Over the river and through the woods

First, dear friends, let me wish you a very happy, healthy Letter From Elba holiday.  I hope you’re surrounded by loved ones- and a great turkey.  And now a Thanksgiving memory of many years ago…

“Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go…”

We sang that song in the third grade and it still brings to mind wonderful Currier and Ives prints of sleighs, snow, and rosy-cheeked Granny bringing in a succulent golden brown turkey to the approbation of her smiling, WASPY New England family.

Ah, Thanksgiving.  Because it’s my favorite holiday of all, I always like to get as close to that dreamscape of the holiday ideal whenever possible.  But for many years, my folks spent their winters out of the Chicago cold and out of town. So when the kids were small, we took them to Grandma’s other house.

A very American celebration was at hand- but I’m not sure that you can make a Currier and Ives print out of it.

Here’s how it went…

Early in the morning we bundle the kids up and have the sleigh merrily dash us to O’Hare Airport.  The pilot knows the way to Grandmother’s house.  No, it’s not in Massachusetts- or any other spiritual home of Thanksgiving celebrations of yore.

This plane touches down at McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada.

Ah, can you feel the bracing fall nip in the air?  (It’s 78 degrees at eleven a.m.)  Breathe deeply.  Really fill those lungs.  Is that the cleansing scent of pine woods I smell?  (No, it’s Tropic Tan suntan lotion.)

And wait!  Is that Grandmother’s cap I spy?

No.  Moo Moo- as she was indelibly dubbed by her first grandchild, Natasha- is at her usual morning poker game at the Golden Nugget. We’ll see her later- probably.

The Ross family is whisked to our home-away-from-home by a taxi -that festively displays a sign reminding all passengers that there is a $20 penalty if they throw up in the cab.

And we now check into our holiday digs- a quaint and cozy New England inn with a thousand rooms.

Santa’s helpers- cleverly clad as bellmen- aid us along our merry way.  We love that our rooms are festooned with such quaint Pilgrim touches as giant jacuzzis in the bedrooms and mirrors on the ceilings.

How Captain John Smith would have felt at home.

Grandmother and Grandfather live in the same apartment complex as Moe Dalitz- famous bootlegger/racketeer, now turned casino owner/philanthropist- so Grandfather has carefully checked underneath his Cadillac Seville for car bombs using a broom handle with a mirror stuck to it.  Now he can drive over to the inn to welcome us.

He can’t wait to see us.  (Grandfather.  Not Moe.)  And he couldn’t get a golf game this morning. (Grandfather. Not Moe.)

But he is happy, and as he hugs us, he tells us that Moo Moo is playing “Pan” at the Desert Inn.  We will see her later- probably.

We’ve already unpacked and now it’s time to venture forth and explore the winter wonderland that is the casino.

You can just feel the holiday magic all around you as men are swearing and smoking cigars.  Tired-looking bottle blondes are pushing 7 and 7’s on everyone in sight. And instead of stuffing turkeys, little old ladies are feverishly feeding their slot machines.

The craps tables are laden with turkeys and hams, too- of the human variety.

The casino is brightly decorated with joyous signs of the holiday season.  As the Keno board lights up and reminds you to “place your bets with the Keno Girl,” it says “Happy Thanksgiving.”

And when the neon ticker flashes the winners of the dog races in Miami, it pictures an illuminated roasted turkey, as well.

Nothing says “Thanksgiving” as much as a neon turkey.

The noise is deafening, the lights are blinding, but somewhere in the distance, bells are ringing.  Could that be Santa’s reindeer I hear?

Nope, some lucky bastard  has just hit the Big Bertha Jackpot.  My nine year old, Nicky, is enchanted with this charming holiday scene. He thinks that he is in a giant Nintendo game and he’s mesmerized.

We spend the rest of the afternoon watching from a distance as dear Dad plays craps.  I explain the fundamentals of blackjack to eleven-year-old Natasha and listen to the nine year old crying and begging when he realizes that he can not play roulette- no matter how surefire his system.

(Btw, the nine year old is not the only person heard crying and begging in the casino.  It’s all so darn holiday festive.)

Grandfather leaves us now with a kiss- and a reminder that our traditional family Thanksgiving dinner is all set for six o’clock.  Promptly at six o’clock we all reconvene at the most New England spot in town- Château Vegas.

Our maitre d’, captain, and waiter- Vinnie, Vito and Guido- certainly look authentic and “Chistmassy” in their dingy black tuxedos and grimy, red cummerbunds.

Service is a bit slow tonight- this being a big holiday and all- and the wait for our table is interminable.  And when we are finally seated, they have run out of turkey and we have to settle for calamari instead.

And even though our Coke glasses have cigarette butts floating in them, and Nicky won’t touch the calamari and wants a cheeseburger, who’s complaining?  We’re a family, right? We’re all together on this wonderful occasion, right?

And as Grandfather happily pays the incorrectly-added-up bill, we all give thanks that we can celebrate together. He also explains that Moo Moo is now playing Texas Hold ’em at the Flamingo.  We will see her tomorrow- probably.

Next morning we’re all awake bright and early.

The time change has goofed up the kids, but that’s the great thing about holiday vacations in Vegas.  We can all go to Circus Circus and play arcade games.

Who cares if it’s only seven a.m.?  C.C. is open twenty-four seven.  That’s the beauty part.

Look, any family can toss a football around in the backyard as they get ready to watch bowl games.  The Ross clan is now shooting water from a giant gun into a clown’s mouth. We also knock over bottles, flip stuffed frogs into garbage cans and waste hundreds of dollars in quarters.

My children feel that it was a day gloriously spent- and want to relive it every year from now on.

At dinner the kids regale their grandfather with adorable tales of their fascinating and educational day.

Nicky tells Grandfather that his breakfast Keno card had ten winning numbers on it!  And Natasha is all wide-eyed with wonder at the sight of hundreds of pan handlers lining Las Vegas Boulevard.

This is so special.

And even Grandfather gets an extra holiday treat.

All our traditional Thanksgiving steaks and shrimp cocktails have been comped by Management.  Our dinner is “on the pencil,” and he doesn’t have to pay.  Ho ho ho!

Grandfather now tells us that now Moo Moo is playing Five Card Stud at the Stardust. We’ll see her later- probably.

And before you can say “Craps,” it’s time to go back home.

We all pack up- weary but warm with the memories of good food, good fun and good feelings.  We kiss Grandfather good bye and he tells us that Moo Moo is now playing Red Dog at the MGM Grand.

We’ll see her next Thanksgiving.

Probably.