Our group was the youngest by 10 years, but that didn’t give us the advantage. How hard could it be? Truthfully, it was very hard. I signed up for lessons with friends at the local community center. My cerebrum did need exercise - it was a bit scary that I occasionally forgot words, or my phone, or my kids’ names. “It’s good for your brain” was the selling point as friends tried to recruit me. I was too busy to sit around for hours playing games. I volunteered, went to galleries, did some freelance work. Maisel, complete with a cabana boy serving iced tea. That had been my mother’s game - as she sat outside clicking tiles at the pool club in her oversized Jackie O sunglasses. When my friends and I became empty nesters, with the good fortune to be retired or have flexible work schedules, some started playing mah-jongg. But then again, I hadn’t reconciled that I had become middle-aged.
I never pictured myself the type who sat around playing cards in the afternoon. I remember sleepovers there where I’d watch her play with her best friend, Hannah, and “the girls.” Since then I’d always considered canasta a game for older Jewish ladies. I thought, have I turned into my grandmother? I hadn’t even become my mother yet! Grandma Alice had a weekly card game in her Jackson Heights apartment.
I hesitated before I blurted out the embarrassing truth. I was on my phone making plans with a friend.
