Bridge Games

At 6 p.m. tonight I will go downstairs to play bridge with three other old ladies, or maybe with two old ladies and a younger man.  Life is full of changes, and the story of my bridge playing is an example.

I had not played bridge for more than a quarter century when I moved into this retirement home. Many of the people who live here grew up in fundamentalist Christian homes (as I did) and were told that card playing was a sin, along with dancing. drinking “strong spirits”, and going to movies on Sunday.  They do not play bridge.

I learned to play bridge in a little club I belonged to in high school.  In college we played a few hands every night, laying the cards out on a bed in the dorm after supper. For years after that wherever I lived, I played regularly.  Just like an alcoholic or compulsive gambler.

Wally liked to play bridge.  When we lived in Michigan, he played with men on the train while commuting to downtown Detroit.  After we returned to Chicago, we played as partners in couples’ clubs.  I also met twice a month with seven other women for lunch and bridge.  That was in the 1970's.  At Christmas I heard from two of those friends.  

I married John, and my bridge playing ceased for many years.  He did not play any card games except Black Jack.  We went to Las Vegas.  John went down to the tables early every morning while I was still sleeping.  When he came back to wake me up, he always claimed to have won enough to buy me breakfast.

Years later I moved into this retirement home.  I lived here for two years without even thinking about playing bridge.  Then Doris moved into an apartment downstairs.  She was an avid bridge player, spending hours every day playing bridge on the computer.  She recruited me, Sue, and Mariam.  Sue, originally from Mississippi, is still dark-haired at 82.  Mariam, who grew up on an Illinois farm, plays a mean game at age 91.  We played on Tuesday evenings from 6 to 8 p.m.  Old ladies go to bed early.
 
Stacy wanted to play, too, so we added a second game on Thursdays.  At 6 feet, 8 inches, this former basketball player is young enough to be our son.  Now confined by Parkinson’s, Stacy comes barreling in his electric wheelchair.  When he puts his size 14 shoes under the table, three pairs of ladies’s feet are pushed back under our chairs.  

We ladies are all conservative in our bidding.  None of us gets upset if the cards do not play out the way we want them to.  Stacy still has not learned that even if he has seven cards in one suit, he can not win if none of them are face cards.  It makes for some interesting hands.

As suddenly as she moved in, Doris moved out.  After she left, Pat came to live here, and the Tuesday and Thursday games continue.

Doris was a like a whirlwind, which blows in, stirs things up, and vanishes, leaving behind a calm.  I doubt if we would be playing bridge if Doris had not brought us together.  I am grateful to her.  Bridge games brought us together, and we who remain have become good friends.