Tag: Board games

BINGO Is Back

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It’s been happening under the slanted roof of the Polynesian Paradise clubhouse for decades.

Old and young residents and guests gather a few times each month for old-school, low-tech Arizona fun.

They flock there to play BINGO on Wednesday nights in January, February and March when the snowbirds have returned.

Spirits are high, but stakes are low.

Fifty or sixty friends and neighbors huddle over long metal tables with wooden tops. They scan their BINGO boards with dreams of leaving with fifteen or twenty dollars in their pockets.

Hit the switch and you can hear the hum of the BINGO ball cage as it spins. The caller pulls a number and announces it over the microphone. B-15, O-66, and so on.

Over the years, the number callers have come and gone. Phyllis and Sherry shared the duties admirably on January 31, 2024.

Last night’s first game was dedicated to Bill H. He passed last year. In his honor, you had to cover all the numbers on one of your boards to fill the shape of the letter H to win $10.

After that, each game was more traditional. You needed to get five in a row across, up and down, or diagonally to win $5.

Or–if you were lucky enough to cover the four corners or create a “postage stamp”–a four-square shape in one of the corners–that would suffice too.

The final game of the night is always “black-out” BINGO. The goal is to cover every space on your card. The first one to do it, shouts BINGO and wins $20.

Last night, two–Theo and John–landed there at the same time and shared the winnings.

But the beauty of BINGO isn’t really the amount of cash you win.

It’s about the shared experience of sitting side-by-side in the same room.

It’s about the kitschy camaraderie, silly laughter, and goofy cross talk before, during, and after each game.

It’s about celebrating the “what ifs” of life … “Oh, if only she’d called I-30. I would have been the big winner!” … no matter your political preferences or social status.

It’s about the realization that the small, yummy square of lemon cake Jean baked for consumption at the half-way point contained a splash of zesty lemon from one of our luscious community citrus trees.

It’s about the reminiscing with friends as you walk back home to your respective condos at the end of the day on a mild desert evening.

It’s about hugging and bidding each other a good night … until the next game of BINGO.

My three BINGO cards. I didn’t win.
Our fun table causing a ruckus.
Theo and John won several games.

How Do You Spell Grateful?

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ScrabbleSunday_110319

S-C-R-A-B-B-L-E … and it’s been that way for Tom and me for the past twenty-three years.

***

Back in the fall of 1996, I was a single dad. At the time, Nick was twelve; Kirk was seven. The divorce decree called for my boys to spend half of their time with their mother at her home and half with me at mine. Both of us lived in Mount Prospect, Illinois.

It was far from the perfect parenting scenario for my sons, but at least I was able to see them regularly, attend school and sports events, and have an influence on their lives. I’m thankful for those years and my life as a dad, though it was a tumultuous time for all of us. It’s difficult for me to believe my sons are now thirty-five and thirty,  but I’m forced to realize it’s true. When I pass a mirror, I see the 2019 version of me. (By the way, if you’re a parent, you may have an interest in reading my book An Unobstructed View.)

Meanwhile, also in late 1996, Tom and I were beginning to build our relationship. We realized we needed to have at least one time a week when we could count on seeing each other … while juggling two independent demanding careers and honoring my desire and commitment to be there for my sons.

So, we concocted a scheme. On most Sunday mornings, we left our respective homes. They were seven or eight miles apart. We met at a coffee shop in Chicago’s northwest suburbs for a few hours of creative wordplay. We devoted our Sunday mornings to each other and Scrabble. Each week we formed new combinations of words on our portable game board while cradling hot cups of coffee. It was our time then and it’s our time now. We’ve been repeating this refrain for twenty-three years in Illinois, Arizona and places in between.

***

Scrabble will always be our magnificent obsession. On bright days and dark ones, our creative oasis is our escape from the traumas of our world and Breaking News. Just the two of us producing endless combinations of vowels and consonants and laying them out across a compact board.

Yesterday was no exception. We drove to The Coffee Bean in Scottsdale and carried our portable Scrabble. With the game midway between us, we consumed two cups of coffee and shared a blueberry scone at a table outside on an eighty-degree, autumn-in-Arizona morning.

Unfortunately for me, Tom was victorious as he is at least fifty percent of the time. On this occasion, his thirty points (a double word score on the word pique near the end of the game) sealed the deal. The final score? 294 points for him; 278 for me.

But the outcome really never matters. What counts is that on good days and bad ones we’re keeping our brains nimble and our Scrabble tradition alive. Our weekly propensity to manipulate tiny wooden letters in a tray will always be ours … and I’ll be forever grateful for the memories of our Scrabble Sundays. From A to Z.