Angels in My Pocket

I opened my mailbox today and, among the thousands of repeat requests for charitable giving, I received a check for $36 from the Bank of America. It was a class-action award for some obscure malfeasance performed by this Bank, the issue of which I had no memory whatsoever. But I shrugged and pocketed the little check, which totaled more than I earned all year in interest from the same bank. That's the way this year has gone for me.

After years and years of serving as Holiday Curmudgeon, this year I am the Anti-Grinch. I realize that it has not been a good year for many of my countrymen, especially the 10% unemployed and the other 10% that has stopped looking. But for me, 2009 has been the oasis of years in the desert of the soon-to-be-unlamented Ought Decade. It's been swell, almost unaccountably pleasant, and I will be a little regretful when the electric ball falls in Times Square.

Part of my emotional resurgence came this year because, unlike in the previous two years, I did not have to oversee the six-month decline and death of a favorite pet or a good friend. All persons within my circle, save for the elderly mother of one friend, survived healthily. My Mom, at 98, not only made it through the year but had a big birthday party where I happily reuned with other thriving relatives. My family visits were agreeable and angst-free. All year I only had one cold, which attacked me recently but with excellent timing, following a spate of vacationing.

In the arenas of competition, in which I get the majority of my thrills, most of the results were highly favorable. My Rotisserie team, at least the more expensive one, did very well, winning the stats if finishing second by the peculiarities of scoring rules. The result was an enjoyable summer of baseball, which culminated of course with a Yankee World Series victory, a necessary component of any Good Year. And my other gaming pursuits were just as successful. After three gambling trips and myriad poker meetings, I traveled to Vegas for my Winterfest approximately even for the year in gaming, a pretty remarkable record.

Prior to that last trip I received a very foolish e-mail chain letter from Benny (not his real name), a member of my poker game. It contained the picture of an angel and promised that she would bring good luck if I passed the e-mail on. Specifically, if I only sent it to two persons, I would receive a "windfall" in four days. Normally I trash these things immediately, but I figured, I'm going to Vegas, that will at least give the windfall a chance to occur. So I apologetically forwarded it to two friends four days prior to my last day in Vegas.

The first two days presented me with little luck, but I did not worry; the irrational was taking hold of me and I half-believed I would receive major luck on the third day. So after midnight I sat at a poker machine with $40 and watched as the machine started hitting fours-of-a-kind one after another. By the time I was done there I'd made nearly $300. And as the day moved on I continued to hit big hand after big hand. As Thursday morning rolled around I had made $900 that day, and was satisfied to head home with it. Boy, was I smug. Windfall, I don't know, but this was the first year ever I actually made a profit gambling.

Uncertain of the supernatural quality of the chain spam, I accosted Benny the next Sunday at our poker game and told him of my good fortune. I asked him if it went as well for him, and he frowned and said "Are you kidding?" And then he went ahead to lose a lot more at the poker game. Actually, I lost a little at that game too. But I got it all back from the Bank of America.

Happy Holidays.