I read a novel over the weekend, brushed my teeth after dinner, and I used a kleenex this afternoon like a civilized person, so that's a start, and I completed an entire poker game without a single swear word. Won fifty bucks, finishing 161st out 3800 in the $3 rebuy. A decent showing, but I made a serious misread on the last hand I played, calling all-in with five times the blind, drawing virtually dead. Some of you don't know what that means, but trust me, it isn't good. Discipline can only take you so far in a poker. Eventually you reach a play where you need blind luck, or luck in the blinds. You hope to wake up with a hand before it reaches that point.
Last night I finished 22nd out of 1900 in a $1 freeze out, so I played respectfully this weekend. I have a day off tomorrow so I will probably play in a couple of events, do some housework, sleep in--my idea of a perfect day.
I got some good news tonight. Roommate Doug called (not friend Doug, the Watch Prince, famous author and notorious Beaver fan) and he told me he's decided to rent the house he found in St. Johns, so his room should be available and thus save me from homelessness or a desperation move. I've grown accustomed to this place and this neighborhood, so it's a real relief to hear I won't have to uproot. This little place is close to the train and grocery store and gym, and just down the street from the Gateway Breakfast House and Chang's Mongolian, and I can find the bathroom in the dark, and the bathroom is clean because I've scrubbed it every weekend for nine weeks. Those things count for a lot, to say nothing of not having to break in new roommates and a new landlord. I'm relieved, provided Richard signs off on our win-win-win solution to everyone's dilemma. Here's hoping he's feeling relaxed and reasonable after his vacation and looks at this in a compassionate way. I hate change, as you know, and I've had my quota for the year. Remember that stress chart, the one that assigned so many points to moving, so many to changing jobs, so many to marital discord? There have been years where I have amassed 900 points in one year, merely by being a stubborn idiot with a quick temper. Fortunately I've mellowed in my old age. Just ask Stephanie.
In my family there is a joke, one of several that come out at holidays and barbeques, about the Newton cuss sentences, a bad habit we acquired from our father. We don't merely swear; when riled we compose these long chains of cuss syntax strung together in really inventive combinations, erupting like little verbal volcanoes. Even my brother Frank, a dapper and gracious man in every respect, can succumb when he drops something heavy on his toe, although his temper probably has the longest leash of any of us.
Temper never really accomplishes anything, and often destroys in an awful way. It's a tempting weakness because it allows us to hold the floor and keep reason and other points of view at bay, but I have to say I'm never anywhere near my best when I get angry. I admire someone who can have an argument without losing sight of what's most important, remembering above all that the people around you are way more important than getting your way. Curiously, one of the best I've ever seen is my son Roger: whether in a conflict with his girl or a friend who hasn't paid his share of the rent, he is logical, cool, and sticks to the issues, making his point and reaching for commonality even when things are the most painful and heated around him. He's really remarkable that way, wise and mature beyond anything he would have learned from me. It's a great joy to reach the age where you can admire your own kids, and feel the enormous gratitude that by the grace of God they have become tremendous and independent people and a joy to know and be around.
Last night Marie and I had a date. I know we have had more reunions and rifts than Sue Ellen and J.R., but last night was one of our best nights ever. She wore a beautiful silk dress and cute shoes, and looked utterly irresistible. We went to dinner at Chang's and saw local Blues legend Norman Sylvester and his band at Clyde's Prime Rib on Sandy Boulevard. The joint was packed and the band was cooking, and Norman's old keyboard player Frankie Redding has recovered from a long illness and joined the band for the last set. Marie and I danced to the man who was playing the night we met, the man whose tender voice and soulful guitar brought us together. The magic was still there, and the magnetism and essence. Attraction we've mastered. Desire and fulfillment we have to burn. Heat and passion radiates from us, and even the Boogie Cat, an old hand in such matters, recognizes it from the stage. He greets us like old friends, and that is an incredible honor. Now the two of us have to learn to get along and conquer our demons and domesticate ourselves. We've fought and made love like alley cats long enough, although every now and then we will still stay out late and growl at the moon.
What about Day 3 and beyond?
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