Waking Up In Reno

We had a wonderful trip to Tahoe, but if I never visit Reno, Nevada again it will be too soon. Casinos, in general, are not my thing: too noisy, and too full of depressing (depressed?) people. It’s true, I’d never stepped foot inside a casino before this trip, but I already knew, like knowing I wouldn’t like Hamburger Helper without having tried it. I witnessed several down-on-their-luck folks spending their Christmas bonuses or last dimes on Earth, and it made me shudder. I’m sure I’d like Vegas a bit more than Reno (a bit), but when I have vacation time, Europe, San Fran or NYC appears on my radar…not Vegas. The American Airlines Magazine said that Vegas is the #1 vacation spot in America: also terrifying, and another good reason not to go there. I think a lot of buffets serve Hamburger Helper.

I’m too practical for gambling because, deep down, I hate parting with money. I’m an investor—gambling with common sense. I did have fun with Matt, though, and losing $25, my limit. Matt played blackjack several times; it was fun watching him, but I experienced sympathy pains when he lost even $10. I played video poker and slots: an “I Dream of Jeanie” version as a joke, which kept saying, “Yes, master…yes, yes!” I was horrified, and decided to surrender my last $2.50 and walk away.

After smoking, gambling is about the only thing Matt and I don’t have in common; still, I’m “game” for anything. I told him that our next vacation will be of the Jill variety, getting drunk in Sonoma or traipsing through the warrens of Barcelona. I think I heard Matt say, “Yes, master…yes!”

We were in Reno for a day and a half, which, even Matt said felt like six weeks. His brother and dad picked us up and we headed to our rented villa in Tahoe, where the power was out due to a snow storm. We celebrated family Christmas beside the tranquility of candlelight.

We all went to bed the first night shivering in our long underwear, but the house regained power in the middle of the night. Matt and I awoke melting, realizing we had the room quite literally as hot as hell. We slept every night with the window open…and our view? Heavenly.

No, really. We skied Heavenly Mountain, which was exhilarating and so incredibly beautiful. We stood at the top and took tons of photos of the lake/mountain juxtaposition (I carried my digital while skiing and managed not to smash it). Matt is a far better skier than I (I don’t do “black,” only “blue”), but I kept up with him and we laughed and soared. His young nephew had a meltdown on the mountain unfriendly to riders because of cat tracks, but Matt tucked him in between his skis and steadied him down our last stretch of terrain. My heart pitter-patted.

Snowboarders drive me crazy, his nephew notwithstanding. Riders do not yield to traffic because they have NO control. I will never board.

We ice skated one day in town, and here I finally got to use my moves. Matt was actually very good for a beginner, so we’re going to start skating at the Indiana State Fair Grounds (he said he would but, come to think of it, he was a little drunk).

Evenings, his dad made hot buttered rum (hot buttered YUM), and we’d all play poker (I like poker), or go into town and do the casino thing again (ding ding ding ding ding ding ad nauseam). We’d end the days by piling into the hot tub set on a wooded hill, and stare out over the mountains and lake. I sneaked away to read only twice. His parents spoiled us—I mean, really. I had only been to Tahoe in the summertime, but it’s a sight for dismal Indiana winters.

Matt and I left the bunch on New Year’s Eve, "heading back to Indy" because we wanted a little alone time to call our own. Little did we know we’d be spending that quality time at the Reno Airport Best Western.

Our flight to Chicago was delayed almost 3 hours, so what do you think we did? (My dad guessed this in about 2 seconds) We went to a bar. The bloody marys were going down so deliciously as we kept our eye on the arrival/departure screen which, I guess, was stuck on “Delayed,” because we missed our freakin’ flight!

Matt and I were both utterly stunned when we walked to gate C-10 and found no one there. There were no more flights out, and the ticket agents felt so horribly that they comped us a “suite” *coughcough* and $20 (Matt let me order anything off the menu) for dinner at the Best Western. He and I stood hugging, kissing, and trying not to cry in the middle of the airport. Matt’s eyes gazed off into the distance for a minute. I snapped my fingers saying, “Honey…honey…come back.” Eventually, he said, “Sorry, I went to my happy place.”

What we thought was going to be the worst night of our lives—more Reno, for God’s sake—turned out to be one fantastic and romantic evening. We had no luggage. We ate in the gross hotel restaurant (we asked to be seated in the “way back,” and we were, next to a table full of the next day’s supply of butter, jellies and coffee mugs). “Surf & Turf” was sirloin and thawed shrimp. We drank in the smoky lounge with the locals. We played video poker. We couldn’t help but to keep smiling. It was the best New Year’s I’ve ever had.

At 11:57 Indiana time, we returned to the room and watched Anderson Cooper countdown on CNN. At midnight, Matt said, “I fell under a lucky star.” Pitter-pat all over again.

We caught a standby flight at 6:15a.m., and I’ve never been so happy to be back in Indianapolis.

Last night, while sitting on the couch, we both kept asking, “What’s that sound?” The pine needles were falling off the Christmas tree in droves. I quickly removed the ornaments before they too fell to the floor, and we sneaked the tree outside to the dumpster. There were 64 needles left.

Old Man Winter has yet to tap on our window with a vengeance, but I fear he’s drawing near.