Sometimes you face death. Sometimes Death is wearing a skeleton mask and a leather jacket and careening through the night outside America’s Biggest Little City atop a tricked out motorcycle going so fast it might as well be spewing flames from the exhaust pipe and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Sometimes Death rattles your car windows. With black-gloved fists. Sometimes Death threatens your life in an unmistakable burly yell that sends shivers rushing through you. Down your spine. Can your throat shiver? It does. Occasionally Death literally looks you in the face in this way and you cannot laugh. You cannot laugh at Death. Certainly not when you think Death is prolly packing a gun. You cannot laugh at Death when it is so menacing. But if you’re very lucky, Death will get back on his bike and ride off towards Reno to collect his sinners there without keeping you in his clutches.
And we’d been lucky all day.
We’d luckily found the only quiet beach at Lake Taho on Labour Day Weekend.
And we were lucky that all our friends wanted to join us in the sand of Sandy Harbor.
We’d been lucky that the lake was deep but warm.
We’d been lucky that the sun was full.
We’d been lucky that the gas station had sold us cheap white wine in miniature plastic bottles that went unnoticed by the parents of the surrounding water-winged tots.
We’d been lucky to climb out on the vast gold rocks jutting into the bay without slipping and cracking our skulls.
And as I began reading Anna Politkovskaya’s final dispatches in Is Journalism Worth Dying For?, I felt very lucky to neither be a war victim or a reporter of war victims. And though I stifled sobs as I read her tremendous tales, beach side and eating popcorn, I felt I was truly taking advantage of my good fortune. Which is what anyone with good fortune should do. Appreciate it. Fully.
We lucked into the last table at a tapas bar as the sun set.
We lucked into scallops being in season.
Foreshadowing our future scare, I even lucked into a meaningful conversation with Jesse and Beth about Death’s advantages and disadvantages in relation to our lost pets. And it wasn’t morbid. We volleyed faith and science and found some answers.
A few hours later, the seediness of Reno was hitting the streets round the same time we were and we lucked into joining it, rejoicing in the discovery of Martinis in a Can. (And we were lucky they didn’t make us vomit.)
We almost felt charmed enough to perform a dual wedding ceremony at a chapel that shared the charm of a pawn shop but we continued giggling through the neon strip instead.
In the City of Sparks, you are forced to make choices between El Dorado and The Sands and Circus Circus in order to push your luck.
Circus Circus cast its shady appeal in glaring florescent gawdiness and we felt lucky that their Margaritas were cheap and free-poured.
Talk Demonic joined us in high spirits, also feeling that they were under auspicious skies.
And we even had a little luck at Black Jack and the Penny slots. (Not much but we were up $14.50 by the end of the night and called it quits during the winning streak.)
No one bet all their merch monies on black even though we joked about it and felt tempted; so we also lucked into good humour but even better choices.
We lucked into the last open restaurant and we were lucky that they served burgers with avocado and siracha sauce.
And we felt rosy and blessed.
And then we were spared our lucky lives on the highway to our hotel.
So, thank you Death, my constant idol, for granting us this best day on your earth. I believe I owe you and one of these days, you will collect. And I will thank you then as well.