penance for winning and being a neglectful friend was a nasty cold which transformed into a sinus infection. Christmas Eve morning dawned and I was busily wrapping presents. The phone rings. I answer a wretching "hel-uh, ergh o?"

What proceeds is an exchange between my father-in-law and I, with me being largely (or absolutely) unintelligible. Rousing husband from a fitful slumber, I eagerly handed off the phone. So, for all of Christmas Eve and large portion of Christmas Day, I could only utter raspy words that no one could understand. The ultimate irony (or maybe it's not really irony, it just sucks), is that I typically don't talk much around husband's family. I never grew out of my shyness, and never really feel that I have much in the way of verbal offerings. This Christmas was going to be different. I had stories. Stories!!! Stories are one of the most prized possessions in husband's family. The H-s have made spinning rusties a pastime. I had things to contribute and offer, and I literally could not produce the words. Husband had to tell of the great Snow Village debacle (he embellished and had me saying all sorts of nasty words). The story of me walking up to a craps table and blindly making over $100.00 in fifteen minutes before dinner remains untold. Ugh. The humanity.

Nonetheless, we had a great time this Christmas. As usual, the nieces were enlightening and enjoyable. I played a round of "Go Fish" with B-, during which she answered me in the same muted whisper I was using to communicate with her. We were presented with a bounty of gifts from the family, including some framed prints and and espresso maker. The Christmases spent with husband's family are far different than those of my childhood. After the I was age of about 6, the children in our family shuttled around from one family to the other (given the divorce situation), which always seemed such a hassle. My father would consistently wait until the last minute to purchase gifts from Santa. My most memorable gift from my father was a set of towels when I was about eight. You can imagine the reaction of an eight year old receiving towels. Where are the towels now?

As far as the running goes, I took a nice four-day hiatus last week from running. I started back this week with modest mileage. For the first time in the past year and a half, I'm not really following a schedule. I think that's a good thing. I need to lighten up a bit and get out of my routine and ritual.

Four's a Winner!

For the fourth time in three years, I made a trip to Las Vegas. Not only did I have gambling fever, I also caught a cold. Really.

This pilgrimage was precipitated by my old running buddy and her husband's wedding anniversary. They sent an e-mail to their friends stating they'd be going to Vegas and welcoming friends to join in the fun. When I spoke to J- about a month prior to the trip, not many friends were going, and her husband was planning on playing in poker tournaments each day. So, I thought, why not be a good friend and keep her company?

I arrived on Sunday four hours later than I had anticipated. For some reason, I was not wrinkled by the lateness. I tried to approach this trip with patience and generosity. I tipped the shuttle driver as much as the cost of the fare. After all, it is the holidays. While I tried to spread kindness to strangers, I probably was not the best friend to my running buddy. Rather than keep her company, I was overwhelmed by the desire to gamble, and managed to squeeze in a good bit of blackjack and craps. The gambling sessions were full of highs and lows. Thirty minutes prior to dinner reservations, I announced to my two compatriots that I needed to gamble. I threw some money down at a craps table, and threw a bit more money down to back up a line bet. Then it was my turn to roll. I made some folks at the table happy during my roll. I made over a hundred dollars in about 15 minutes before hustling on to the restaurant. By the end of Sunday night, I was up over $200. This session was followed by lows, when I lost most of my winnings the next day. On Tuesday, we did the "nature thing" traveling to Valley of Fire State Park, where we fed peanuts to grounds squirrels and saw wild donkeys and horses. Tuesday night was fruitful. I netted over $300 in winnings. I left Atlanta with $280, and came back with $600, even after paying cash for meals, transportation and generous tips to all service personnel. It was a good feeling. But I wasn't a very good friend probably. I should have gambled less and socialized more. But I had a good time.

The true story of this adventure was the Snow Village. Some of husband's family collects the porcelain buildings of the Department 56 Snow Village series. Vegas, the mecca of casinos and shopping, has a store dedicated to these collectibles. I managed to find two nice pieces to give as gifts, and then I worried if they would return home in one piece. Would the two fragile buildings survive the gaunlet ahead? Well, after carting the buildings around the casino, they were placed in the trunk of running buddy's rental car, where they were subjected to the driving of running buddy's husband. As we swerved and careened through the streets of Vegas, I heard the bag in the back slide from side to side with a loud thud each time it hit something solid. I cringed. The car wildly careened to and fro in each turn. Running buddy asked me if I was carsick. I replied that I was only worried about the Snow Village, which led to running buddy chastising her husband and warning about the fragility of the Snow Village as he went over speed bumps at what seemed like 50 miles an hour. The Snow Village made the long trek to and from the hotel, in the taxi and in the overhead bin of the airplane. I carefully placed my treasure in the overhead bin, fully prepared to tackle anyone who attempted to put a suitcase anywhere near this precious gift. I toted the Snow Village through the gigantic airport, on the train and around the train station trying to find my husband. Finally, I arrived home for the moment of truth. Husband and I opened up the two buildings. He looked at one building. It was completely intact. I opened the other building. I gingerly unwrapped the plastic to reveal the pristine pet shop. And then it happened. I caught a cold in Vegas and was about to sneeze. I tried to set down the pet shop and managed to clank it on a snow man statue thing my mother bought me several Christmases ago. I chipped the pet shop. I chipped it! I traveled so carefully for 2,000 miles, only to chip the thing on my own kitchen table. The pain. The horror. I felt terrible. Terrible. I'm now able to laugh about the sad Snow Village tragedy.