Saturday, July 18, 1998

        Tonight we're going gambling again, but to a different casino this time. Bob's sister and her husband, who live near Wichita, are coming in on a bus as an outing with a bunch of people that either she or he work with (I'm a little sketchy on the details), so Bob's dad wanted to go up and meet them and, incidentally, gamble. We're going to Harrah's North Kansas City. Hopefully I can repeat my successful outcome of the other week.

        Whenever we tear a piece of paper off a pad, or open mail, or do anything that involves the sound of paper crinkling, Pyewacket goes on alert. She stands up, cocks her ears, opens her eyes wide, and gets ready. She expects that the crinkling sound means that we're going to throw something for her to retrieve. We keep notecubes at several strategic places around the house--one on the table next to my chair, one on the coffee table, one on the desk in the office. Bob spent most of his evening last night watching television and crumpling up paper for Pye to fetch.

        What she generally does is chase the paper and bring it back maybe a half-dozen times, then she takes it into the kitchen to bat around for awhile, inevitably bats it under the pantry door where she can't retrieve it, and runs back into the living room to beg Bob to do it all again. Last night when I took the trash out of the pantry wastebasket, there were eight crumpled-up pieces of paper lying on the floor. I gathered them up and took them back in to Bob to use as ammunition; by the end of the evening they were all lost again.

        This morning she took the teabag wrapper upstairs to Bob to see if she could get him to play with it with her. From mail I've gotten, I've determined that a retrieving cat isn't all that unusual, it's certainly happened before, but this is the first one I've ever been witness to. It's definitely entertaining, that's for sure.

        Last night we ordered pizza, and in order to save a little bit of money and confusion, I went ahead and ordered something for myself from the same pizza place, rather than making two separate orders. And as it turned out, it was a better deal to get two pizzas, a big "cookie pizza" and an order of breadsticks than just two pizzas. The only reason that's significant is that Pyewacket got out when the pizza guy got here. I was juggling four pizza boxes in my arms when she decided to bolt. I balanced the pizzas in my left arm and bent over and scooped her up with my right, and something happened in my back. It's not horrible, it's not debilitating, but it still hurts.

        I think I really need to get back into yoga. I'm sure that would help. It's a bad time for it, though, just as I'm starting a new job. I don't really have any idea what my hours are going to be, so I'm hesitant to make a commitment to a class on a particular night. I can just drop in on a class if I want to, and that's probably what I'll start out doing, if I can figure out which is the best location and time.

        My friend Tom, who is also my occasional yoga teacher, called last week to see how I was doing. We hadn't talked in a few months, so he hadn't heard my news about my new job, and I hadn't heard his news, which is that he and his wife have bought some land and a small house out in the country, in furtherance of their dream of someday opening a retreat center. He said he had been out running and had seen two or three women who reminded him of me, and which prompted him to call. He encouraged me to start taking class again, and I know I really should. Maybe in a few weeks after I'm settled into the new job, I'll work it out.

Later . . .

        I went to Bagel & Bagel for lunch, and I remembered that they have a store near the Plaza, where I'm going to be working. So there's one lunch place that I can think of. I'm not stressed out about this, I'm really not. But I haven't started a new job in about twelve years, so it's definitely not an everyday occurrence . . . Anyway, I got ready to pay for my lunch and realized that I didn't have any money. I had used my last twenty to pay for the pizza last night. The wheels started turning. I had my checkbook in the car, and I had credit cards, but I don't think they take them. I think they would have taken a check, but then I remembered my emergency fifty dollar bill.

        I used that, getting a little over 45 dollars back in change, and after lunch I went over to the bank across the street and replaced it. I like knowing that $50 is in there in case I have to have the car towed, or in case I run out of checks, or in case I order lunch and realize I have no money . . .

        On the way back to the car, my sunglasses broke. One of the earpieces fell off. No screw. So I went to the drugstore and bought an eyeglass repair kit and sat in the car and put them back together. That was pretty much my exciting day. Went to the grocery store. Came home, showered and dressed and waited for Bob to get home so we could take off for the casino and meet his family.

Much later . . .

        I wore my new teacup earrings, thinking they would bring me luck, but my luck deserted me tonight. Well, that's not entirely true. I went and stood behind Bob at the craps table, and although he had lost over $100 before I got there, he won it all back with me there offering moral support and being his good luck charm, just like in the movies. I lost $90 at the slot machines. It isn't nearly as much fun when you're losing.

        We had a nice evening, though. We had dinner with Bob's folks and one of Bob's brothers and his wife. It turned out that Bob's sister and the group weren't going to get there until almost 9:00, and when they did get there, we really didn't see them except for a few minutes. The casino atmosphere isn't really conducive to sitting around and talking. I didn't like this place nearly as much as the other one, and I don't think it was just because I lost this time. Well, it's all sort of interrelated, I guess. The slot machines at the other casino seemed to pay off small amounts more often. These may have bigger jackpots, but it's sort of demoralizing to keep plugging coins in and not getting anything at all in return. I tried three or four different ones throughout the course of the evening and told Bob that they all "felt sort of blah."

        Watching him play craps was interesting, though. I think he likes having some input into the whole thing, feeling like if he wins that there was some skill involved. I don't really want there to be any skill involved on my part, I don't think. Because if you factor in skill, if you lose, then it's your fault. When it's completely luck, then it's sort of out of your control, and while that's probably exactly the wrong attitude, it makes me feel better.