Last week, I was living the high life.

Last week, I was living the high life. Birthday boy. Man of the hour. Poolside in Las Vegas, where the sun can be broiling but they think of everything, even iced towels to cool you down.

My drinks came dressed with flowers, and I was lounging under my palm tree with an iced towel, reading my mystery story, not talking to Shane, which is the way we like it. Quiet and content, just waiting for dinner and whatever the night might bring.

We had fancy dinners at Beauty & Essex  (which is hidden behind the pawn shop at the Cosmopolitan) and The Library at Nomad, got a peek inside Lady Gaga’s green room, found a few hidden speakeasys, and struck it lucky at three card poker with my son Miguelito.

The cards went our way, the chips stacked up, and before long I was holding a gorgeous $1000 chip.

At one point, I sauntered over to TWWNCNBUIP at her slot machine and proudly showed her my chip. Then I tucked it carefully into my pocket like a prize. But when I went back to my room later,

I reached in and my pocket was empty. The chip was gone. My hard-won poker winnings had vanished. My heart sank.

I tore apart the room, checked the floor, even checked my shoes as if maybe it had crawled in there. Nothing. I rushed back downstairs thinking, “No way will it still be there.”

I searched under chairs and tables until finally, right by a slot machine, there it was, waiting for me. No kidding. My shiny $1000 chip was laying right there on the floor gleaming up at me.  I couldn’t believe my luck.

 

Over the next few days, I managed to blow out candles on cakes at every meal, even breakfast. Birthdays have a way of stretching out when you let them, and why not? I was having fun.

Then came one of my favorite moments of the trip. We took a stroll from Aria to Bellagio.

We always like to see what’s new in the conservatory gardens since they change them every season.

 

 

This year’s summer display was called Glam Menagerie A Surrealist Summer. My favorite part was a zebra sculpture dressed in a velvet coat. I tried to capture this in a photo but, like most things, it was better in real life.

But that was last week. And then the spotlight shifted.

I went from man of the hour to manpower.

We had closed the Duck for a three-day Labor Day holiday. To me, that sounded like a chance to rest up,  head over to my brother-in-law’s pool, maybe sneak in one more mojito. To TWWNCNBUIP, it seemed only fitting that Labor Day should be celebrated with actual labor.

And so my assignment was clear. Time to clean the garage.

So I put on my work clothes, slipped in my earbuds, and fired up my old-school playlist…Marty Robbins, Gene Chandler, Jimmy LaFave, Greg Trooper, and a few more favorites.

Then I stepped into the garage like a man headed into the unknown.

It felt less like cleaning and more like an archaeological dig. I unearthed the Santa that once sat on the bar way back in the 1900’s. I uncovered the tapestry we had taken down when the Dart Room became the Wine Room, still as rich and beautiful as the day it first went up. I stumbled across boxes of carefully dated sales records, proof that if anyone ever needs to review the receipts from any random Tuesday, I am the man to call.

There were boxes and boxes of Miguelito’s precious Legos, which by now are probably worth a small fortune. I found our bicycles, tuned up years ago so we could train for that Italian bike trip, now sitting dusty with flat tires. And tucked away in another box was the New Year’s Eve decor from the time before COVID, when we actually stayed up until midnight to usher in the new year.

And then I came face to face with the story that could no longer be ignored. My Mercedes convertible. My 50th birthday gift. Shiny and proud back then, a car that once drew smiles and even a “Hey mister, nice car” from a two girls one Sunday down by the seawall. That car was my pride and joy.

Now, 26 years later, it sits forlorn and dusty. Dead battery. Flat tires. Gasoline that has turned into something not gasoline anymore. In its state, I could see my own reflection.

At 76, the lesson was clear. Nice things need to be maintained. Cars. Garages. And people too.

So I pumped up the tires, washed off the dust, and tomorrow, after doing my yoga and doing my dancercize to the oldies, I am going to call AAA and tow that 1974 Mercedes to Texas-German Autohaus.

The birthday gift of my 50th year has now become the reminder of my 76th. Everything runs better with a little care and attention. And just like that $1000 chip, sometimes what seems lost can still be found again.

So that’s all for now my friends.
Come see me in September!

Love, Rusty