Games - Kitchens & Dining Rooms

As I stated in my last blog, I am cheerful, delighted, and full of God when I am enjoying the company of someone and playing games. My disabilities may keep me from bantering on or entering boisterously into the conversation, but I am paying attention because I also like winning. I learned to love card playing mostly in kitchens and dining rooms.

Kitchens and Dining Rooms

Both my husband and I learned a few things about playing cards in our grandma’s kitchens and dining rooms. Those heart-like places set the pace for all home activities. And bear with me because older architectures sometimes melded what we might call today a kitchen and a dining room. Many households of old ate their meals in the kitchen. My husband’s grandma‘s kitchen and my grandma’s dining room were not only places to cook and eat food, but they also served multiple purposes like debate center, courtroom, comedy theater, political platform, town hall, banquet hall, and most importantly, gaming center. Chris’s grandma’s kitchen was the sheepshead capital of Wisconsin and my grandma’s dining room table was the battleground for life and death euchre and poker. I loved games then and on my road in retirement, I need games more than ever now.

For the Love of the Game

Chris’s aunts and uncles would be at the kitchen table on Sunday night visits discussing all subjects of the universe with loud conversations that would crescendo and then lull, but never cease. It was a Sunday evening of constant laughter, yelling, banter, wit-filled but often unwanted commentary, and slamming of cards. But all for the love of the game and undoubtedly for the necessity of socialization. Unlike the kitchen full of happy pollacks at Chris’s grandma’s place (I had permission to say that), MY grandma’s dining room experience was quieter, and more subdued with the only similarity being the intense gamesmanship of cards. 

Playing Cards with Grandma

My Dubuque grandparents were serious about their cards, at least that was the case of Grandma. The tone in that dining room was partially the fault of my brother and I. We were usually “sent” to Dubuque due to our rambunctious “carryingons” at home. The 3-hour trip to grandma’s wasn’t a jovial freedom jaunt into la la land like my husband’s experience, it was more like serving a prison sentence. We did our time; however, which included playing partner euchre, and although Grandma was a good teacher, she often allowed her competitive side to get the best of her. Oh, we learned euchre alright, but we also learned how to get grandma to swear under her breath. 

Craggy Roads

The road during my upbringing was often craggy, crooked, and arduous, with games being a way of escape and delight; fun distractions to counterbalance the tough stretches of pavement. I was always the game planner, the event planner, the fun planner and I still like to play games: Ski--Bo, the card game 31, cribbage, and grandma’s old standby euchre. I’ll play them anywhere; inside, outside, at home, at the hotel, and my favorite . . . by the fire, even if I need mosquito spray. Games keep my brain thinking, my soul socializing, my fingers useful, and my smirk extending joy to others. 

Games as Means of Escape

I’ll admit that some days games are definitely an escape for me. At times I do wish I could just fly away from all of this disability, silence, and care, but for now once in a while, I’ll play some games. King David wrote a poem about flying away during a tough time in his life when he was literally hiding in caves from opponents who wanted his head. He writes in Psalm 55, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. Behold, I would wander far away, I would lodge in the wilderness. I would hasten to my place of refuge from the stormy wind and tempest.” 

Game as a Fortress

That psalm testifies to my need for games. The simple delight of playing a game for me is an impenetrable fortress where the raging thunder and pounding rain of my disease is a faint thud and a casual trickle. Win or lose in the kitchen or dining room, I find great escape and delight in these friendly competitions. My impairments may not allow me to burst into laughter with my once-Eileen cackle-laugh, but I can still use my dystonia-stiff fingers to lay my cards down and smirk when I get 31, while my competitors are sitting there with not even 20 points. You’ll have to learn the game.