Hello Muddah Hello Faddah

Posted on August 20, 2017 by Ellen Ross

Dear Mom and Dad,

Camp is keen! I am having so much fun at Ojibwa!

Here is my schedule.

At 8:30 Reveille is played over a loud speaker. Then campers get to make the announcement that it’s time to rise and shine and hit the dining hall. Today my friends Suzie and Dee made it.

Breakfast is great.  There is SO much food.  Pretty much anything you can think of.

I have hot chocolate with those little marshmallows that I like.

Chris makes a few announcements as we eat about the tennis tournaments and stuff and then it’s time for morning activities.

I do lots of early morning stuff on these two swings.  Aren’t they cool?

At 10 a.m. it’s time for Arts and Crafts.

My counselor Naomi is so awesome.  She is from Manchester, England and she is pretty and fun and she talks just like Liam Gallagher.

My big art project was to tie dye a shirt.  (My friend Eliza spilled hot chocolate on it last summer and we thought that it would be so neat to cover the little chocolate spots that never came out with tie dye.)

Here is my shirt now.

We made lanyards instead.

Aren’t they cool?

After Arts and Crafts, we had the Climbing Wall, the Zip Line and Water Skiing.  My friend Eliza was so good at everything!

Then it was time for lunch.  Camp has the BIGGEST buffet ever.  I mean it was bigger than that hotel in Las Vegas that you like, Mom.

What I liked was the pickles.  They have those little round flat ones.  And I like the taco chips.  They’re very crunchy.

After lunch it’s time for Afternoon Activities.

That’s Kenny’s hand.  We are sitting in the Pontoon Boat.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that my friends Dickie and Wendy and Mike were singing on the Pontoon Boat. They had guitars and everything and they did all the hard stuff like knowing all the words and harmonizing and stuff.   They were good!

After the Pontoon Boat, I played Box Hockey and Horseshoes with my new friends. Thomas and Billy.  They’re both new campers this summer. Thomas is younger than Billy but Billy is pretty immature so they hang around a lot and act silly together.  Billy pesters me all the time.  Like I said, he’s always goofing around.

Billy beat me in Box Hockey and Archery but I beat Thomas in Horseshoes.

Oh, here is a report from Denny.  He asked me to put it in with my letter.

Dear Lea and Ben,

As usual, we are trying very hard to get Ellen into the water.  I read the label on her bathing suit and it did not say “Dry Clean Only” like she said it did.

We are also working on getting her to:

  1.  Touch a basketball.
  2.  Catch a 16 inch softball
  3.  Climb the Climbing Wall
  4.  Zipline.  (She always says she’s going to do it but then she always refuses to climb the big tree.)
  5.  Keep her cabin neater.  Her hospital corners need work and she does not line her shoes up correctly.
  6.  Eat something besides pickles and taco chips.

All in all though, she’s a pretty good kid.  Grade- C-

Thanks, Denny Rosen, Director

P.S.  Kenny is great. Grade A+

Well, that’s it for now, Mom and Dad.  It’s almost Light Out and Billy is waiting for me down by the Boat Shed.   I wonder what he wants?

Love, Your Campfire Girl, Ellen

Share
Posted in Camp Ojibwa, Eagle River | 15 Comments

Flakey

Posted on August 6, 2017 by Ellen Ross

Author’s Note: I’m heading to Eagle River soon, Dear Readers.  See you on August 20.

And now…

I thought I was too old to fall in love again.  But it turns out, there’s no fool like an old fool.

I am in love.  No.  Make that obsessed.

And the object of my affection?

A small French pastry called a canelé.

You can read the above Wikipedia article or just take my word for it.

Ooh la la!

Not too sweet with an exterior that is dark brown and crunchy and an interior that stays soft and custardy.

This way French pastry madness lies.

It all started here.  Petrossian Bakery in New York City.  I went in strictly as a by-stander. My sister-in-law Mary Lu, an expert in all choses chocolats, had a favorite cookie she wanted to buy there.

As I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, I stood idly by as she was making her choice.  But then I saw it.

Petrossian only bakes a dozen a day and it looked so tempting.  And at $2.50, it was easily the most reasonable purchase in Manhattan.

C’est si bon.

And when I came back to Chicago, I went searching for my new amour.

I made a rendez-vous to meet them again at La Boulangerie on Belmont and Floriole on Webster.

They were comme Çi comme Ça.  (Sorry about the capital “C.”  If I add the cedille, I get the cap.)

They would do but they didn’t measure up to their Frenchified cousins in NYC.

I was très désolée.

And then I went to Seattle.


(Photo by TBF)

Chamber of Commerce Sidebar:  Please note the sky.  It was CLOUDLESS.  The weather was spectacular for our entire visit.  Locals tell me that they put out the rumor that their beloved Emerald City is always rainy because they don’t want more tourons like me moving there.  It’s already the fastest-growing city in the U.S.

Anyway, Seattle is a fabulous food town and I thought I’d try my West Coast luck.

Et Voilà!

Crumble and Flake.

Their canelés- made only on weekends- were as good if not better than their Big Apple rivals.

And lest you think I was swooning in Seattle toute seule, I can assure you that TBF found his jam, as well.

Similar to a twice-baked almond croissant, these beauties “start with the bakery’s regular buttery croissant, split open and brushed with orange flower syrup and then they are filled and topped with rich pistachio cream.”

When we went back for an encore on Sunday, TBF swore to me that this was the best thing he had ever had in his mouth.

EVER.

To be honest, I have always had a love-hate relationship with the French.  I love their language, Colette, their clothes, their food and Alan Delon.

I hate their war record- Petain, Vichy, collabos– and their history of anti-Semitism.

(Although on July 16, President Emmanuel Macron did give a fiery speech in Paris saying “France would cede no ground to messages of hate, and we will cede no ground to anti-Zionism for it is a mere reinvention on anti-Semitism.”  Bravo.)

But the future for canalés and moi?

Looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Share
Posted in Canale, Crumble and Flake, food, Pastry, Seattle | 4 Comments

In The Chips

Posted on July 23, 2017 by Ellen Ross

Call me Mrs. Fields.

Or Famous Amos or the Burny Brothers.

That’s because since May of 2016 I have been in the cookie business.

The chocolate chip cookie business to be exact.

For over a year now, I have made The Boyfriend one batch of c.c. cookies every single week.

True, I’ve skipped a week here and there- called on account of illness or out of town- stuff like that.  However there have been a few weeks that circumstances have dictated that I make a double batch so I think it evens itself out.

I never intended having this second career moonlighting as a baker.  I see myself as the clever, temperamental, sensitive artiste type.  You know, clad all in black, moodily gazing out of a window in a shabby-but-chic Paris garret contemplating the mysteries of the universe and writing the Great American Blog.

Instead, a cruel quirk of fate has me trapped in an apron and left me to the mercy of cookie sheets, cooling racks, industrial strength cookie scoops, spatulas and oven mitts.

It seems that my very first gift batch of home-made cookies was a BIG hit with TBF.  He loved them and was so enthusiastic in his praise that I was encouraged to make another batch for our get-together the following weekend.

And the following…

And the following…

And the…

You get the idea.

And I waited patiently for him to get tired of them and let me off the baking hook.

But as the months rolled by, his enthusiasm never flagged,  In fact, it took on a more sinister form.

Addiction.

Friend of Bill W. Sidebar: TBF seems to have one of those “addictive” personalities.  When he likes something it becomes absolutely necessary to his well-being and peace of mind. He is a slave to his routine and doesn’t suffer changes easily.  I only that hope I am one of those habits he’d have a tough time kicking.

To that end, I have gone through floods of flour, barrels of butter, vats of vanilla, sacks of sugar.

And, of course, carloads of chips.

I have used so many heaping cupfuls that Nestle stock should be at an all-time high.

But the good news is that, by now, I can bake a mean chocolate chip cookie in my sleep.  I never have to check the recipe and all my utensils and ingredients are kept together in convenient easy-to-grab places in my kitchen.

I can now throw these together in record time and with the panache of a Winnetka Jacques Pepin.

(Do ANYTHING for a year, and you, too, can be a pro.)

At last count- and I counted out one heaping cupful of chips and then multiplied- I’ve used 18,880 chips so far.

So far, so good.

Quick Author’s Note: Dear Readers, I’m heading out of town this week.  Please excuse my absence.  I shall be back with a brand new blog post on Sunday, August 6.  Thank you.

Now enjoy this batch.

Share
Posted in Baking, Chocolate chip cookies, Cooking | 4 Comments

Kiddie Chic

Posted on July 20, 2017 by Ellen Ross

That’s Natasha and Nick chez nous circa 1985, I’m guessing.  They’re gussied up for a Christmas party we threw that year.

I dug out this old photograph because I remember Natasha’s party dress.  It came from Cerutti in New York City.  Back in the day, all my kids’ dressy clothes did.

I had to shop long-distance for them because, in those days, there were not a lot of options to tog out your tots.

Oshkosh B’Gosh or Florence Eiseman- these were about my only two choices in kindergarb.  And if they didn’t have it at Marshall Fields or Marian Michael in Winnetka, I was toast.

That seems like ancient times nowadays.  I was strolling through a suburban mall the other day and I was struck by the number of stores dedicated to the proposition that all kids should be rigged out like Suri Cruise.

Baby Gap, Crew Cuts, Carter’s Babies & Kids, Polo For Kids… the choices were endless. Today, practically every high end designer label has a junior version.

In Chicago alone, baby boutiques like Psycho Baby, The Red Balloon, Twinkle Twinkle, Cloud & Bunny, Bonpoint and Milani are stylishly lurking to painlessly part you from your hard-earned cash.

Convenient?  Certainly.  Expensive? Unfortunately.

But today’s young moms and dads must not mind how much they have to shell out to make the Best-Dressed Kid List.

Or if they do, there is so much pressure from social media that they might as well surrender and  just start shopping.

Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest are all crammed to bursting with cute famous and semi-famous and wanna-be-famous mini me’s posing with pouty mouths and hands on hips in Kardashian fashion.

Seems like every kid these days has to look like he/she belongs to Gwen Stefani’s family or the Beckhams.

(Note the Empress of Chic, Anna Wintour, to the left of Harper Seven Beckham.)

And don’t forget about the Royals.  The Internet is filled with adorable photos of England’s tiny Prince George and Princess Charlotte.  And they always look smashing!

That’s a lot of peer pressure (no pun intended) for the average commoner parent today.

Whew.  I’m glad I missed this craze for designer duds for the under-ten-and over-privileged set.

But with the advent of Boston’s Sam, Carly and The Player To Be Named Later in Seattle, I just might get a chance to be lavish, silly, impractical, you know…

A grandmother.

Now where’s the Psychobaby website?  I know I saw baby socks with cheeseburgers on them…

Share
Posted in Childhood | 4 Comments

Trivial Pursuit

Posted on July 16, 2017 by Ellen Ross

If I may direct your attention to the 1979 entry on the right Dear Readers, you will see the name “Ellen Ross” written below the title “Willie Nelson Stardusters.”

This is my listing on the roster of Hall of Famers in the National Trivia Bowl.

I’ve written about my participation in this annual event here before.

ICYMI.

Click here.

Of course, I took pride in my membership in this very exclusive clubs made up of geeks, freaks and weirdos.  My quick recall memory has always been my favorite body part and it was more than gratifying to have it tested in as meaningful way as this.

These were the best of the best in the USA and competing against- and with- these guys year after year kept me sharp- and sometimes humble.

Of course I was proud to be a member of such an elite body of trivia buffs.  I knew that I had earned my rightful place and no one could ever take that away from me.

Until now.

I haven’t competed in years but when I found out that there was a trivia contest on Monday nights in the bar where the Boyfriend (sometimes) hangs out, I was interested.

And cocky.

“I can whip their asses,” I bragged to TBF.  “No regular person can ever beat me at Trivia. And who are these guys who hang out there? Mensa candidates?  I’ve got this.  Just drive me over, order yourself a beer and sit back and watch me wax them.”

TBF was happy to oblige.

Monday night rolled around and I walked into that bar like a gunslinger.

And I was on fire.

I knew so many answers.  And I also knew that nobody else in the bar knew them.

After every section, the questions got tougher and the points increased in value.  The trivia hostess would then announce the team standings.

My team (me) was always in the lead by a mile.

And then came the final question.

“This is a multiple choice music question,” explained the quiz mistress.  “You have to bet your points before you answer and then we will tally the scores and announce the winner.”

“This will be a joke,” I smugly said to my table mate.  “A multiple choice question?  Come on.  Give me a break.”

And so I bet all my points and sat back- confident in the knowledge that I would win in a romp.

“And the final question is… according to Billboard, rank these artists as to who had the biggest earnings in 2016.  The singers are Madonna, Rihanna, Taylor Swift, Garth Brooks and Katie Perry.”

OMG.

I was so screwed.  I frantically guessed and rearranged names and erased and changed my mind until time was called.

And the winner was…

And the biggest loser- the gal who bet all the marbles was…

Me.

I was not happy.

“She specifically said ‘multiple choice.’  Not ‘multiple part,'” I fumed.  “That was a gyp.”

“I told you not to bet all your points,” pointed out TBF- much to my annoyance.

“And to think that I was leading the whole way. I’ll never do that again,” I vowed.

And so last month, when I found myself back at the bar on Trivia Night, I had a plan.  No matter how well I did, I was not going to get over-confident and bet the farm.  I would be conservative in my wagering.

The category that night was “Disney Movies.”  And the bar was filled to the rafters with tables of eight and ten all whooping it up.

“How are you on Disney movies?” asked TBF uneasily as he gazed around at the heavy competition.

“That depends.  I’m pretty solid on old Disney but if they start asking new Disney, I’m toast.”

I was toast.  Questions about Frozen and The Lion King and The Little Mermaid and Beauty and The Beast dominated the contest.

And to top off my humiliation, I missed Lady and The Tramp and Old Yeller questions.***

***Ok, do you know what breed(s) of dog Old Yeller was?  No way was he part mastiff!

I got about three questions right, and at the end of the evening my one man team ranked in the bottom third.

I had lost my mojo.

And then came the final multiple PART question.

It was ranking from oldest to newest five made-for-tv Disney movies.

I thought long and hard, put Halloweentown as the oldest, stuck High School Musical in the right spot but screwed up the dates on Zenon and Cadet Kelly.

I knew I had blown it but I hadn’t bet a single point.

And the winner was…

I came in second!

My free Diet Coke never tasted so good.

You betcha.

Share
Posted in pop culture, Trivia, Trivia Bowl | 13 Comments

No Cheval

Posted on July 13, 2017 by Ellen Ross

…So a couple of weeks ago my son Nick sent me this list.

Top 100 Hamburgers in the United States.

He emailed it to me because he knows that I’m bananas for burgers.  I’m pretty sure that my last meal- if I had advance notice and could pick anything- would involve a long-gone shack on Dempster called Hershey’s and his cheeseburger with “secret sauce.”

ICYMI, read all about my burger obsession here.

Anyhow, Nick and I are pretty much in agreement when it comes to all things burger.  We both swoon over Beinlich’s and we both go ape for the burger at Superdawg.

Therefore, I listen to his recommendations with great interest.  And for the longest time, he has told me of his new FAVORITE hamburger in Chicago- and maybe anywhere…

Au Cheval.

For years he has raved on and on about the burger, the bun, the “au cheval” part- the yummy fried egg on top.  Not to mention the pickle, the ambience, well, everything.

“I swear to God, Dude, this is the best freakin’ hamburger I have ever had,” he will tell me.

And his sister Natasha- no slouch in the burger lover department either- backs his play.

“I love Beinlich’s best you know, Mom.  But after that, Au Cheval’s burger is my favorite,” she’ll chime in.

And Thrillist at the top of this post concurs.

(They rate it near the top of all burgers in the US- coming in at number 11.   Only the Mott Burger ranked higher in Chicago burgers.  It came in at number 7.)

So for YEARS, I have been going to Au Cheval.

And for YEARS, I have been striking out.

I have never eaten there.

I have gone for lunch and I have gone for dinner.

It is always the same old story.

Too long of a wait.

No matter how long I am willing to wait for this marvel of ground beef engineering, the text that our table is ready always comes too late.

(Just a little “Too Late” music for your listening enjoyment.)

I’ve struck out there so many times that I call it “No”Cheval.

But I didn’t reckon on my clever sister-in-law Mary Lu to the rescue.

Two weeks ago today we had a girls’ night out and she had a brainstorm.

Small Cheval!

IMHO pricey- but good.  And two double burgers, one order of fries and a split can of Diet Coke really hit the spot.

Was it the best burger in Chicago?  No.  But then again, it wasn’t the burger that Nick goes crazy for at the original restaurant so it really isn’t fair to compare.

I’ll have to save my review of that burger when -and IF- I ever actually eat there.

Until then, I’ll just have to wait for a miracle.And eat at Dick’s Drive-In the next time I’m in Seattle.

A fabulous, skinny double burger, no waiting and a price you can really sink your teeth into.

Au Cheval will have to wait for me for a change.

Share
Posted in Au Cheval, Chicago, food, Hamburgers, Restaurants, Small Cheval | 20 Comments

Curb Your Enthusiasm

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Ellen Ross

This is my last post until July thirteenth, Dear Readers.  Have a marvelous and safe Fourth of July.

Now see this guy?  Doesn’t he look like he’s got no important place to go and all the time in the world to go there?

That’s cause he does.

And I’m still steamed about it.

Just for the record, let me be clear here.  I am NOT am injustice collector.  You know, a person who deeply believes that the world- and its occupants- are in league to get him.

Like this guy.

Au contraire.  I am, in the main, a cock-eyed optimist who thinks the world is her oyster.  (If not a natural pearl necklace from Tiffany’s.)

That why it pains me to report two recent unrelated incidents that really fried my clams.

Out of Towner Sidebar: I do feel obliged to confess that both of these incidents happened in a quaint and scenic suburb an hour outside of Chicago.

Let’s call it Pleasantville, shall we?

Let’s start with the guy sitting on the bench.  I first encountered him at the local train station.  It was an early Monday morning and I needed to buy a ticket and head in to work. I had given myself plenty of time, and in Pleasantville, it really doesn’t matter.  The ticket line is never more than two or three people at most.

Today I was in the Number Three slot.

The guy in the photo was Number One and he was casually chatting to the ticket seller.

She was casually chatting back to him.

OMG.

This chit chat went on for seven minutes.  Like there was nobody else in line.  Like nobody had any place to be or you know, a train to catch.

This folksy little back and forth chatter between this guy and the ticket clerk went on for what seemed like forever.  I made harrumphing noises and cleared my throat and tapped my foot, but the universal signal for “Hey! Let’s get a move on!” went unnoticed by these two yokels.

FINALLY, he moved on.

To the bench in the photograph.  He didn’t have to catch that train.  Clearly.

How thoughtless, I fumed.  Just because he’s not in a hurry, why inconvenience poor bastards like me who actually have to show up on time?

The rudeness and general clueless-ness of that behavior annoyed me.

That is until last week.

I was in Menard’s buying candy.

Yes, that’s right. Candy.

ICYMI, Menard’s is my suburban go-to for the candy I love.  Every box is ONE dollar.

So I had a few minutes last week and I ran in for a couple of boxes of Good & Plentys.  I was the second in line waiting to check out.

There was a guy and his little boy- around eight I think- and they were being checked out. And there was one man holding a big piece of pipe in front of me.

The clerk was having trouble with the guy’s transaction.  He kept running something that looked like a little torn piece of paper through the register.  Then he’d wait a minute and then frantically key in about twenty strokes.  The he’d scratch his head and do it all over again.

And again.

This went on at least five times and the man in front of me with the pipe was getting disgusted.

Finally the clerk called over a manager and he started doing the same drill.

He ran this little torn piece of paper through the register and then hit a lot of keys.

After five more minutes of this, the guy with the piping gave up.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered as he angrily strode off in search of another line.

I heartily agreed but I was curious.  How big and important this transaction must be? I thought.  It’s taking fifteen minutes AND pissing off the entire store.

After a dozen more tries, the manager hit pay dirt.

“That does it, ” he happily announced and turned the register back over to the clerk.

The clerk read the display and triumphantly said to the guy with the kid, “That will be thirty-six cents, please.”

I gaped in disbelief as that thoughtless moron handed over a ONE DOLLAR BILL and waited for his change.

Think about this.  He had inconvenienced many people for less than a dollar.

I can watch the pennies with the best of them if necessary but come on!

Would you do this for a refund of sixty-four cents?

I felt like punching that jerk but I punked out.

Just like this guy.

Share
Posted in pop culture | 7 Comments

EEEEK!!!

Posted on June 22, 2017 by Ellen Ross

Author’s Note: No blog post this Sunday, Dear Readers.  I’ve got some friends and family coming in town tonight and I will be doing some F&F entertaining on Sunday.  See you Thursday, June twenty-ninth.  Thanks.

…So the other day The Boyfriend and I were discussing phobias.

(Don’t ask me why.  We seem to have exhausted the normal topics of newly-dating couples like “What’s your favorite movie?”  “What’s your favorite color?” and “Can you iron?”)

TBF wanted to be scientific about this so he googled the top phobias for our Q. and A session.

Here they are.

List of The Most Common Phobias.

As he read them off, I gave him my feedback.

Open spaces?  Nope.

Closed spaces?  No.  (Heck, I just did a two hour MRI, man.  It sucked but I didn’t freak out.)

Heights? No.  I love skiing.

Snakes?  No.

The Lady Eve Sidebar:  There was a great picture of me petting a snake at some Lincoln Park Zoo function years ago.  I was quoted as saying, “It felt just like a pair of shoes.”

I wish I could find that photo.  This will have to do.   (Especially for your viewing pleasure, John Yager.)

Dogs, needles, insects, storms?

No. No. No. No.

Social anxiety?  The list mentioned people had  big fears about other’s judging what food- and in what quantities- they took on their plates in a buffet line.

No.  (Although truth be told, people always look at my plate when I’m in a buffet line.  It is disconcerting but I just ignore it.  Ditto people who make snide comments about my weight.  I ignore those guys, too.)

And although public speaking was not specifically mentioned on this list, I know many people are phobic about that.

Ahem.

Not me.

I love it.

         

That’s the very shy yours truly as moderator for events with CNN’s Elsa Klensch and Chicago’s very own photography maestro, Victor Skrebneski.

So so far so good.

I had checked out as phobic-free and was feeling pretty awesome about my mental health.

Then the conversation took a different turn.

“You know that Mexican place I was telling you about?” TBF asked.

“I’ll take you there but you’ve got to try the fish tacos.”

OMG.

He got me.

Share
Posted in Dating, Phobias, pop culture | 4 Comments

Father’s Day

Posted on June 18, 2017 by Ellen Ross

Happy Father’s Day, Dear Readers.  I hope all you guys have tons of fun on the golf course on in the hammock or at the ball game or whatever men do on their Once-A-Year Day.

My son Nick makes apps for your model device.  His wife Missy is a former ballerina turned professional trainer.

Wordplay Sidebarre: When asked what she did for a living, I used to say that my daughter-in-law was a dancer.  People would look startled and some would ask, “Exotic? Does she use a pole?”  That’s when I switched to “ballerina” to describe Missy’s calling in life.

This July they will have been married for eight years.

They are expecting their first child in September.

And on Nick’s birthday- April 21- they found out that they are having a boy.

Here’s Natasha, baby Nicky and me on his very first Father’s Day in 198o.

(Note Heinz catsup bottle in pride of place.)

Of course they’re thrilled and, of course, so am I.

(Although I must admit that I never dreamed that I would have a grandchild named “Hendrix.”  It’s taken some getting used to but just as I started to like it, Nick announced that Missy had called for a name change and that “Hendrix” is probably a non-starter.)

Nick is never happier than when he is on a snowboard.  But his snowboard trips- like everything else in his life- are about to carve a radical turn.

He has NO idea.

All I can say is that a couple of weeks ago, Nick was staying with me and he had to make a very early flight at O’Hare back to Seattle.

(He and Missy live in Seattle but Nick’s business is headquartered in Chicago.  He works remote three weeks a month and then comes here for a week of face time with his clients and his team.)

He had to head out at 3:39 a.m. and he had already told me that I didn’t have to get up to see him off.

Of course, I got up to say good bye.

A very sleepy-looking and startled Nick raised his eyebrows when he saw me at the front door.

“Why are you up, Dude?  You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’ll find out why I got up soon enough,” I smiled.

“In September.”

Happy FD one and all.

Salut.

Share
Posted in Father's Day, Fathers, Parenting | 4 Comments

Philosophy 101

Posted on June 15, 2017 by Ellen Ross

My mother, Lea Roffe, was the best card player I ever knew.

(And if you knew her, she was the best card player you ever knew.)

All winter long, she would play in one poker game with the big boys in Las Vegas every day.

In the summer she would travel to Cannes and hole up there so she could gamble in Monte Carlo’s famous casino every night.

And as I have mentioned before, there was no game at which she didn’t excel.  From Bingo to Bridge, from Craps to Canasta, she could beat your pants off.

Naturally, this kind of expertise was intriguing to some people.

Her grandson, Nick, for instance.

From an early age, they engaged in the art of the deal.

In The Dog House Sidebar:  When Nick was in third grade, I got called into school by his teacher, Mrs. Hayden.

“Nick has been teaching the other children how to play Texas Hold ‘Em,” she reported unhappily.  “You have to discourage this kind of behavior.  It’s inappropriate.”

“I will,” I assured her.  “But you have to understand that this is what he does with his grandmother.  He has no idea that it’s wrong.”

And although Nick quickly knocked off playing Nathan Detroit on school days, he always picked Moo Moo’s brain for better ways to beat the House.

BTW, the REAL Nathan Detroit was my mother.  Into her nineties, she was still playing in an illegal underground floating poker game.  This, despite the fact that when she was in her eighties, it had been busted and the participants hauled off in paddy wagons.  I know this because she called me in Aspen all het up.

“My game was raided today.  But don’t worry.  I crawled out the window with all of my chips!” she reported proudly.

I was dismayed.

“My God, Mother.  You’re eighty-three years old.  Can’t you find anything better to do?” I said wearily.

“What do you want me to do in my old age?” she challenged.

“I don’t know.  Help the homeless.  Read to the blind.  Something.”

But I crapped out.  You can’t change the pips on a die.

My mother died a year ago yesterday.

She had come out on top- a winner- after a lifetime of playing cards.

And I thought about what she had told me- and Nick- when we questioned her closely about how she had kept up a winning streak of such long-standing.

“Why do you always win?” we would ask her.  “Tell us your secret.”

“It’s simple,” she’d say.

“You’ve got to play the hand you’re dealt.”

“Come on,” I’d scoff.  “Are you telling me that skill is not a factor?”

“Nope.”  She’d stand pat. “It’s all about luck.  And I was lucky.  I always got dealt very good cards.”

“You’re just being modest,” I’d say.  “That can’t be true.  Sure, you got good cards, but you had to know what to do with them.”

“No,” she’d insist.  “I was just lucky.  You can’t beat that.”

Well, I bow to a master.  And as I get older, I’m starting to understand how luck- sheer dumb luck- plays a huge part in all our lives.

Sometimes you get dealt a busted flush and sometimes Life hands you a royal one.

You’ve just got to play the hand you’re dealt with as much grace and humor as you can muster.

Thanks, Mom.

Share
Posted in Gambling, Las Vegas, Lea Roffe, pop culture | 14 Comments