Grotesque gallbladder gremlins give gargantuan grief

Feb 12 to 21, 2008
While I was away in Toronto, Caesar woke up one morning with his chronically infected eye swollen and cemented shut. Fernie tried to cleanse the eye but poor little Caesar cried out in pain. So off to the emergency vet’s office they went. $237 later with a slew of prescriptions (ointment, antibiotics - 2 of them & an allergy medicine) Fernie started treatment. Caesar’s poor old eyes are so hazy now with cataracts and I think the infection made his eyesight diminish further. The following night, Fernie experienced a ‘bad case of indigestion’, which took about five hours to dissipate. I guess the two ol’ guys were missing me. When I arrived in balmy Phoenix on Monday evening, Fernie’s beaming face greeted me and when we got home, Caesar was looking and feeling much better.

Tuesday morning, sunny and warm – I sure don’t miss the weather in the north. We pulled up stakes, departed Palm Gardens and headed back over to Wild Horse Pass Casino where we met up with our friends P&C. After dinner with them at the casino, Fernie hit the poker room for a few hours and made a tidy $80 profit. So, as you can see, all was well with the world – for a few more hours anyway.

The timing was impeccable though. What if it had happened while I was away? or before I left – then I wouldn’t have been able to go. What if we hadn’t had the proximity of the casino staff? What if we hadn’t met up with our friends?


Fernie woke at 1am to pain in the right side of his chest/stomach – another bout of ‘indigestion’. The pain intensified over the next three hours and Fernie paced up and down through Maggie shaking me out of bed. The pain was now right through to his back and when I massaged it, he flinched. “I wonder if it’s gall bladder?” I said. It’s hard to feel another’s pain and Fernie was adamant for a while that it would go away, so it wasn’t until about 4am that I decided to go over to the casino to ask for help. It was creepy in the parking lot at that hour, so I drove my car over rather than walk. The casino has a 24-hour medic on staff in case of medical emergencies and I’m sure with all the old folk that visit there, he’s kept pretty busy. Tony’s area of operation is within the walls of the casino and so it was compassionate of him to offer to come to our motorhome and check Fernie out. He drove me back over in a golf cart with brightly flashing lights. We were followed by two other vehicles - security officers, who regularly patrol the property. With all the lights & racket, it’s amazing that our friends right next to us didn’t even wake up.

Tony checked out Fernie’s vital signs and other than an elevated blood pressure (the pain would cause that), all else was fine but he suggested that I should get him to emergency and he asked if we wanted an ambulance. I declined and said I’d drive him – always aware that I don’t know what our out-of-country medical insurance covers. Why do medical emergencies always seem to happen at those awful dark and dismal middle of the night hours when all seems doom and gloom? By now, Fernie was writhing and moaning and when I finally got him to the Chandler Regional Hospital’s emergency – about 5am, I needed an anti-stress pill.

Fernie was taken right in and strapped up to an EKG machine by Brian an absolutely total hunk of an intern, 6 foot 6 tall, I’d guess and right out of Grey’s Anatomy. Neither Dr. McDreamy nor Dr. McSteamy has anything on Brian. But I digress. Brian gave Fernie a pain pill, which helped a bit, but it wasn’t until later when he was ensconced in an emergency bed in a flowered nightie that they gave him intravenous painkillers. Over the next few hours, they did blood work and X-rays and finally an ultrasound.

About 7:30am, I had to leave Fernie, knowing he was in good hands, and go back to look after Caesar. I had a huge lump of stress in my chest and throat as I medicated and then walked Caesar in the early morning sunshine. I felt totally desolate. I waited until after 8am to knock on our friends’ door. When they came to the window and asked who was there, it was like I was a little girl again and I broke into tears. Yes, me – a total baby.
“Fernie’s in hospital” I sobbed and the door flew open and I was enveloped in hugs – just what I needed. P&C were my rocks – they delayed their departure for Yuma, staying on beside us to look after Caesar and give me support. The came into the emergency and kept us company during the interminable wait.

Finally, a diagnosis – “Gallbladder” said Dr. Lee. Gee, I could have told them that five hours ago.
“No stones, but full of sludge” she continued. “I’ve talked to Dr. Whitman, the surgeon and he’s going to operate”.
What an efficient process it turned out to be. Within minutes, Fernie was wheeled upstairs on his stretcher with me following. Ron, his male nurse (another hot lookin’ dude) primed him with what was about to take place, followed by the anaesthetist who gave us the full routine and finally [drum roll here] the surgeon, Dr. Whitman.

A tall and heavy-set, light-skinned African American with an elegant demeanour, strode majestically into the room. He looked more like a linebacker than a doctor but I noticed when he shook my hand that his hands were silky smooth and his manner was gentle, informative and calm. His skullcap was bright and multi-hued in an African motif – yellow, green, red, blue, purple.
“Do I really need surgery, Doctor?” inquired Fernie, content now that the intravenous painkiller had put him in a euphoric mood. Dr. Whitman gently pressed on his right side.
“Oucccchhhhhhh!” answered Fernie
“That’s why we need to get it out – because it won’t get any better,” replied the doctor, authoritatively. Turning to me he continued, “the operation will only take a half an hour and he described the method with the four little holes and the camera and the CO2 to blow him up. “I will come out to the waiting room immediately after the surgery and advise you the status. Then you’ll wait approximately one more hour for him to be released from post-op care.” With that, Fernie was whipped away and I made my way over to the waiting room – an opulent airy area with large screen TVs, big comfy chairs, large windows, big leafy plants, a concierge offering bottled water and all overlooking the main entrance. It was more like the lobby of an elegant hotel than a hospital waiting room

Things went exactly as they promised and I was ushered up to the fourth floor prior to Fernie’s arrival. I gasped at the sumptuous décor as I walked down the hallway looking for room 463 – I felt like Alice in Wonderland after falling down the rabbit warren – this surely was the ‘Four Seasons Hotel’ not Chandler Regional Hospital. Fernie’s large private room was high ceilinged and stylishly decorated with mahogany cupboards, a tasteful wallpaper border and it sported a large TV with about 50 channels, a writing desk, a big comfy leather chair and a sofa that made into a bed, just in case I wanted to stay with him and a big private bathroom. The window coverings were upscale and the privacy curtain was in a beautiful silky material, edged with a macramé like border.

When Fernie was wheeled in about ten minutes later, his eyes popped out of his head; he couldn’t believe the opulence. “I think I’m going to be mighty comfortable” he quipped, looking as if he’d never had surgery. He stayed in the hospital until Friday morning unlike our system at home in BC, where you go in at 8am and are kicked out by 5pm the same day. During his stay, a newspaper was delivered each morning, a folder rather like that you get on a cruise ship contained a full run-down of everything he’d be experiencing and it even had a TV Guide. A ‘whiteboard’ instructed the names of his caregivers on each shift and the procedures he’d be faced with. If Caesar hadn’t needed me, I’d have probably stayed there with Fernie. Thursday evening, we sat together in absolute comfort watching Survivor on his large screen TV. I’m beginning to see why the American medical system is so much more expensive than ours in Canada.

Our out-of-country medical insurance through BCAA (AAA) was seamless but when they contacted me, they advised that Fernie was only covered for one follow-up appointment after his hospitalization. If he requires any further medical appointments concerning this surgery, we’ll have to go home. So at this point, as he recuperates day by day, we’re not sure but we assume that recovery won’t be a problem. What can go wrong? - - Infection, I suppose. We’ll run it by Dr. Whitman on next Thursday’s appointment when they remove his staples.

It’s a funny thing – I really don’t think we were destined to drive down Baja, Mexico this year. First there was my odd illness, then Caesar (who is still not back to normal) and now Fernie’s gallbladder surgery. I’m awfully glad he didn’t get sick in the rural areas of Mexico.

Terrific, tempestuous, thrilling times & a tenth in teeming Toronto

Feb 6 – 11, 2008

Gerri’s gallivanting Grandma
In her lifetime which ended around 1940 or so, my grandmother’s travels were limited to the general environs of South Wales between Cardiff and Swansea. Margaret O’Leary Bulger was an elegant, articulate and intelligent woman who was born ahead of her time, according to my mother. When she was not looking after her own family, her time was spent as a midwife, assisting young women in trouble, and fighting for women’s rights. It was no wonder that my mother admired her so highly. Apparently the boys in the family were less impressed. I guess that figures for those times when men were content to keep the status quo where the little woman cooked, cleaned, procreated and was subservient to her husband.

I was brought up with endless tales of my grandmother’s reputation and I learned early that I too should never accept a lesser role in life than a man. Hence my bra-burning years in the 1960’s. My mother was one of nine children and one of the younger ones, so it was surprising that she ended up with the oil portrait of her mother. Perhaps it was because my mother was her namesake or maybe it wouldn’t have meant much to her brothers who (except for one) escaped Great Britain as very young men and settled in Canada. My family emigrated to Canada in 1954 and Grandma’s portrait sailed with us on the Queen Elizabeth sustaining some minor damage on the journey. It was later professionally repaired.

Many years before my mother died, she passed on the portrait to me and ‘Grandma’ has graced the wall in my house for many years. I never failed to think about her and talk about her even though I never met her, as the painting constantly brought her to mind. But Grandma had a new home in her future. Many years ago, my son David elicited a promise from me that one day, she’d be his. Now with our month after month of travel and Grandma in an empty house, I felt the time was right for her to move on, so when David bought a new house in Toronto, I promised him Grandma as his housewarming gift.

Before we left home in January, I packed up the portrait in bubble wrap, stiff cardboard and a protective envelope and popped it into an ‘Out of Africa’ carrier bag for ease in handling. She remained safely tucked into the back of my closet in Maggie until my flight north on February 6th. I couldn’t take a chance on her getting out of my hands during travel – no overhead bins, no being stuffed under the seat and certainly no checking for Grandma.

On the first leg of my flight sitting in an aisle seat, I managed to wedge Grandma under my legs and I obscured sight of it from the flight attendants by keeping an open magazine across my lap – but it was mighty uncomfortable. I was glad when the three and a half hour flight to Cleveland was done and I could stretch my legs. The flight between Cleveland and Buffalo was on a small commuter plane and I sat in a single seat right at the front #1A.
“I’ll have to store your package – FDA rules” said Claudia the one and only flight attendant.
“Oh no! – you can’t” I cried and explained that it was an oil portrait of my grandmother, very delicate and over a hundred years old.
Claudia scratched her head “I’ll think about it a bit” she assured me. Ten minutes later, “I’ve got just the spot” and Grandma was taken onto the flight deck and carefully stowed in the closet behind the pilot reserved for the flight crew’s use. As we taxied in to the Buffalo Airport after an extremely bumpy half an hour flight, Claudia carefully returned Grandma to me intact.

I was so happy to pass along Grandma safe and sound to David at the airport and now her travels will be curtailed for many years hence.




Freezing, frosty and frigid
I’m always a trifle nervous when I fly north from Phoenix to Buffalo in the middle of winter.
“Will I make my connection in Cleveland?”
“Will the weather cooperate and allow David to safely drive from Toronto to Buffalo to pick me up?” and then –
“Will a storm stop David from getting me back to Buffalo for my flight back?”
“What if the US border guards give me the same problem as they did last year and frighten me that they might not let me back in?”

All seemed well as I left Phoenix and it was raining and above freezing in Cleveland so I was quite relaxed. However, as we descended into Buffalo, our flight attendant advised “Thank goodness! They just reopened the airport.” An ice storm had brought it to a halt and earlier flights in and out had been cancelled. I guess I was lucky and I was extremely pleased to see David waiting. It was 8pm and he’d left Toronto at 2pm because of the impending storm. Ice pellets were assaulting our car as we exited the airport and obviously a new storm was attacking. How amazing that they’d had that small window of opportunity between storms to allow our plane to land.

The freezing rain turned the highway into a skating rink and the traffic crawled along about 60kph (35mph) except for the huge transit trucks, which roared by us dangerously. It was a white knuckle, nail-biting ride. Portions of the highway were closed to detour around major accidents – usually one of those mad semi-trailers who’d flipped over. I don’t know how many abandoned vehicles we encountered totally turned around and facing us on the freeway – obviously overdriving the conditions. As we slowly motored on, the freezing rain changed to driving snow and the visibility lessened while the snow built up on the roadbed, pulling our wheels left and right as David struggled to stay in the tracks. No snowploughs had been through and we weren’t sure if the roads were salted or sanded – it didn’t appear so. “This is the worse snow storm that Toronto has experienced in years” ominously emanated from the radio. By this time, I was eyeing up motels.
“There’s a Holiday Inn,” I bleated but David assured me we were safe to motor on. But when I announced, “There’s a Perkins” he happily pulled off and we scoffed down one of their ‘all-day’ breakfast specials and warmed our chilly bones with piping hot coffee and tea.

We felt renewed as we continued on our treacherous journey but it took forever. When I asked if we were almost there, David replied “Oh no, that’s just Hamilton we’re approaching”. The traffic got heavier as we finally and thankfully hit the Toronto outskirts. Up ahead a slow parade of salt trucks and snowploughs blocked every lane as they prepared the highway for the approaching rush hour. It was now 2:30am. Unbelievable – we’d left Buffalo at 8pm. It’s normally a 1 ½ to 2 hour drive.

The next few days were changeable. Sunny and not even freezing, then snowing again but wet snow with deep slushy puddles and snow falling dangerously from roofs. This was followed by more snow, colder and drier and then suddenly overnight, the temperature plunged from above freezing to minus 28 degrees when the wind factor was taken into consideration. Even the sturdy, native Torontonians could be heard chiming “Brrr! It’s so damned cold”. The biting wind made me dream deliriously of returning to palm trees and balmy weather – 23 degrees C (75F) in Phoenix.

Dark, dramatic, daring, dire and delightful


The reason why. What would take me to Toronto in frigid February? My granddaughter Myffy’s tenth birthday was certainly a draw. Coincidentally, her birthday falls on the same day as my travelling grandmother’s – her great, great grandmother. But the ‘piece de resistance’ was that David had once again garnered a tremendous lead role in a musical theatre’s production of Kiss of the Spider Woman, as Valentin.

To view a musical clip of Valentin singing "The Day After That" please click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2t4Hm2kRks


A synopsis of the story:
In a dismal South American jail, Molina, a gay window dresser was serving seven years for approaching an underage boy in a bar. It was a set-up by the police. The dire conditions make Molina escape into a fantasy world where he participates in movies with his idol ‘Aurora’ who morphs into the Spider Woman, whose kiss will foretell death.

Valentin, a macho revolutionary is thrown into his cell, bleeding and unconscious after being tortured so he’d reveal names of his colleagues. Valentin is in love with Marta, an upper crust girl and he hallucinates about her, calling out her name. When Valentin regains consciousness, Molina tries to befriend him but Valentin is disgusted by him and his swishy, feminine ways and draws an imaginary line between their bunks warning Molina not to cross it.

Time passes; more torture; an attempt to poison Valentin by the jail staff, but Molina eats the poisoned meal and ends up in the infirmary. He recuperates and returns. A sort of friendship builds between M&V. Valentin is poisoned but Molina nurses him, cleansing him sheen he fouls himself and Molina finds himself falling in love with Valentin. More time passes; much violence and abuse from jailers but much tenderness from Molina. Valentin allows Molina to share his movie fantasies and Valentin even shares the story of his life. Friendship builds. The jail staff use Molina and threaten him that he must get info and names from Valentin or he won’t get out of jail to his ailing mother but he lies about the names.

Valentin starts to love Molina; a touch, a hug and finally a KISS. More is hinted at. The Spider Woman finally kisses Molina. A surreal movie sequence takes the play to the finale.

A very talented cast brought the story to life. David’s voice was deep, melodious and strong. There was comedic relief in this dark and edgy play, which took away the discomfort of many of the most candid moments.

The content is not what one would normally prescribe for children. The language was blue, particularly by Valentin, the depicted violence was extreme and brutal and the intimated gay sexual encounter was ‘iffy’ for want of a better word.

However, Myffy (10) and Raheem (15) who support and follow their father’s musical theatre performances, understood the content and that none of it was real and the language and violence and sexuality is just a part of that sort of life. They are amazingly sophisticated. Their seats were in the front row while David’s wife, Janet and I were further back. I tried to get some photos, audio & video footage (sans flash), ignoring the announcement that no recording devices were allowed. No one approached me as I tried to be stealthy but I heard later that the camera’s red focusing light stood out like a beacon. Anyways, I figured it was worth the potential embarrassment of being confronted.


Janet and I were blown away once again by David’s talented performance. It is such a thrill to watch him. I know that we have a biased opinion but when he sang the showstopper tune “The Day After That”, the audience exploded with applause. And did anyone wonder how I handled ‘the KISS’? Strangely, David was not David, but Valentin – a testament to his acting ability – and the story evolved so that we empathised with the characters understanding the love that built. So, the KISS was a natural progression.


We all went out to a late (12:30am) dinner after the play at a pub-style restaurant called ‘McSorleys’ but known to the family as their ‘juke joint’. Myffy bubbled over with enthusiasm as she analyzed each scene. Her comprehension was far beyond mine and she dissected each character, song and nuance. She insists it’s now her turn and wants to audition for Gypsy, which is playing in the fall. Of course, she wants the title role.

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Sunday was birthday party day. It was held at an electronic games parlour. The twelve girls and two boys climbed rock walls, gyrated on dance mats, sang karaoke to their favourite popular songs, played dodge ball, car racing and so on and so forth. It was exhausting watching them. After, pizza and cake and gifts galore. “What a day!” sighed Myffy when it was all over.



Myffy has obtained her first professional acting gig.....a commercial for cystic fibrosis. If you get Canadian Television, watch out for the commercial. Mind you, you won't see her and she doesn't speak. Hmmmmmmm.....what a conundrum! Well, listen closely to the coughing and wheezing. That's Myffy!
"Grandma, I got $60 for it" she told me proudly.






Before I knew it, my visit was over and it was time to return to Phoenix – to Fernie, Caesar, palm trees and sun. Sounds good to me. It was unbearably cold when I left but the sun burned off the clouds. Thank goodness I left on Monday because another major storm was due on Tuesday.

Pernicious poker prevails……..

It’s my (Fernie's) turn to write something for the blog. Its Sunday, Feb 3, Super Bowl day, we are still in Quartzsite AZ, in the middle of the desert. Today as planned, we have to get Maggie ready to leave tomorrow for Phoenix, which is only 125 miles away. I have washed and waxed Maggie over the past week and now I have to check all oil levels in two generators, two engines – in the Honda CRV, otherwise known as Maggie Jr and in Maggie Sr., check ten tires, six batteries and return the solar panel to its original position for travelling purposes.

After all that I drove to Al’s Pizza and picked up a vegetarian pizza and got ready for the Super Bowl. I was thinking of my grandson, Jack, because I had sent an email a few days ago and asked him “Who is going to beat the New England Patriots?” They are sitting at 18-0 so far and the Super Bowl, would make it 19. Jack, sent me an email telling me that the Chicago Bears or Oakland Raiders would beat them; well Jack you chose the wrong team. The New York Giants played a very good defensive game and finally a team was able to disrupt Tom Brady, QB for New England, from having a lots of time to find secondary receivers.

On Monday morning, after a few other maintenance procedures, we hooked up Maggie Jr and said goodbye to our friends. The interstate to Phoenix is in very good shape but very busy with large trucks, and with the speed limit being 75MPH, it is very comforting to be in the slow lane, travelling at my speed, 55MPH-60MPH.



Gerri, my dear spouse, is not only the financial guru of this family, but an expert navigator. There is a small drawer in front of the passenger seat where Gerri has strapped down our laptop computer, hooked up to a GPS and the Street & Trips mapping program, and we are able to go anywhere in Canada and USA, without having to ask for directions or find local maps. “I am going to get you to switch to over to highway 17, when we get into Phoenix,” she says. This is the truck route and is not that busy and it will hook up with this same interstate, just a few miles before our exit to the Wild Horse Pass Casino.


Exit 162 and a large statue of a Wild Horse on his hind legs confirms this is the exit to the Wild Horse Casino. We were here last year, and we really enjoy Phoenix, a city that you get to love very quickly. It has the Superstitious Mountains, the Sonoran desert, and probably the finest highways within any city. When we arrived at the Wild Horse Casino, I noticed a large internet dish on another RV, so we decided to park close to it, just in case it was unsecured and we could get a pirated wireless connection otherwise know as wifi.

After we confirmed with security that we could park overnight, we put out the slides and the jacks and gave Caesar a walk. We decided since it was still early, we would go check the RV fueling station just across the freeway, as we need to fuel before we move Maggie over to Mesa. Gerri, also wanted to check out Fry’s Electronics and Best Buy as she’s looking for another laptop – smaller and faster.

At Fry’s, Gerri noticed that one laptop met all her needs and was available for $1299 but when we got to Best Buy, the young woman, who served us said, “oh, by the way, it is on sale for $1099”. It was $1699 in Vancouver. Gerri’s eyes lit up and she said “do you have one in the same colour - red?” After receiving confirmation that it was available, we are now the proud owners of not one but two laptop computers and guess who owns the old laptop…moi. Hello internet poker.

When we pulled in at the Best Buy store, I noticed that Barnes & Noble, one of my favourite bookstores was near by. After we purchased the laptop, Gerri stayed in the car and read up on the new computer and I proceeded into the bookstore walked right up to the poker section. There right in front of me was the book I was searching for, Caro’s Most Profitable Hold’em Advice. Mike Caro is known in the poker world, as the “Mad Genius of Poker”. If you’re new to poker and haven’t yet discovered how much world-class players and consistent winners rely on Caro’s research, let me convince you in just two words: ASK ANYONE.

On our way back to Maggie, it was decided that I would go play poker at the casino but before I must set up the satellite dish, so Gerri could watch Oprah and some dancing competition. The solar panel showed 13.4 on the batteries; that is just great and with the sun still out, we were bringing in another 7.8 amps, which would be sufficient power to watch television and work on the computer. Now it is my time to play my favourite game, Texas Hold’em. Hold’em is a fast paced, and easy to learn poker game. The game can be played with more players, which means bigger pots, making it very exciting, and quite profitable for those players who make the effort to learn to play correctly.

The basic concepts of Hold’em are easy to lean and understand. Each player is dealt two personal cards and then five community cards are dealt face up in the middle of the table. Since there are five community cards you do not have to keep track of all the dead cards that were folded by your opponents as you do in stud. Hold’em is a positional game; a dealer button rotates to the left after each hand. The player to the left of the dealer button acts first. You will always act in the same order for the entire hand. If you have the dealer button you will act last during each betting round. The later you act, the more information you will have to decide whether you should enter the pot or fold your hand.

There are no antes. The player to the left of the dealer button puts up a blind bet usually equal to half of the minimum bet for the first round and the player to the left puts in a bet equal to the minimum bet. These are called blinds. The rest of players do not have to put any money in the pot unless they are calling the blind bet. This means that in a ten-handed game you will get to see eight hands for free. If you don’t have a playable starting hand you can toss it in and wait for your new hand.

Limit Texas Hold’em, has fixed limits for each round. Most card rooms offer several Hold’em games at different betting limits, so you can choose a game that is within your bankroll. For example, $3-$6 Hold’em, the first betting rounds are $3 and the last two betting rounds are $6. You are not allowed to bet or raise a different amount than these set limits. When you enter the poker room you must sign in at the desk. You tell the host what game you are interested in playing. I asked the host if $2-$4 was available, “ I don’t have any $2-$4 table at present but I have seats available at the $3-$6 table.” says the host. The host shows me to the table and I have my favourite seat, right across from the dealer, so I can better see the community cards. The casino provides a dealer and he usually takes out approximately 5% off every pot.

Sitting left of the dealer is a fairly tall man, who has thick glasses, says ‘welcome drifter’, I happen to be wearing my South African T shirt, which has the “Drifter” tour emblem which I got when we went to South African a last year. The next player is so obese that he had to sit sideways to the table, because if he sat straight to the table there would not be enough room for the other players. He was also eating off a side table; he had two hamburgers, a large side fries and it looked like a bucket of cola.

Next to him, was a young Latino and he looked a little nervous because of the way he played with his chips. Sitting between me and this Latino to my right, was a half black young man, who kept calling everyone “ hey Bro” . Directly to my left, was an Asian, with a large parka & his hood up on his head. The dealer looked at me and then looked at the Asian, and said “are you cold? drifter next to you, is just wearing a Tshirt”. He just nodded with assent. The player that I feared the most was sitting next to the hooded Asian man, well dressed, moustache trimmed to perfection and lots of chips in front of him. A fairly tall black man, from Pepsicola, Fl, was a long distance truck driver with his load parked in the casino truck lot; he was destined for Los Angeles, and he did not have to deliver his load to the coming Friday. He did advise us that he was going to play poker till Wednesday night. The last player sitting to the right of the dealer was an older gentleman who showed early signs of Parkinson’s disease.

I always like to win the first pot when I play Hold’em, and sure enough, the dealer dealt me the Ace and Queen of hearts, the only card to worry about on the flop is the king. Computer analysis shows that and Ace or Queen will flop only 29% of the time, and a flush will only happen 5.94% of the time. In a ten-handed game the AQ suited card will win 18.66% of the time and according to the top 40 hand, the AQ suited is number 11.
I am sitting in the big blind and have already invested $3.

The Asian man & the truck driver folded but when it came to the man with the thick glasses, he decided to make it interesting by raising it to $6 and the obese man said “well let’s welcome our new “drifter” and jack it up to $12”. The young Latino folded and the young man beside me, who was in the small blind, had to place in the pot $11 and I had to increase my blind by another $9. The Asian man was the only player to fold after the raise and re-raise. Total pot is $51 and we have not even seen any community cards yet

The dealer flopped the first three community cards, 9 hearts, 3 hearts, and the 2 of diamonds. We all checked to the original raiser who called another $3.and everyone called the bid now making $66 in the pot. The dealer flopped the fourth card (called the turn card), 6 of spades and we all checked to the raiser, who really surprised all of us by not bidding but by checking, meaning that we all got to see the last card for free. The fifth card otherwise known as the river card, is the Jack of hearts. At this time you all know that I have the very best hand, which we call the “nuts”. Since I was second to bid I decided if I bet they would all anticipate that I had the flush so I checked and when it got to the original raiser, he decided to call $6 and the obese man decided to raise it up to $12, the young man to my right folded and I raised it up to $18 for a total in the pot of $120. This was the largest pot I have won since the Mill Casino in Coos Bay Or. Where I won $119 with quads of fours.

I gave the dealer a $2 tip and the obese man asked for service at table 10 and ordered four scoops of chocolate ice cream, he said that he wanted comfort food. The original raiser just called to purchase another $100 of chips and said, “Well played drifter”. All during that time the whole table is laughing about the obese man ordering ice cream. You sure meet some strange characters at a poker table.


After a few hours of poker, I left to find Gerri working on her new computer and starting to get ready for her trip to Toronto, She tries to go to our second granddaughter’s birthday every year on Feb 9. This year Myfanwy will be 10 years old. Well Gerri said, “how much did you win tonite,dear”. “ It was a good night dear, I cleared $202, and I’m buying dinner tomorrow”.


Tomorrow we plan to move to Palm Garden in Mesa AZ, approximately 20 miles from the casino, in an old but luxurious RV Park, a gated park with swimming pools, saunas, laundry, and high speed internet services. I think I’m going to be very comfortable.

Weird, wonderful & whacky whatnots…..in quaint & quirky Quartzsite

Jan 19 – Feb 4, 2008
“You’ve gotta come and see this” a stocky woman with a gravelly voice, probably from years of smoking, charged into our camping area. “You won’t believe it,” she continued with amazement. Four of us were sprawled in our chairs sipping on our wine and beer but we jumped up on her command “Follow me!” We’d never seen her before.
“That’s my trailer” she said as we roared on by. Her daughter and husband waved and called out “Hi”. They’re from Alberta and are terrifically friendly. Just a hundred feet or so ahead, we spotted some bright colour in a tree. “They’re parrots” she said. What an unbelievable sight. Three large rainbow hued parrots sat comfortably in the sparse tree about six feet off the ground. A man sat not far off outside his trailer keeping an eye on them. They were his and he’d just let them out for some fresh air and as their wings are clipped, there was no fear of them flying away. The birds, comfortable with people, didn’t seem at all perturbed as we came within a foot of them. They eyed us up with interest, squawked some strange sounds and preened, very content in their tree. I just can’t imagine travelling in a trailer with two huge birdcages - two of the parrots are a couple and the other poor bird is not welcome to share their quarters.

“We’re having turkey dinner in the desert - on Sunday announced our friends P&C. “We weren’t together for Xmas, so we’ll have it now. P&C cooked the turkey, gravy and green vegetables. We did the mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce & wine and our other friends C&W did dessert. It was an odd affair, our belated Xmas in the desert, with long tables set out on the rocky landscape but it was truly delicious and fun. We’ve learned that ‘pot-luck dinners’ are a snowbird tradition. Another night P&C made a huge cauldron of chicken & vegetable soup for all of us, so we reciprocated a few days later with a steaming pot of clam chowder. Life is pleasantly very different when you live in your RV; you’re not quite as remote from your neighbours. Mind you, I don’t think I’d enjoy this at home – it would detract from our freedom and our often chosen solitude.


A series of exhibition type shows take place in Quartzsite, Arizona
starting in January each year - the Sports, Vacation & RV Show, then the Hobby, Craft & Gem Show & finally the Rock& Roll Classic Car Show. ‘Folks’ arrive in droves in their RV’s – of all types. Humungous & luxurious 40-foot motorhomes are commonly seen with spindly 80+-year-old drivers clutching the steering wheels in a death hold. It’s wise to be careful when trying to cross the road in front of them. Quartzsite is quite a circus in show season and there are an excess of odd characters. Prospectors and rock hounds with long straggly beards and suspenders holding up their jeans; backcountry down and outers who probably consider Quartzsite as 'the big city'; little old ladies pushing their dogs in strollers or pulling them in wagons; old men clutching their tiny dogs tight to their chests in baby carriers; very large old folk (mostly women) on ride-em scooters, make one wonder if they are truly disabled or just extremely overweight; a straggling group of elderly women in a uniform of long dazzling gold sequin t-shirts and baseball hats; gaudy visors with wigs built in seem to be the latest trend with the over sixties – a trend I think I’ll bypass.


Life is simple here; a day can be wasted away just strolling around the seemingly thousands of stalls and temporary storefronts. Hardware, tools and other miscellaneous items spread out in row after row of bins – we often discover a special find in amongst the melee and everything is ‘cheap’, much cheaper than at home for sure. The same goes for RV supplies like outdoor carpets, chaise lounges, tables and every imaginable item – the prices are unbeatable. Next stall might be devoted to nuts and seeds with the specialty being ‘golden’ flax seed which proclaims to lower blood pressure & cholesterol, reduce the risk of cancer, control your appetite (that sounds good to me), reduce depression, stabilize blood sugar, relieve constipation & diarrhea (now that’s miraculous – that it deals with both ends of the digestion spectrum) and lessen the symptoms of asthma & other allergies. Such a phenomenon that I just had to buy some. Of course, rocks and gems are everywhere; some in raw boulders, some in slabs ready to grind and polish into cabochons, and some complete and set in a myriad of styles – the most popular being wire-wrapped jewellery. We bypass the antique booths of which there are many – just not interested in old stuff. That also goes for the swap meet stands – we have enough junk ourselves; don’t need anyone else’s. There are stalls of all kinds, specializing in kitchen goods, back supports, socks, carpets and pet supplies. You name it; they’ve got it.


Every day is Geocaching day; somehow, we always manage to fit in at least a couple of hours of prowling and hunting. We love the desert and there are a myriad of intertwining back roads fanning out from Quartzsite in all directions. Some of them are only passable by ATV’s but we manage most in our CRV 4x4. Geocaching takes us way out into the foothills and the mountains and I sometimes wonder how we’d find our way back without our GPS. Mind you, as soon as you get to high land, you can see for miles….that doesn’t help in figuring which of the snakes nest of dirt roads to take though. We always carry an extra couple of pair of fully charged batteries, just in case. We were out for about four hours one day, and didn’t see or hear another vehicle – what a wonder to be so alone out there. And it’s so pristine – not a sign of a plastic bag or a beer bottle. Some of the washes are very deep and not navigable so we park the car and hike the last mile or so to the caches, so by the end of the day, we’re exhausted but exhilarated.







#500
In the realm of Geocaching, the thrill of the hunt, the opportunity to discover new places, and to get in some ‘rough & ready’ hiking are the key elements. However, somewhere along the way, the numbers start to matter and competition rears its aggressive head. It seems that there are certain milestones that are key – certainly the 100th, but then the 500th. Wow! As we hovered closer and closer to the 500 mark, the numbers became so important. Our #500 was deep in the desert after a mile of tough hiking and when we finally grabbed it the hoots and hollers echoed across the valley. We are now back to enjoying the journey (as that trite expression goes) and we won’t get caught up in numbers again until we’re approaching 1,000.


The wide valley floor around Quartzsite is very rocky and hard – none of the sand dunes like those south towards Yuma or west near the Colorado River. It makes for perfect boondocking territory. The massive RV’s sit on it safely without fear of sinking and when the wind rises, there are none of those nasty dust storms. We’ve hiked across the vast plains and up into the foothills and mountains and as we’ve approached the hills, the desert floor changes; it starts to shimmer in the sunshine. The massive brown rocks have broken down with time and broken into millions of glistening pieces of white and pink quartz scattered over the terrain. I can hardly resist picking up piece after piece of the beautiful stone but eventually have to toss them back. Guess that’s where Quartzsite got its name. In one western portion just as the terrain starts to rise into the mountains, we ran into huge granite outcroppings riddled with caves which provided homes for early native Americans and on the flat tops above the caves, deep grinding bowls were constructed hundreds or more years ago. I wonder what they used to chisel them out and form them and what did they grind? You never know what you might find out in the desert. We’ve encountered graves, usually unmarked probably old prospector burials. Etched deep into the rock, high up a mountain in a wash, were the names of people who climbed through here some as long as 105 years ago.







The desert is green along the many washes, which are dried up between rainstorms. Twisted and prickly trees fight the Saguaro cacti for the nutrients – they’re often seen side-by-side, the tree branches wrapped around the lower realms of the cactus. In many of the trees, a parasitic plant that is related to the English mistletoe, form healthy round masses, sometimes blooming while the tree itself looks barren. Fernie soon got tired of me demanding a smooch underneath every tree – he just doesn’t see the romance of it.



The Colorado River runs just 20 miles west of town on the California / Arizona border. The river provides irrigation and the desert is green with immense fields of alfalfa and orderly rows of broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower and lettuce in varied shades of green. Back roads along the river open up to shady and sandy beaches; bulrushes hide a myriad of birds and the dunes provide ATVers with innumerable prospects for daring steep climbs. And of course, there are geocaches.





‘When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now…….’ sang the Beatles about forty years ago ‘……..will you still need me, when I’m 64”. We never thought in those, our glory days that we’d one day reach that ripe old age. Well, Fernie did on January 25th and he had his choice of Quartzsite’s restaurants, none of which are ‘fancy’ establishments. They are basic ‘down-home’ style affairs but one stood out to Fernie when a geocache took us out front of the eatery. A row of three toilets stand sentry beside Highway 95 and a geocache was tucked into the bowl of the centre one. The Grubstake Restaurant has an ‘All you can eat fish fry’ on Fridays – so of course that’s what he chose. Our friends P&C and C&W accompanied us so it was quite a party. Live country music (I wonder if we’ll start to like it along the way) resonated from the outside tent; rows of long tables surrounded the stage; beer was being swilled like water and the banter was raucous. We were seated at a gigantic slab of a table inside – it was about 8’ x 12’ and 16 people sat around it, their chins hardly higher than the table giving it the look of a kindergarten assembly – but there was no-one younger than 50 except for the servers who scurried around slopping beers and sliding huge platters of fish & chips in front of the eager and hungry patrons.


Unbelievable! In the middle of the night, the heavy drumming of pouring rain disturbed our slumber. It’s a delightful sound when you’re lying in bed but we didn’t want to wake up to it in the morning. However, it carried on intermittently throughout the day; the desert washes flowed freely and large puddles lasted for days after. At home in Vancouver, the rain can last for forty days and forty nights or at least that’s how it seems. But not so in the desert – later on that same day, blue sky started to peep through and by next morning the glorious expanse of clear blue skies had returned.



If I look out the window at home and see snow, I’m immediately depressed. But if our grandchildren wake up to it, they see endless possibilities for fun – maybe school will be closed; can we go tobogganing? Let’s make a snowman! And so forth. I remember in my middle years being so excited about skiing. While cursing the snow in the mornings when I had to commute, I could still look forward to some amazing night skiing on Grouse Mountain. So when did this love of the frigid white stuff end? I guess it was gradual. I no longer even enjoy a white Xmas – make it sunny and warm – please!


We ventured north from Quartzsite for a day at Lake Havasu, which is just over an hour away. It’s a picturesque drive, Highway 95 following the Colorado River north of Parker. High-end RV golf and boating resorts proliferate and many of the RV sites perch on the banks of the river with vivid green lawns surrounding them. The mountains are multi-hued and much of the desert landscape is irrigated to create velvet golf greens, which meander through the valleys. It appears that the town of Lake Havasu is booming – new big box stores just opened; new house construction everywhere; a new mall about to open in 42 days. But it’s so darn quiet there. Hardly any tourists were wandering around the centre, which revolves around London Bridge. What an oddity when you think about it that they dismantled the bridge in London in the sixties and rebuilt it in the desert. The thing about it is – it’s not even that attractive a bridge. Now if they’d bought London’s Tower Bridge and relocated it that would have been amazing. Some geocaches took us up into the mountains surrounding the town where the terrain was perilous but the views were glorious.

When we drove out of Quartzsite about 9:30am, we noticed an old man in a bright turquoise jacket and hat sitting on a suitcase beside the highway with another three suitcases piled beside him. We guessed he was waiting for a ride but it did seem odd. We were flabbergasted when the same old man was walking alongside the highway at 5:30pm pulling his 4 suitcases, which were loaded up precariously on top of each other . It was an obvious struggle for the wheels to handle the load. I guess we should have stopped.. ………but we didn’t and I’m feeling bad about it now.


One day, on our usual prowl into the backcountry, we came upon a whole bunch of people digging along a sandy wash. They had areas cordoned off and it looked as if they were archaeologists on a dig for old bones and ancient objects. I pulled in and sauntered over, nosy to find out what they were doing while Fernie elected to stay in the car.
“Are you digging for gold?” I asked a woman who stood above one excavation gazing down into its depths.
“I dunno!” she puzzlingly answered “go ask that guy over there”. I was not leaving until I found out what they were doing and if it was gold, were they getting any. A tall craggy-faced man in an open necked western shirt stood casually talking to a group of other men. I waited until there was a lull in the conversation and piped up once more with “Are you digging for gold?”
He sized me up and slowly drawled, “Sure thing, young lady”.
“Are you getting any?” I pursued (in retrospect, I could have phrased that better)
“Yup! Come on over here to my van and I’ll show you.”
I followed him over and he ransacked through his gear and brought out a large green gold pan and there in the bottom dried in with the silt were sparkly bits of gold.
By now, Fernie noticing my success investigating, clambered out of the car and strolled over to have a look too.
“Just wait until I put some water into it – that’ll show you how much is in there” and the prospector proceeded to slosh it around.
I made some ‘oohs and aahs’ about it while thinking, “Is that all there is?”
“I got this out of that hole over there just the other day – it’s probably about a third of an ounce or so - 300 bucks worth, I’d venture”
It looks like kind of a pleasant way to spend a day in the desert, as long as it didn’t get too hot.



We’ve been in Quartzsite now for more than two weeks and it’s almost time to move on. Two other couples have joined our wagon train circle in the desert now, one a couple in their thirties or forties – just babies in relation to the rest of us oldies. Too bad it’s just too darn cold at night to have a campfire. Instead, we’re in our flannel pyjamas and snuggled into the motorhome as soon as it gets dark. Today is Superbowl day, so we’ll hang around and ready Maggie for her trip over to Phoenix on Monday. Then Fernie will put his feet up, crack a beer, munch on some pizza and cheer on his team.