It was a few winters back, there was snow flying through the night, and the wind was howling along the tilted Sierra Nevada range. Me, I was nice and warm and enjoying a lazy $4-$8 hold'em game at Harveys in Lake Tahoe. I recall that it was the middle of the week and things were slow as evidenced by the presence of only two games--the one I was in and a $3-$6 hold'em.

As I think back, I remember our $8 game consisted of one or two regulars and a bunch of good-humored tourists--most of whom were drinking. The only real oddball in the bunch was a paunchy, whey-faced man with a nose the color of rotten plums who practiced making small bird sounds in between each deal. I felt like I was playing poker in an aviary. The only time he would chirp when a hand was being played was when he had the nuts. So, whenever the call of the Red-eyed Vireo reached our ears during a hand, we'd all fold and wait for the next shuffle-up.

The most interesting person at the table was in seat two. She was a rather obese woman full of the most natural charm and always had a wide and friendly smile on her face. Her name was, Telma (not Thelma), and she was just in from the Islands. Her incredible body and gargantuan bosom combined to form a snug fit in a brightly-colored muumuu, and she exhibited several leis around her neck and a large red flower in her hair. She was a fun-loving woman with a cheerful face (that was down right pretty), with apple cheeks and dimples. She also had a terrific sense of humor and a contagious laugh that began with a melodious alto sound and culminated in a full falsetto that rattled the ice in my drink.

Evidently, Telma loved mincemeat pie because she was eating one piece, and had three more pieces in waiting stacked on napkins behind her chips. To the delight of the table, when someone would say something witty, Telma would bust a gut and her whole body would jiggle like Jell-O. This amusing tidbit became the life of the poker party. But when one of the players was overheard remarking in a whiskey voice to another player that her late husband "was a real wimp, God rest his poor soul," and that "half the time he didn't have the energy to pull his 'willie' out of a bucket of lard"! Telma totally lost all composure and broke up laughing like never before; thus, causing the rest of the table to follow suit--but, that's when the trouble started.

Telma was still in full laughter while the rest of us had subsided, but you would swear a fire truck had just pulled up beside our table with siren wailing. It was 5-to-1 Telma could be heard all the way back to Hawaii. Trouble was, when she launched into her patented laugh after hearing the lady thoroughly trash her deceased husband, she was chewing on a chunk of pie. She suddenly stopped and began to choke on that same piece of pie and within a few seconds began to turn a little blue around the gills. On one side of Telma was a husky, but visibly plowed man, and on her other side was a woman about one drink away from climbing onto the table and doing the hurdy-gurdy. Anyway, bless their pea-pickin' hearts they both stood up beside Telma and managed to somehow hoist her to her feet and were trying to slap her on the back. A besotted and rather diminutive old guy from the $6 table had staggered up behind Telma and was trying to apply the Heimlich maneuver (so he claimed) to the poor woman. I mean, picture that in your mind's eye. Here was a lady that would require something in the order of a large lariat to even begin to reach around her waist, and this ding-dong about half her size was straining his buns off trying to get his arms about her--not a pretty sight. I remember thinking: What the heck was that idiot behind her trying to accomplish? His arms aren't long enough to execute a Heimlich on a telephone pole for crying out loud. I was beginning to wonder about the old geezer, believe me!

If I remember right, I was in seat seven, and after a few more seconds I kicked my chair back and started around the table. Telma was looking like she was ready to give up the ghost and the three amigos helping her had no clue as to what else to do--except perhaps to let go of Telma and holler "Timber!" But before I could get there (and to my amazement) the smallish man had quickly worked his way around to Telma's front and gave her a good solid punch to the mid-section-- mincemeat went everywhere. Hey, it actually worked! Telma dragged in a deep breath, gulped several times, then began to breathe again.

Soon everyone returned to their seat and just sat there for a few moments not saying anything. Then Telma cleared her throat and hiccuped. I remember we all turned to look at her. She was slouched exhausted in her seat, and lurched slightly with a silent chuckle as she shook her head. Finally, she looked up and grinned, and other than her once-beautiful red flower having been reduced to one battered petal, we saw she was okay--but was missing her front teeth. Come to find out her two front teeth were the main components of her partial plate that was unceremoniously dislodged and catapulted into space when the pint-sized guy gave her the Joe Louis to the bellybutton. Well, shoot, how could you not laugh at something like that...so someone started snickering, and then another, and another--until we were all laughing and in tears, including Telma.

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