“Life is more fun if you play games.”
It wasn’t as cold as I expected when I went to get the papers this morning. It was 39˚ and felt warm. Today I have good weather news. The snow storm we are expecting has changed direction and is predicted to be only 2-4 inches down from 6 to 8. That is sweeping snow, not shoveling snow.
When I’d visit my parents for the weekend, my Dad would go out and buy the Sunday paper and a dozen donuts. He never remembered my favorite donut, but he bought enough choices so I was content. His favorite was plain. He would always butter the donut before he ate it with his coffee. My dad preferred instant coffee instead of brewed. I never understood that. Sunday was his day to make breakfast. He always used the cast iron skillet and kept a over his shoulder as he cooked to wipe his hands. I can still see him at the stove. This time of year he wore corduroys, long sleeve shirts and brown suede shoes from L.L. Bean. He’d cook the bacon then ask how we wanted our eggs. He was adept at over-easy. Waiting for my breakfast was the best time. My dad and I would talk about all sorts of stuff though politics were never among them. We were polar opposites. After breakfast, we’d play a few games of cribbage. We always played cribbage every time we got together. Sometimes we’d play 5 or 6 games. The number of games depended upon whether he was winning or losing. A higher number of games meant he was losing, and we’d play until his luck changed though he always said he won by strategy while I won by luck. I loved to tease him when I won. Skunking him was the best of all, and it drove him crazy.
Games were so much a part of my growing up. We played them all the time. My parents taught my brother and me whist so they could each have a partner. My aunts and uncles would come up to the house on Friday nights, and they sit around the kitchen table and play cards. My dad was too funny as he always harassed them when he won but all in good fun. The kitchen would be filled with smoke and they’d each have a drink. They were the high ball generation.
Those nights are etched in my memory drawers. I can still hear the laughter and my father’s voice. I can hear my mother laughing along with my dad, and I can hear my aunt demanding the cards be dealt especially if she lost the last hand.
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March 2, 2014 at 10:41 am
Drizzle with some snowflakes mixed in it but the snow never reached the ground. Even though it feels cold outside it’s still too warm for any snow to stay.It will be warmer already tomorrow even though some night will be frosty. I don’t care about if the nights get cold though, I’m asleep then 🙂
Cards were a big thing in my family too but I prefered to play with my friends family and we always played canasta. Half way thorgh the game his mother always went out to the kitchen making us some tea and cheese sandwiches, always with a slice of paprika on them. I’ve realized that almost everything I like in life comes from that family 🙂 🙂
Back to work tomoroow, my foot fitted in my work shoes again and it’s just as well, it’s to easy getting bored at home when it is impossible to do anything at all and not being sick, just clumsy 🙂
Have a great day!
Christer.
March 2, 2014 at 10:48 am
Christer,
I don’t care about cold nights either. I have the warm comforter and a cat and a dog to keep me warm.
Just as we get rid of snow, we get more. It’s as if Mother Nature thinks we always need a bit of snow on the ground.
My parents’ house was the one every went to, even my friends. My parents were fun and great company. I’m glad you have memories from that family as it seems they made you one of their own. Nice!
It is boring when you can do nothing. I tend to read all the time but even that gets tiresome.
Have a great week!
March 2, 2014 at 11:09 am
Last night I was so hot that we turned on the air conditioner and this morning the temperature is hovering just above freezing. I haven’t seen any freezing drizzle or sleet yet but it’s forecast for this afternoon. Hopefully the ground will be to warm for ice to stick except for overpasses which will make driving to work crazy in the morning.
While growing up my parents were not game players. During his retirement years my father played solitaire and kept a log of his wins and losses. I never asked him if he cheated. Yesterday, I came across his obituary while cleaning out a closet. It’s hard to believe that this month he will be dead 12 years. Our memories remain after our loved ones are gone. The good times remain in our minds and the bad times are buried along with the dead.
Sunday mornings my father also prepared breakfast. He would get up early and bake a kind of scrambled egg mixture with onions and lox (smoked salmon). Otherwise we would just eat the lox on bagels with cream cheese. Every time eat a bagel and lox I think about my father. Luckily I try to forget his attempts to bake his own bagels because they were a terrible disaster to everyone else. He was attempting to create the taste of New York bagels from his youth. I can’t remember how the pizza we had for dinner tasted last night except it tasted good.
March 2, 2014 at 2:43 pm
Bob,
It is in he high 30’s now and we have the lightest of wet snow flurries. The day is dark and miserable looking.
My Dad died young, at 66. He was so much fun. We played all sorts of card games together, and when I was an adult, my parents and I traveled to Europe several times together. My mom took pictures of us playing cribbage in all the different countries.
We grid once when I was in Africa to make bagels, and it was a disaster. The bread there was good, but we wanted something different. It was an experiment gone bad.
I tried lox but didn’t enjoy it. I do like cream cheese on my bagels.
March 2, 2014 at 5:30 pm
Smoked salmon is an acquired taste and there are many different varieties. African bagels sounds so weird. Of course the Europeans who settled South Africa may have imported bagels in that part of Africa. My conclusion about bagels is that the local water imparts a taste to the dough since bagels are boiled in water before they are baked. I have heard from a couple of Canadian sources that the best bagels come from Montreal. I missed trying them when I was there in December because their croissants were wonderful. I think if you grew up where they made bagels you would think that the ones from your neighborhood were the only good ones. I can’t remember what a real New York bagel taste like, I just remember that they were bigger than the ones I get from Einstein’s Bagel stores and were cheaper. When I was a kid everything was cheaper.
March 2, 2014 at 6:22 pm
Bob,
It was supposed to be a bagel like any other, using the same ingredients, but it didn’t work out for us. Africans didn’t make them but we obruni, white people, wanted to try.
I love fresh croissants.
Everything was cheaper when we were kids and people made a lot less money too. In 1966, my dad made 13,000, paid his mortgage, housed, fed and clothed his family and paid my college tuition. When I started teaching in 1971, I made $6400.
March 2, 2014 at 6:49 pm
Fresh croissants made in a French speaking place is truly heavenly. My father always wished for prices to go down. Unfortunately, that would ruin the economy by causing deflation. “Let’s not buy that new car this month because it will be cheaper next month”.
March 2, 2014 at 6:52 pm
Bob,
Not only the croissants but also the breads in French countries are beyond wonderful.
I never bought anything but used cars until this latest car, but the deal was too good to turn down.
March 2, 2014 at 11:20 am
Hi Kat,
My dad only cooked outside over open flames. Out there he could cook anything at all. He could even bake. In the house, on a stove, nothing.
A Dunkin Donuts glazed coffee roll, split in half through the equator, buttered and put on the grill is super nom. Just sayin.
We played Yahtzee and Pokeeno. My best friend in high school and I liked to play Canasta with two decks.
My mother and her sisters used to play Hearts and I still have the Hearts board that my grandfather made for them. It’s card table size and hand painted in an ugly green with red and black card suits and a gold Pot. My brothers wanted to toss it but I nixed that. Why? they asked, it’s ugly junk. No! It’s hand made by family and if that isn’t good enough, it’s FOLK ART! Folk art is an Important Thing. They just shook their heads and put it aside.
My dad liked to play dominoes and cribbage. Dominoes I got but cribbage I never did. I remember how patiently he tried to explain to me every damn time how to count in cribbage. I never got it. He never explained why the fifteen. Fifteen what? Where does it come from.
Oddly enough, when I had to certify in CPR, it was cribbage that helped me remember the count. 15 compressions and two breaths. Oh!, fifteen two, just like cribbage. 😀
It’s grey and “warm” up here, 34ºF. Wow. I’m glad the snow has gone elsewhere.
Enjoy the day.
March 2, 2014 at 2:47 pm
Hi Caryn,
My dad was also an outside chef who sometimes used so much lighter fluid he set his pant legs on fire. I have to say though he cooked the meat perfectly.
That grilled donut sounds great!
My dad also taught us dominoes, and we played that a lot. I taught friends of mine who only used dominoes to build with when they were kids. They now enjoy the game a lot. I learned cribbage by watching my father play. I have friends who play so I get the chance to play real people every now and then. I do play on my iPad as well.
I too would have saved a hand-made hearts board. It is unique and a family heirloom of sorts.
37˚ right now. I just got home from lunch with a bunch of former volunteers. It was fun.