Monday, May 05, 2008

When One Door Closes...

No, I didn't win the Powerball.

Sunday morning I dragged my body outside of the cozy pocket of warmth to get rid of another night of punishing a handle of perfect amber colored liquid. The air wasn't too cold for those of the northern ilk, especially with the stylin flannel pj’s the wife got for me. Since the restroom wasn’t as simple as opening an adjacent door, thanks to the wonderful people at Pleasureland RV who’s customer dis-service have my old trailer retaining water and decaying quickly, while my new one sits in a parking lot with notes from the park about needing to move within the week. Their fortitude towards making another one-time customer and infecting possible customers around me, actually forced me to enjoy my time even more up at our cabin.

The walk was no more then a mile round trip, lined with a packed dirt path and pot holes forming from the recent rainfalls and trees getting ready to blossom to full green mode within a few weeks. The devoid of sound other then woodland creatures scurrying about before the overly loud four year olds come outside with their newest buckets and big wheels, gave me a new appreciation to this place. Sure, Saturday’s spaghetti and booze fest mixed in with the excitement of the Kentucky Derby was fun. Chatting with our long time friends in front the fire while kids wore half of their s’mores like a milk mustache brings a smile.

But, that walk alone is what refreshed me, as the kids decided the cramped space of our 12’ X 12’ screenhouse was not sufficient for playing and voiced their opinions negatively the majority of the weekend. All the whines dripped away with each cooled step towards the shower/bathroom community house so I could rinse off the soot off from last night’s fire. But, the door was locked. Normally this would bring a twinge of anger to bubble up, but instead I just looked forward to making another trek later on.

This is how I see that offer to go to Rio this past week (which is going on now, so check out PokerStarsBlog and for details). The journey of banging the English language into submission here for nearly four years has been the calming walk towards a possible job writing about poker on a more serious level, getting turned away wasn’t fun nor upsetting, but I’m still going to enjoy the walk back.

Who knows, maybe next time I try, the door will open.

And if you weren't listening to BuddyDank's crew slaying the Borgata this weekend, do so immediately.

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