Whirlwind days they had been — two weeks of hard work prepping the office for my absence, the pre-wedding “To Do” list, the honeymoon itself. Wondrous as our sojourn was, in so many ways it was non-stop. From the tranquility of Rabbi Mandel’s ceremony to the post-midnight Pittsburgh arrival to our run at the casino to the concert at Heinz Field to the early Monday flight south…. Heck, Florida too was non-stop until we were finally ground to a halt by the unforgettable, unforgiveable, and utterly piss-poor service that last day in the airport restaurant. No surprise then that after ten days at home we needed to get away.
It was almost heaven— West Virginia. 24 Hours, in and out. Almost heaven.
Those who know what makes me tick, i.e. the little things: the nonsense things…the things you can’t put prices on — will get this narrative. Others perhaps have yet to evolve to a point where they can appreciate being shallow with dignity.
Picture/perfect weather last Friday as we drove toward Newell! Popcorn in the car, insouciance and Stern in the air, we went east then south. Carrie drove, and always having my back she was first to acknowledge that my friends would be impressed at the expanse of my travels. Jubilantly she was pointing out that as we sped down Ohio 11 we were passing such exotic places as Calcutta, Lisbon, and indeed, East Palestine.
But let me tell you about the hotel. It was a stellar venue in multiple ways:
1. We parked fifty feet from the lobby, and
2. The lobby was fifty feet from our room.
(Ed. Note 1: I’d called the casino en route, hoping to get a “flop” for the night. Not to be. As such, when the Holiday Inn Express front desk advised they had only a room with queen-sized beds, I deflated. “That’s what we have at home,” noted Carrie. (Who knew? I thought we had a King).
3. Friday nights the place offered All You Can Eat pancakes. We didn’t partake, mind you … but the touch was nice. Showed good values.
4. Set on a massive hillside with the backdrop all greenery, it struck me that this would be the perfect setting to sing “The hills are alive with the sound of music” in a video for Lucy. Alas, time, sunset and the magnetic pull of good cards made it just impossible.
Suffice it to say that after appropriate private time we found our way to Mountaineer.
“Two hours?” she asked me as I bolted toward the Poker Room.
“OK,” I said over my shoulder, “But I’ll text you if it doesn’t feel right.”
It felt right. (Ed. Note 2: I’ve always had good karma at this place. From the days when I’d drive down with Bob, Terri and Mary Anne, to the day jaunts with the program guys to now. Some rooms just feel right).
Indeed, once sitting down to play (in my favorite seat, just left of the dealer), the gods kept smiling. ‘Twas a good hour and a half later as I stood for the first time (to shake off some putz that had played a 9-3 off/suit), that I noticed my bride…sitting by the side … waiting patiently.
(Ed. Note 3: I remember Walt assuring me once, when talking of losing a hand to a guy who’d played like a schmuck. “Be glad he’s at your table.”).
‘ Left the casino on schedule…not quite 10… and it was there, off the center the hotel lobby, that we made what I would humbly submit is thus far the greatest discovery of this young 21st century: The Mahogany Restaurant. After requisite due diligence confirming that the burgers were “all beef”, we ordered sandwiches to go.
Let me make this perfectly clear (as Dr. Leon H. Spotts would have said fifty years ago at Park Synagogue): Carrie and I, that evening, in a small town in West Virginia (of all places!) sunk our teeth into the best cheeseburgers ever created. Clearly, as she sat desk/side in our room and I lay stomach/down on the bed, as we watched Trump in Alabama, the enjoyment derived from Mahogany’s cheeseburgers was no less than a religious experience.
Had our respite ended there, it would have been enough. Ah, but there was still morning to come —
We rose Saturday and walked those fifty feet back toward the lobby. To the free buffet breakfast.
“I need to video this!”
(She understood).
There in the midst of the banquet (Ed. Note 4: No bagels, no lox— strictly Christian cuisine) … was a pancake maker! Can you believe it? A no-more-than twelve inch cubed metal instrument that — if you press a button — rolled out flat four-inch in diameter flapjacks.
“Lucy needs to see this!”
Carrie had a pancake; me: scrambled eggs. And of course we filmed the machine.
I then played poker, and Carrie some blackjack. Looking up two hours later, (slightly less), my eyes caught her.
She was sitting there to the side, quietly reading, waiting patiently…angelically… for me to tire or my cards to turn.
Soon we were heading home,both refreshed yet still glowing.
“Is this heaven?” John Kinsella once asked his dad. “It’s Iowa,” he was told. One state over, last weekend, my bride and I walked our own Field of Dreams.
It was “almost heaven”.