Day 176

The life of The Gambler and knowing when to wait for a better hand.

Writing and painting have taught me a lot about life.  Sometimes you have to know when to fold a losing hand and start again.  Kenney Rogers probably said it best before he became a roasted chicken mogul . . . “You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.  After meeting with three early successes, my fourth artistic endeavor at a much grander scale fell flat on its face and forced me to paint the entire canvas black and start again.  A former version of myself would have been heartbroken, but an older and wiser man has taken that man’s place and I am taking it in stride.  As with most things in my life these days, I have used this experience as a philosophical talking point with my children.  It is too cheesy to say “If first we don’t succeed . . .”, but I live my life with a hold fast attitude and have never given in at the first sign of adversity.  When we get knocked down, the true measure of what makes us strong men is how quickly we pull ourselves back to our feet.  I finished the painting yesterday and faded the entire thing to black first thing when I got home this evening.  I teach my lads that having to start over isn’t necessarily a failure and it is not acceptable to simply quit when the going gets rough.  I am fighting the urge to add the Billie Ocean “the tough get going”.  Too many clichés out there dealing with this subject make a serious conversation about it rather difficult.  That being said, there is a lesson to be taught, and I never miss the opportunity to preach the truth to my young sons.  This lesson will be particularly important for my eldest son in the coming weeks.  His lack of discernable skills with the French language means that school is going to be difficult . . . VERY difficult.  He will be knocked down and it is going to be difficult to get back up.  I wish I could walk this road for him, but the best I can offer is my wisdom and a shoulder to cry on.  He sits before me this particular evening a very humble lad indeed.  This is a young man that has polished off four 300+ page books over the course of the summer and is deep into his fifth.  With a reading comprehension level hovering somewhere at the 8^th grade level, struggling to get through just two pages of a book of not more than 30 pages is a bitter pill to swallow.  He doesn’t know it now, but this is the gift we have given him.  If he can struggle through the first few months, he will be able to read and comprehend advanced literature in two languages.  Not a bad start at the youthful age of 9.  I would wager that by the time summer rolls back around in the coming year, he will be reading those same 300+ page books in French instead of English.  Looking up every other word in a French to English dictionary make reading an unenjoyable endeavor and he now knows what it is to start again.  He will not give up, for I know the content of his character.  I have not worked out the exact means by which I will accomplish this, but I plan on setting myself an equally difficult goal to attain along side his efforts to show him that I am willing to match his effort and understand his plight.  I will keep you posted as to what I come up with.

On a completely unrelated and less than philosophical note, my wife came to me the other day and asked if I wanted a little pussy.  Who would say no to that?  Unfortunately, she was not at all in the mood for my witty comeback and it turns out she was actually referring to obtaining a kitten for the house.  While the cat we left in the states actually belonged to one of our dogs . . . long story . . . don’t ask, I was for all intents and purposes the most attached to the animal.  The wife grew to love her as well, but I think part of that was out of guilt for sucking her tail off with a Dirt Devil handvac.  A long story that is full of chuckles, but I will save that for another day.  While making the proposition seem as though this purchase was being done to provide me with a companion, she had ulterior motives.  As with all homes in the country, particularly those that date back to the 13^th Century or so, it is susceptible to intruders of the beady eyed variety.  Despite her status as an “All Creatures Great and Small” type, she is absolutely terrified of mice.  It is funny as hell to me that a grown ass woman that is willing to stare a 1000 pound bull in the eyes without a flinch screams and runs at the sight of few ounces of harmless fur with a naked tail.  I decided to play along and said that I would love to have a cat around the house again, and so we are to take possession of the new member of our family inside of a week from today.  I foresee this being a complete disaster when the cat decides to pluck the bulging eyes out of my son’s dog’s skull, but it should make for some good stories.

Due to the upcoming first day of school, additional animal companionship and the need to make my youngest’s stay here in France “legal” we had to run to the city for the day to pick up some school clothes, more notebooks, a litter box and one immigration card.  The most important of these obviously being the documentation necessary to keep the 3 year old from being deported.  The adventure was a complete success and we are now finished with school supplies, the lads have euro school rags, the new cat will have a place to shit and it looks like the 3 year old will get to stay in the country for another month or two.  And so, I will begin tomorrow fresh and new.  A blank canvas and a positive attitude bring hope for better times to come.  For now I will keep watch over my flock and speak with you all again soon.  R.