In last week’s column I announced that the Fall Music Festival was going to make a comeback this year at Wolf Park. After press time some events beyond our control happened and it will NOT be at Wolf Park, for this year only. I will provide more information as it becomes available.
Bridge club is about as American an institution as it gets, but there are rules that must be followed. Mom had her bridge club at our house the other night and I was reminded of the rules.
Rule No. 1—No one living in the house other than Mom is allowed to be seen or heard at any time. I stayed outside in my chair like I normally do and Dad stayed in the back bed room watching television. I remember this rule from my childhood as well. One ceases to exist while bridge club is happening. Period.
Rule No. 2—Food is served at bridge club, but no one is allowed to have even one taste of it before the ladies arrive. In my youth I remember there being bowls of mixed nuts and pastel colored butter mints, two items not usually found in our cupboards. Lately the food is much more substantial but only able to be eaten if there are any leftovers by non-bridge club family members.
Rule No. 3—Early bedtimes. As adults, Dad and I are allowed to stay up during bridge club but I remember having to go to bed early as a child. Sometimes before dark. And don’t even think about needing a glass of water or anything else.
Rule No. 4—No one outside the house is allowed to show up or ring the doorbell if there are a bunch of cars parked all wonky in front of the house. Dad told me that a few years ago one of the ladies drove across the yard rather than wait for the car in front of her to move out of the circular drive. There is wine involved in bridge club in case you were wondering.
Mom, Dad and I had an interesting discussion the other night. What sparked it was someone saying that when they got to be in their 50s the level of “I don’t care” you go through is very liberating, and I have to agree. I don’t mean I don’t care about anything, but I don’t care about what other people think of me or how I look or dress like I did when I was younger. That kind of thing.
I wanted to know if there were any more of these eye-opening tidbits coming my way in my 60s or 70s. Neither could think of anything that would happen to me, and then the conversation somehow drifted into talking about mortality.
I wanted to know if they ever thought about it at their ages. Of course they do. Everyone does. But they don’t dwell on it. Or get upset about it.
They know they’re going to heaven and that’s what they care about. They have very deeply held religious beliefs and those beliefs have gotten them through some of the horrors that life has thrown at them. I asked them if they were ever mad at God for taking two of their children. They aren’t. They don’t think God had anything to do with it. They talk about how lucky they were to have had four healthy, happy children.
What a blessing to think that way. How could you possibly be concerned about mortality with that attitude? I think I’m lucky to have been raised by them.
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