Las Vegas (or Henderson, NV)

I’ll shave my legs when I get to Vegas

 

So, as I have been traveling, people have been saying “you’re living the dream, or “how cool, you quit your job and are on a 9 week road trip.”  And yes, I am spectacularly lucky to be living the dream and doing bucket list adventures when I am young enough to enjoy them.

However, living out of a car for 9 weeks has its draw backs, and through the weeks in the desert, I have encounter a handful of items that I  didn’t consider when making the idiotic choice to plan an epic road trip.  As the list of items grew, I began the mantra “I’ll take care of that when I get to Vegas.”  From inability to shower and shave to a lingering chest cold, to rotting eggs in a cooler, to a morning I woke up with my ass split between the gear joist of my car, I have encounter the woes of the road, not to mention loneliness.  So my initial intention to win a little money on the strip and splurge on a dinner from money coworkers gave me as a parting gift lost out to a good rest and a hot shower.  A day and half in Vegas turned into 2 days in a Hampton Inn in Henderson.  Life cannot exist as highlights alone; we need the lulls in life to recover and distinguish extraordinary from everything else.

However, Vegas is my blood.  Most people think of Vegas as silicone strippers, excess, drinking, drugs, strung out gamblers; I think of my dear grandmother, Gram, as she was affectionately known.  My most prominent memories of Gram were learning to play cards in her parlor, while she drank Crème de Menthe and tapped her fake red nails against the table not so patiently as I learned Aces high and low in gin and when to split in blackjack.  She was a beautiful woman, impeccably groomed, big white curls and manicured fingers; she was also the biggest card fiend I ever knew.  She dragged my mom along to Vegas twice a year to gamble before Vegas was hip.  My mom recalls fried chicken buffets and hours upon hours at the blackjack table, strictly blackjack, as any other gambling was a bit trashy.  Luckily, by the time I came around and my mom wanted her daughter to go to Vegas and share in her family history, there were 4 star restaurants and headliner shows.  While I have never worn acrylic nails and I wouldn’t touch Crème de Menthe with a ten foot poll, I think my love of cards is something that will always connect me to my mom and to my Gram.  So, tired and strung out, I at least had to take the nostalgic drive down the strip as part of family tradition.