Merry Slushmas

A bridge player at Christmas is lucky as an elf
Parties and merriment abound.
Your red and green come down from the shelf
And goodies are served by the pound.

Oh, and there's also Rebecca's Famous Bourbon Slush. We had lots of it this year. Yes, the BS flowed at the Bridge Center's Christmas/Hanukkah party and my game only improved because of it. Others, however, played as sloppy as the slush and blamed it on the bourbon. We allowed it because it is, after all, the season of giving and forgiving.

What we didn't have this yuletide were any grinches. No one had termites in their smiles or were mean as crocodiles. I observed not one nasty wasty skunk with a heart full of unwashed socks and a soul that was full of gunk. And I'm very pleased to say that not one person brought any three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwiches with arsenic sauce to our glorious food table. *

We were told that the Life Masters had a big gigantic cake they couldn't finish so we decided to go awassailing for it. They tripped to the door and pulled back the pin and let us wassailers in. 
Out we came with a cake dreams are made of and oh, how happy were we. We danced a jig and drank more slush and sang festive carols by the tree.

So it was a lovely holiday celebration at the Bridge Center and we left "wishing each other enough", quoted from Bob Perks' story:

"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more. 

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger. 
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. 
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough 'Hello's' to get you through the final 'Goodbye.'
My friends, I wish you enough!"

* "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" song lyrics by Theodore "Dr. Seuss" Geisel

Nice, Nice Baby

We have such a nice Bridge Center in my city. I know as a writer I should never use the word "nice" because it's considered abhorrent and lazy to choose this word over, say, "amiable" or "pleasant." But "nice" really seems to sum it up, because while the people are amiable and the atmosphere pleasant, the whole place is just plain nice.

The other day Danny, one of our NLM players, was being celebrated as Rookie of the Month and everyone brought in the most scrumptious array of foodstuffs - baked chicken salad like you've never tasted before in your life, mouth-watering blueberry cobbler, delectable deviled eggs, and chewy, fudgey brownies. And to convey to you how nice everyone is, no one got (too) upset when our food table went missing. It seems the Life Master group had "borrowed" it on which to put their foodstuffs for their Christmas party. Not a problem, we made do with several bridge tables slung together.

Before the game began Danny was honored and her partner stood to say a few words. She said when she first started playing at the Bridge Center she was wary. She hadn't had a good experience at her former bridge facility and said, that among other things, "I was strongly reprimanded for what they called 'fondling' the bidding card." (She said she did not, however, have to register as a card offender, so that was the upside).

But she began to tear up as she talked about recently losing her husband and how warm and welcomed she has felt at our center and how lucky she was to be able to play with one of the very nicest people, Danny. It made me appreciate the community that is our Bridge Center. 
    
Just last week one of our own was taken quite ill and is now in the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time. We have been kept up to date on his condition, have scheduled times to visit him and have sent him a card with our love and best wishes. I've seen people jump out of their chairs to help someone who's having trouble maneuvering through the maze of tables in our room. I've heard (most) people say "good try" even when you go down.

What I'm trying to say is that our Bridge Center is more than the game. It transcends the winning and losing. It's nice.




     

A Bridge to War

I was eating my oatmeal the other morning with a silver spoon I'd grabbed out of the drawer from a mess of old, unsorted cutlery I had in there. It reminded me of the spoon my dad found on the ground in Germany during WWII when allied troops captured Goering's private trains that held thousands of pieces of art and antiquities he had stolen and stockpiled for his own collection. My dad was there after the trains had been intercepted and while soldiers were safeguarding the treasure, they were also pocketing small souvenirs. Young soldiers, with no context in which to frame this ultimately historic event, were just thinking of mementos to bring home from the war. 

By the same token, soldiers brought things from home to the battlefield for comfort and continuity during this time. Bridge was one of them. It's been said that General Eisenhower played bridge in London whenever he had the time because it relaxed him (if bridge relaxed him, can you imagine how stressful his job was?) Maggie Simony said in her book, Bridge Table, that she had a friend who was a pilot during the war, was shot down over Belgium and taken prisoner. He told her there was a bridge game going on twenty-four hours a day at the camp. "He, like so many, had learned bridge from his mother."

She also said that the United States Playing Card Company's website claims that during the war the company worked with the United States to make special decks to send to prisoners of war in German camps. "Moistened, the cards 'peeled apart to reveal sections of a map indicating precise escape routes."' 

The game itself benefited from the war as so many players taught the game to those who didn't play and it's popularity only increased when they came home. As Simony said, "There's nobody more evangelical than a bridge threesome yearning for a fourth - they will teach that fourth if they have no other choice."

So one more reason to salute the great game of bridge! It just may have helped us win the Second (not so) Great War.

     


     

And Here's to You, Mrs. Robinson

The Graduate was on TV the other night in honor of director Mike Nichols who recently passed away. I've probably seen it a dozen times. When I first saw it, I was eight years younger than Ben, the Dustin Hoffman character. He seemed so grown up and sophisticated to me at the time, Mrs. Robinson so old, broken down and pathetic. Now I watch it and not only does Ben seem like a baby, but Mrs. Robinson is gorgeous! She's young - Anne Bancroft was only 36 years old - and totally fabulous looking!

Your perspective changes as you get older and I was thinking about that playing bridge yesterday at the Bridge Center. I remember getting so nervous before playing my stomach would hurt. I would go through the rules and conventions in my head before the game, stretch out my hands and do a few neck rolls (those last two things I just made up).
     
And of course playing against some of the really good players can be so intimidating. There's one person in particular at the Center who is very skilled. When I play against him, my palms sweat. He bids and plays fast because he thinks fast. When it's your turn to bid or play, he's impatient. He taps his finger on the table while he's waiting and sometimes shifts in his seat. These gestures would make me hurry and feel as if I were not a player worthy of his time, because, of course, I'm not as good as he.

But yesterday when he sat at our table and played against us, I forgot that he made me nervous. I was concentrating on my hand and didn't notice his restless gestures. My partner and I played two hands against him and his partner. We made our contract in the first hand and set their contract in the second hand.

When they moved to the next table, my partner said, "He's rude, the way he taps that finger." It hit me that just because someone is a way better player than you, that doesn't mean they get a pass on being rude. I discovered his arrogance said nothing about me as a player but spoke volumes about him.

I also discovered if you're ever feeling old and broken down, just wait 47 years. Then you'll see how fabulous you really were!

     

     


 


     

Partners in Crime?

My dear friend Cindy and I have played bridge together for awhile now. You couldn't ask for a nicer, smarter, more pleasant partner in the world. Or more ethical. After playing with her so long, however, I have come to know her body language.

I am not a very skilled bridge player and Cindy has helped me improve my game by example and, occasionally, instruction (only when asked, though). When I mess up a hand, I might ask her what she would have done. She's very good at play-of-the-hand.

Awhile back I noticed while I was playing the hand and while she was the dummy, I was inadvertently watching her face. When I made a tactical error, I detected the smallest change in her eyes and I knew right away that I had pulled the wrong card. Now this did not affect the outcome, as the card had been played and the trick complete. 

I told Cindy this and she was horrified. "I had no idea I was doing anything," she said. And she made a concerted effort to keep stoic during play. But I could still occasionally read her. 

I began to wonder about this interpretation I was making on the basis of my partner's pretty face. Was this legal? Even though it made no difference to the results of the game?

So I asked a long-time player of the game whose partner had been his wife most of his adult life and whom he could obviously read like a book. In his email he said: "No it is not legal to act on inferences drawn from your partner's body language." I had not acted on what I had inferred so I felt better, but now I had to be extra careful in the future not to look at Cindy while playing the hand.

Then just yesterday I was playing with Joan who was wearing a beautiful old solid gold pocket watch on a chain around her neck that had belonged to her grandfather. At one point she adjusted the chain and the watch turned so that the face was against her chest and the shiny gold case was now facing outward. I could see her entire hand in the reflection! We came in first that day! Just kidding. I couldn't make out anything but reds and blacks, but I immediately had her turn the watch back around.

Ethics can be such a nuisance!




 


  

Treats and Tricks

 It was a very chilling day, in more ways than one. The sky was the color of an old bruise, the wind whipped to froth, and cold...so, so cold. It was Halloween at the Bridge Center, although it felt more like a mid-winter day.

The smell of pumpkiny treats temporarily warmed us and my bridge partner even removed her coat for awhile. But then they came... parading through the NLM room...the Life Master goblins. 

First an over-sized boy dressed in shorts and suspenders with freckles on his face - pretty creepy. The token witch - not as creepy as the over-sized boy, and of course your headless gorilla, a moss zombie and the bloody twins from The Shining. Our collective blood ran cold. 

Wendy went back to the room where the ghouls were gathered simply to get cup of hot coffee and came back shaken. "I was just in hell," she cried!

I gasped. "Wendy what happened? Where they playing 2-over-1 or something?"

"No," she said. "Devils. Devils everywhere!" Some of us got up to take a look and sure enough, she was right. There were red devils and blue devils, even an egg that was deviled and black ones too. It looked like the inner circle of hell. I was glad I had very few master points.

Things quieted down for awhile and we got back to the game, continuing our trek for tricks (it was the first Halloween I can remember when I was hoping for more tricks than treats). 

Then..."He's breaking into my car! Someone help!" It was Judy. She was watching through the window as a guy dressed as a burgler tried to break into her red SUV in the parking lot. Luckily a guy dressed as a cop ran out from the back room and apprehended him. 
     
Finally a woman dressed as my bridge partner raised my no trump bid to 6 and that was the most frightening moment of the day.



     

Nothing But Blue Skies From Now On

Glorious fall! Shavings of amber and garnet float from the trees; a sapphire sky above; and the Friday morning non-life bridge game. What could be better?

It's bustling at the Bridge Center, everyone greeting each other and settling in to play. Today my partner is Joan whom I haven't played with in awhile. She's very polite at the bridge table and after we finish bidding and before we begin the hand she always asks, "Questions, partner?"

I've noticed people doing this before and it's always puzzled me. What kind of questions would one ask? I suppose you could ask to repeat the bidding?

I shake my head no when Joan asks me the first time and then the next time I simply say, "I don't have any questions that you can provide the answers for, Joan, so you don't need to ask me that anymore" -  in a very nice way, of course. But it's a habit and she forgets and continues to ask. So eventually I think of a question for her. 

"Why do they always put 'DO NOT DISTURB' on those door placards in hotels instead of just 'DON'T DISTURB'?

Is it more menacing without the contraction? I would think they would want to save space by contracting the verb. Especially in a Holiday Inn Express.

The next question I have when she asks is, why is it that when you have to go to the bathroom and you hop around it makes it go away. Where does it go? Why wouldn't hopping around make it worse? 

In the meantime, of course, I'm not watching what my opponents are discarding and counting has gone out the window but then I think of another question I asked my mom when she was quite elderly. I said, "why are you so happy all the time when all you have to look forward to is sickness and death?" I know this sounds terrible but I often asked my mother questions of this magnitude because I knew she could handle them and wouldn't think I was trying to be insensitive. She answered me, "Because I am here now and I'm with you and it's wonderful" (that last part is probably hard for you to believe). "It's the moment," she said. "You enjoy the moment."

Not profound, I realize, but certainly something worth reminding oneself from time to time.

The question asking ends and so does the game so I hug my bridge pals goodbye and walk out to my car. But for a moment I look up at that brilliant sapphire above and smile.

The Cards Speak for Themselves

I wish I had thought of it. Then this post could just be about me and how brilliant I am and I wouldn't have to include anyone else in it. But alas - we don't live in a vacuum and I will give credit where credit is due and share and share alike, blah, blah, blah.

I was back to playing bridge at the good old Bridge Center after a long self-imposed hiatus during which we sold the home we lived in for 23 years and where we raised our beautiful boys; moved 23 years of stuff out of that house and into a brand new house with no history, memories or mold; and married off our second and last son who, similar to his brother, apparently likes his new wife better than us because it seems he's always over there with her instead of here with us. 

So I was struggling to remember the particulars of this ancient and mysterious game when I put us in 2 over 1 mistakenly. That *@#$*&@ convention should never have been conceived. And speaking of ill-fated conception - I'll bet dollars to donuts that 2 over 1 and Rosemary's baby have the same parents.

Anyway, I realized what I had done and lacking the skills to right this wrong, I swore instead. I said "*@# $*&@ it." Waiting for a yellow zero-tolerance card to be flung in my direction I wondered if you really could get in trouble at the Bridge Center for using colorful (or in this instance -  upper case number keys) language.

That's when I ...ok ... Andie came up with a brilliant idea. A card in the bidding box that can swear for you! A card that could be brown with the word "#%&*" or a card that was fiery red with the word "*@#^" - you get the idea. You're only limited by your imagination here.

But being smarter than Andie, I took this idea a step further. I contacted Jannersten Forleg in Sweden who manufactures the famous bidding boxes and requested a set of swear cards, which in Swedish they call "svar" cards.

To make a long story still pretty long but a little shorter, I received a package in the mail yesterday with a set of bidding cards that I am going to add to my bidding boxes at home and will bring one with me to the Bridge Center every time. They are flesh colored and the tab at the top looks like a little closed hand but with one finger protruding from it. On it is printed "@#$%" ... in Swedish. 

Three Hands Make Light Work

The clap of thunder sparked Posie's memory. It was the Monday afternoon bridge game on Sullivan's Island, South Carolina -  and a stormy one at that.

The boom outside brought Hurricane Hugo back to Posie nearly 25 years later. One of the worst hurricanes to hit the southeast coast it devastated Charleston and the surrounding areas. But, as in all life's trials and tribulations, bridge (and whiskey) helped ease the pain - at least in the Fontaine household.

"Tom was theya," she said indicating her long-time bridge partner.  "He came ovah to arrah house because we had three floors theya on Wentworth Street. But when I saw him walk in with a bottle of Rebel Yell whiskey, I said, 'Now Tom don't be crackin' open that bottle. We've got alotta work to do."

Tom, Posie and Felix got started moving furniture from the first two floors of their Charleston single all the way up-top to floor number three. It took hours but finally all that was precious and necessary to the Fontaine family was safely tucked away and the house battened down. The clock was about to strike midnight and Hugo was minutes away. The trio settled in around the card table ready for their uninvited guest.

"Then we cracked the Rebel Yell," Tom said, taking a bite of Happy Cannon's fabulous blackberry cobbler she brought in to share. "I don't drink it anymore, I prefer Maker's Mark, but anyways, we sat there through that little dust-up they called Hugo and drained the whole bottle."

And they played bridge. Three-handed bridge. It causes a bit of a bidding dilemma, but it can be done. Just as surviving a hurricane can be done. You deal four hands, turning up 6 cards of the fourth hand and each player bids for the contract (conventions won't work here) using his/her hand and the 6 cards of the fourth. The winning bidder gets the fourth hand as his/her dummy and then you play normally.

Posie said the bridge game was a "disastah" but at least, in their neighborhood,  the storm was not. The eye was twenty miles north of the city and the barrier islands got the brunt of it. Tom, Posie and Felix escaped with water damage and nasty hangovers but with lives and houses intact.

But three-handed bridge would never again be played at 38 Wentworth Street because one "disastah" in life is more than enough.

Not So Great Expectations

My most vivid and broad impression of events seems to me to have been gained on a raw afternoon...it was a Friday in the middle of one of the worst winters on record and to be able to venture over to the Center for Bridge seemed quite a warm and cheery idea.

As I recall, this bleak of days even for February, was supposed to be snow-free, or so the forecaster of weather had so earnestly expressed. But as morning turned to afternoon, light grew dimmer not brighter and the sky became heavy laden with big grey clouds.

Inside, the bridge players were cozy, contently concentrating and occasionally gleeful. No one noticed the doom that was slowly but certainly creeping toward the Center. No one had any way of knowing that even that occasional glee soon would be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. 

We played two hands and moved to the next table; played two hands and moved to the next table. A hospitality break was announced and most of us pulled out the crumb of bread we had stored in our pockets. Others - the more fortunate among us - would unwrap a leg of pickled pork or a handsome mince pie.

But upon finishing our repast we all finally looked up and out and saw it. The snowflakes. Big and fat and round (even though pictures of them always have points - why is that?). At any rate, a flurry of flakes quickly made a wonderland of the stark parking lot and snow mounds of the cars parked in it. The wind blew the whiteness about until all you could see was opaque oblivion. There was a frenzy in the atmosphere that was palpable - you were on pins just waiting for something to erupt or explode! It put your nerves on edge and your hairs on end!

Bang bang bang bang!!!! We jumped in our chrome and plastic chairs. Rattle rattle. Shake shake. What was that commotion? What is going on? Is the world coming to an end?

No. Some poor, hapless bridge player was trying to get in the locked entrance of the Center - the door no one enters once the games begin. Everyone knows you go around to the back. Everyone. 

But still...bang, rattle, shake...

Through the gloom we could barely make out a form. Hooded from the elements, frail, trying to balance herself on an insufficient wooden cane she continued to plead with the door handle. My compassionate bridge partner said to me (who was nearest the door) "Oh please. Let her in. Just let her in!"

"No!" shouted the director. "She must use the back door like everyone else. Everyone knows this. Everyone!"

"But she's old and she's using a cane and she's covered in snow and it's so cold, so cold," cried my partner.

The director hesitated, thinking and then... gave in. She was just trying to be fair and keep the rules the same for everyone, everyone. But her tenderness won out and she got out her large ring of keys - jingle, jangle, jingle - and had the door unlatched in seconds.

The poor, hapless, tottering player passed through the door and nodded her head in gratitude to the director. But as her hood was thickly coated in snow, this most gracious of gestures blanketed all of us who were near her in icy cold wetness in which we had to sit for the remainder of the game.

That's what tenderness and compassion get you...