Home is Where Your Heart Breaks

It was just a picture on Instagram of two dogs asleep on a sofa in a cozy, warmly lit room tagged: "good to be home." My now married son was back from his honeymoon, back in the Pacific Northwest... back home?

But home is here.  Oh sure he lives there and works there, but home is here. Where we hide Easter baskets in obvious places and the boys run and look for them pretending they're hard to find. It's here where we light a fire on Christmas morning and dad has his sausage-and-egg casserole all made and ready to put in the oven for brunch. Where I used to read to them at night and get up every morning - thousands of mornings - hurrying breakfasts into tummys, books into backpacks and two little boys out the door before the school bell rang. Home is here. This is home. 

How did it happen that in a blink of an eye home is now somewhere else and mom is no longer #1? I'm lucky to be #3, if you count the dogs. Someone said, "Just wait. You'll keep dropping. Wait'll the grandkids come." Now I know how my mother must have felt all those years when I was so busy with husband, children, dogs and home. She, too, kept losing her place in my life.

The fab foursome were over playing bridge the other day when we saw a bustle of activity next door. New neighbors had moved in and the little boys were running in from school and scurrying off to football practice. I so well remember those days. An old lady used to live in that house and she told me once that she loved looking out her window watching me with my boys. She was in a wheelchair and we kept the shrubbery low so she could see all the goings on. She said, "It reminds me of when I was a young mother raising my two sons." That was 22 years ago and now I'm the old lady at the window.

I wonder if her heart broke each time she dared to look out?

Time to Write a Blog Post

Someone asked me the other day when Betty was going back to work on the blog and I realized how long it had been. But with a year like this - one wedding and a funeral, two houses for sale and a house to build -  I didn't know if I was coming or going half the time. I felt like the baker in the old Dunkin' Donuts commercial, "Time to make the donuts. Doh! I made the donuts."

In one day, for instance,  I had to choose flowers for the rehearsal dinner, negotiate the price of my mom's house with the buyers, and pick out a roof for our new house. Another day I had to take six bags of my precious mother's clothes to Goodwill, sprinkle holy water on our lot before they poured the foundation (just as a precaution) and wrap eleven groomsmen gifts. I was so confused I almost sprinkled holy water on the bags and dropped the gifts off at Goodwill. 

As it was, I did go to a dress fitting without the dress and almost mailed a letter with no address on it (I had put a stamp on it, though). Not to mention the load of laundry I did with no clothes in the machine. When I went to transfer the clothes to the dryer, the machine was empty. Apparently I washed a load of water. I even added BIZ. 

Needless to say, in this busy and confusing time I've played very little bridge. Naturally my game has suffered. My normal deft and precision playing has waned a bit. But the worst of it is my partner was getting a little too happy with another. "Barb and I came in first last week." "Barb and I came in first again last week." "Barb and I came in first again once again last week." And on and on. It was getting redundant. Was this it? Was our long and prosperous partnership... ok, let me rephrase that... was our long partnership going to end on top of everything else? Would I need to start looking for someone new?

Alas, no. Cindy and I are back together and we played last Friday. It was a wonderfully strange day -  pouring down rain while the sun was shining - and silver-point week no less. Well, I'm happy to say, it was just like riding a bike. I didn't forget a thing. I played four or five 1NT hands and went down each and every time. It was great! We barely made the board. Fantastic! Just like old times. 

We didn't win any silver, but at least for the time being my life is somewhat back in order. I'm much less absent-minded these days. Unlike the man on Friday who drove a convertible to the Bridge Center and left the top down in the rain. What was he thinking???

Squish. Squish.

Wedding Bell Horrors

My first blog post I wrote that my baby boy had left and gone to college. I wrote about going into his room (clean for the first time in his life, btw) and standing there feeling sad and so empty inside. This was the impetus for taking up bridge -  a silly game (I thought), a useless hobby (I thought) where I have met so many wonderful people and had so much great fun.

Well now, that baby is getting married. This time, however, I am filled with joy. I am thrilled to be getting a daughter. It's all good.

So why is it that every night I have nightmares about the upcoming event? Or should I say nightmares about missing the upcoming event. One night I was at a Wal-Mart and couldn't get the doors open to get out of the store and by the time I got to the church, the ceremony was over.

Another night I was getting dressed and I kept putting my earring in backwards so that the post thing was sticking out front and the jewel part was behind my ear. And there were freckles on my face drawn with an eyeliner pencil that I couldn't wash off.

Last night I dreamt I was dressed and ready to go, earrings were in place, I looked in the mirror and to my horror I had grown a full beard. I tried to cover it with Bobby Brown make-up and although it did tone it down a bit, hairs were still sticking out. It was getting late and we needed to go and I said to my husband "What am I going to do?" and he said, "Shave it! And hurry!"

Have any of you ladies ever tried to shave a full beard in a hurry? It ain't easy. I was going over these long hairs with an off-brand razor not making a dent in the beard but doing a good job slicing up my face. Blood dripped down my pretty mother-of-the-groom dress and it was getting later and later..... Suddenly my husband's alarm-clock-from-hell rang out and for the first time I was glad to hear it.  Thank God it was just a dream, I thought, drenched in sweat and luckily not blood (And to think I used to have nightmares about Two-over-One).

I'm told Gillette Pro Fusion is a good razor. I plan on keeping a package handy as the big day approaches.

Absence of Crackers

Why did I do it? 

Was it frustration over a 1 heart contract we were in (down 2) that really belonged to West (made 3)? Or the lay down spade slam we didn't bid?

What else could have compelled me to rat out a compatriot, a fellow soldier in the sometimes cruel trenches of bridge?

Maybe it was as basic as hunger. The Life Masters had a catered party to celebrate one of their own and we speculated whether  there was going to be an "invitation" in our future. Meanwhile, the ambrosia of creamy noodles dotted with tender pieces of beef made it's way into the non-life master room, determined and tenacious.

I wasted no time asking the director if (hypothetically, of course) a person had brought in a (low fat, ugh) peanut butter sandwich and some (stale, even ugher) potato chips for lunch, would that person be wise to leave said "lunch" in its crumpled brown bag with hopes of better things (nodding toward the room with noodles, naturally). A wink and a nod on her part sent my spirits soaring... so I waited.

But lo! Before our next round began, one of our opponents said she was in need of a cracker and marched right into the noodle room in search of one. Whoa! I said. Director! I said. Virginia (not her real name) is in the noodle room right now! Without invitation! After her!! And she did go after her. And Virginia was caught red-handed - or should I say "bread"-handed because, due to the absence of crackers, a roll was all she could purloin.

Oh, was she reprimanded! Oh, did I feel like we were back in kindergarten, mainly because that's where I belonged. I don't tattle-tale! I'm not like that! But all these forces were working against me and finally won out. Virginia was so mad she wouldn't eat the roll now "if it were the last bit of food on earth." I found her conviction admirable and offered to toss the roll in the trash for her. 

It was the least I could do.

I'll Be Seeing You In All The Old Familiar Places...

There are a lot of good things about having a dead mother.

Firstly, you don't have to worry about her dying anymore. No more wondering if today is "the" day, etc. That's a pretty good thing.

And you don't have to worry about her falling or having a stroke and you not finding her for three days because you've been playing too much bridge. And when nearly a week has gone by and you haven't picked up the phone to say hello, you don't have to feel like pond scum anymore. Especially when you finally do call her and say, "I'm so sorry I haven't called you; I'm the worst daughter in the world," and she says, "You are a wonderful daughter and I love you very much." Knife right in the heart! What a relief not to have to go through that anymore.

And those lunches we used to have together that we loved so much? Why, it would take my 90 year-old mother at least 10 minutes to get from the car in the handicap parking space to the front door of the restaurant. And those two places aren't that far apart. Oh, and the grocery runs I used to make. She would give me a list of two, sometimes three things to pick up "whenever it's convenient - not to worry." What a nuisance!

As you can see, there are many many good things about it. The only bad parts are that the first person I ever loved on this earth, I will never see again. The only human being who knows there's something wrong at the sound of my voice, I will never talk to again. The woman who would give her life for me and be happy to do so, I will never get to hug and kiss again. And who's going to tell me everything will be alright in the morning?

So there are some bad things about it too.

"I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you..."

Love Was Everywhere

I had nearly forgotten it was Valentine's Day, even with the cheery shades of reds and pinks dotting the Bridge Center. But there was definitely love in the air and at table 9, where we sat north/south, we were giving out valentines right and left - to nearly everyone we played.

The first one was given to pair 4 who got their timid four spades bid kicked up to game when I foolishly doubled them. They made their contract and no one else bid it, so they got a nice chocolately sweet high board.

The next one was to pair 5. I played the three instead of the king from the doubleton on the board and my left hand opponent got it with her jack. Of course I lost the king the next round and they ended up with an extra trick and a big-red-heart-with-an-arrow-through-it high board for them.

Pair 7, having heard the news about free valentines being given out at table 9, arrived with big grins. This time it was my partner's turn to share the love. She left me in one spade when we both had opening hands and it easily made four. A dozen fragrant red roses and a high board for the grinners.

Luckily the goody table, laden with cupcakes and Hershey kisses, helped soothe my troubled mind. And I was further consoled when the director interrupted the game for a minute to make an announcement: "A woman's earring was found in the men's restroom. If anyone has lost an earring, come see me." 

My, my, I thought. Someone was giving away a lot more than high boards on this day of love!  My, my, my!

The Great Escape

 Last week it was my turn to have the fab foursome at my house for bridge. I was dreading it.

I haven't played a lot of bridge lately. Going to a nursing home every day and watching a strong, beautiful, vibrant woman languish into a bedridden invalid was about all I could handle. The thought of  preparing lunch and then playings 16 hands of bridge... well, building the Panama Canal seemed like an easier task. 

But I put on my big girl pants and made a pretty good spinach quiche (even tweaking it somewhat by using healthier ingredients). The gals walked in just as the sun came out from behind the clouds providing us with brilliant sunshine all afternoon (rare in February). And the next three hours flew by in laughter and horrible bridge playing. My troubles melted away. So what that I opened my hand with four hearts and my partner took us to game and we went down three. Who cared? We ate healthy quiche and told stories and had a lovely afternoon.

Several years ago I started playing bridge for something to do and to keep me out of the taverns. Last week I found another benefit of the game. It has an incredible way of taking you out of yourself. Certainly when you're playing more seriously at the Bridge Center and you're totally focused. But even when you're playing for fun with friends and acting silly. It is the great escape and, next to a pitcher of martinis, I can't imagine a better way to take a breather from life.  

Happy Old Years

Happy New Year! I know that's a bit belated. But I haven't gotten into 2013 yet. I'm still stuck in the past.

My mother's was the first bridge party I ever attended. The gatherings started when I was in second grade and once a month she had her bridge group over. A card table was set up in the middle of the living room and in the dining room were lots of goodies, but best of all were brownies cut up in small bites with powdered sugar on top.

She was never good at bridge but she liked her bridge group. She once told me, "You should learn to play bridge because when you get older you'll always have something to do." Then one day it was over. After decades of bridge group, they were finally all gone, except my mom.

In her mid eighties she attempted to play again, taking lessons with me at the Bridge Center. It was a new kind of bridge and she never caught on. She would go over to Marquette Manor, a senior living facility, once in awhile and sub for a group there who played the old fashioned way.

One day they needed two subs and she called me. We were to be partners and play with her friends Keith and Alice. At a nursing home. I didn't want to go, but I did.

The room was hot and cramped and mom and I didn't bid the same way so we couldn't get to the right games. My partner and my opponents all had hearing issues so no one could hear anyone else (no bidding cards). Every hand I had to repeat what each person said. Keith served extra salty nuts and the only water was warm from the tap. It was torture.

Alice and Keith are gone and now my mother is at Marquette Manor. But she's not playing bridge. She's a hospice patient and I would give anything to be back in that hot room, eating extra salty nuts and playing bad bridge with her again.