“Pass” <\/p>\n
“Pass”<\/p>\n
“Pass”<\/p>\n
A few seconds waiting for a bid in Bridge can turn into an eternity.\u00a0 Sherman (that was my Dad) asked, “Well?”<\/p>\n
No answer.\u00a0 Sherman waits for another few seconds while Rachel re-arranges her hand for the third time since the bidding opened.\u00a0 “Rachel?\u00a0 Are you going to bid this evening?”<\/p>\n
Rachel re-arranges the cards one more time.\u00a0 This time putting spades on the far left of her hand.\u00a0 “Can I have a review of the bidding?”<\/p>\n
Sherman puts his cards down. “I passed.\u00a0 Jake passed.\u00a0 Estelle passed.\u00a0 And now it’s to you.”<\/p>\n
“Don’t rush me Sherman.\u00a0 You’re rushing me.\u00a0 You probably have bad cards<\/em> and you’re rushing me.”\u00a0 Rachel shifts her spades to the far right of hand.\u00a0 “OK.\u00a0 Let’s see.\u00a0 I bid a small <\/em>spade…”<\/p>\n Sherman folds his hand.\u00a0 “Rachel, you can’t do that.\u00a0 That’s cheating.\u00a0 <\/em>You can’t say a ‘small<\/em> spade’.\u00a0 You can say a spade<\/em>… just<\/em> a spade… or two <\/em>spades if you want to, or you can pass.\u00a0 <\/em>But you can’t say a small <\/em>spade… because you have just told Jake that you only have four spades, or that you have a weak point count.\u00a0 That’s cheating.”<\/p>\n Rachel’s expression showed hurt.\u00a0 The accusation stung.\u00a0 Almost as much as if someone said that they didn’t like her soup.<\/p>\n Sherman recognized that his comment pinched.\u00a0 “OK… look, this is going no where… let’s just finish the bidding.\u00a0 I pass.”\u00a0 He was reconciled to having bad cards<\/em> for the fifth hand in a row.<\/p>\n And that’s pretty much how it went when my Aunt Rachel and Uncle Jake came over our house to play bridge.\u00a0 Thursday night was bridge night<\/em>.\u00a0 They would set up in our small breakfast room that was adjacent to the kitchen and begin play at 8:00PM… you could set your clock to when the first cards were dealt.<\/p>\n They would stop at 9:15PM for coffee and… <\/em>The “and” was usually a Russian coffee cake, or a bundt cake, or occasionally a pie.\u00a0 Aunt Rachel always brought the “and” I would have been long\u00a0to bed before the break in the\u00a0card game.\u00a0I would only have discovered the precise flavour<\/em> of the “and” the next morning.\u00a0 Whatever was left from the night before would be put in my school lunch, and if I was lucky there would be a slice or two remaining when I got home in the afternoon.\u00a0<\/p>\n Even if my Aunt Rachel was slow to bid, or did so in an underhanded way (I would learn more about her technique when I picked up Bridge during my undergraduate days)… even if half the time playing cards were spent in argument… or in discussion <\/em>as my Father would say… discussing <\/em>about the wrong card that Rachel would play or some such… all that not withstanding, Rachel was one helluva\u00a0baker & one helluva cook.<\/p>\n My interest in their card play or their sometime heated discussions, <\/em>was a sidebar to what really mattered.\u00a0 It was Rachel’s “and” that she baked with care & love.\u00a0 {And of additional note… Rachel’s chicken soup was considered a marvel in our extended family.}<\/p>\n Rachel and Jake would leave sometime after 10:00PM.\u00a0 The actual time would depend on whether their spirited discussion <\/em>put a damper on further play after “coffee and<\/em>“ <\/em>service.\u00a0 Regardless, it would never be a real late night, Rachel would have to get up early the next day to drive to Bridgeport… so my Aunt and Uncle would return to their Woodbridge home well before the “witching hour.”<\/p>\n Uncle Jake was a Certified Public Accountant in New Haven.\u00a0 And according to my Father, a good one.\u00a0 Aunt Rachel taught 8th Grade Science in Bridgeport.<\/p>\n When I was a kid I didn’t particularly like teachers… my dislike wasn’t directed against teachers as people<\/em>; but rather against what they did and where they worked.\u00a0 You see, I just didn’t like school.\u00a0 Other than gym, school was a horrid and wretched experience for me.<\/p>\n Having a teacher in your family was almost like having an undertaker in your family.\u00a0 Both useful professions… but do you really want them around in your personal life?\u00a0 <\/p>\n I loved my Aunt Rachel; but when I was in the 8th grade she made me nervous.\u00a0 It wasn’t like she taught in my school or anything; but I lived in constant anxiety that she might ask me what photosynthesis was.<\/p>\n I can’t say when I grew out of my discomfort<\/em> with Rachel being a teacher.\u00a0 I would like to say that it was when I entered the 9th grade.\u00a0 But I am sure that it was a few years later.\u00a0 Let me assure you that at no time did my discomfort<\/em> intrude on my appreciation of her Russian coffee cake, or her insanely divine chicken soup.<\/p>\n Years later… well after Uncle Jake passed on, I would truly begin to understand her considerable force.\u00a0 On one visit to her condo in Boca, we got to talking about the “old days.”<\/p>\n “Rachel… you had any number of opportunities to take positions in other school districts… to teach kids that would be moving on to high school, college and beyond.\u00a0 <\/em>You could have taught in Woodbridge or Greenwich forGodsakes!\u00a0 And been better paid for it to boot!!\u00a0 Why the hell did you remain in that cesspool of a city, Bridgeport?\u00a0 You could have done so much more for kids who cared!”<\/p>\n Rachel stirred her tea.\u00a0 Something she still called a “glassela tea” even though it was served in Spode china.\u00a0 She cut a slice of her famous Russian coffee cake for me.\u00a0 She asked after my kids, and without skipping a beat, launched into a mini-dance around the kitchen to her rendition of “Suzie Q” at the mention of my daughter Suzy… she hopped and skipped, hummed and strutted… and swept crumbs from the table in smooth motions that defied choreography.<\/p>\n I shook my head in amazement, “Rachel… I don’t know how you do it!”<\/p>\n I could only imagine her “putting on the Ritz”\u00a0in her class room, or down the school halls… a “Mick Jagger” who knew about photosynthesis.<\/p>\n “Rachel… your talents were wasted in Bridgeport.\u00a0 You could have been teaching in a school where the kids mattered.”<\/p>\n That stopped Rachel mid-dance.<\/p>\n “Jimmy.\u00a0 My kids mattered.\u00a0 They counted.\u00a0 They were important.\u00a0 The system <\/em>may have sucked.\u00a0 The parents <\/em>may have sucked and<\/u> not cared.\u00a0 But the kids?\u00a0 The kids?\u00a0 We have to try the best for the kids.\u00a0 We owe<\/em> it to the kids.\u00a0 All <\/em>the kids.\u00a0 The fancy shmancy kids in New Canaan have tons of people to do the best by them.\u00a0 But who is going to go to bat for the kids in the barrio<\/em>?\u00a0 No.\u00a0 Knock me down in the street. It’s OK, I can take it.\u00a0 I’ll stand up, dust myself off… I was going to try and make a difference.\u00a0 <\/em>And to succeed once?\u00a0 Yes, it would have been enough.”<\/p>\n The phone rang.\u00a0 Rachel went into the den to take the call.\u00a0 I put my tea cup and plate in the sink and stopped by the fridge to look at the pictures that coated the door.\u00a0 Grandkids galore… Max, Zoey, Lucas & Joshua… each photo noted with date and location.\u00a0 And there tucked in a nook of the “gallery” was a piece of lined stationary with neatly and carefully lettered poem.\u00a0 A poem for Rachel.<\/p>\n A Stare<\/u><\/em><\/p>\n A stare has a lot of significance<\/em><\/p>\n A stare is from feeling at that instant<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from love while you admire something<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from joy and happiness like a sting<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n A stare means a lot, at least for me it does<\/em><\/p>\n A stare is special, it’s that extra little shove<\/em><\/p>\n A stare is like praise in my eyes<\/em><\/p>\n A stare is like longing to let go of all the lies<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n A stare is wishing I had your beautiful eyes<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from wishing my eyes could reflect the skies<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from wishing I had your comical and loving smile<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from wishing I wasn’t afraid to lose myself<\/em><\/p>\n Even if it meant that I would not be in style<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n A stare comes from wishing I could make people laugh the way you do<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from wishing my smile had the beauty to help people through<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from bewilderment because I smile every time you do<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from embarrassment because I truly do love you<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n A stare comes from the fact that every time you’re happy so am I<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from the fact that I know that in you I could always confide<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from the fact that I know I always have a friend to come to at school<\/em><\/p>\n A stare comes from the fact that you don’t let me act a fool<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n You wanted to know why I stare at you so much<\/em><\/p>\n And, it’s because I admire you and such<\/em><\/p>\n You’re like a friend I have known for years<\/em><\/p>\n I guess staring at you is what takes away my fears<\/em><\/p>\n — Thank you, Francis<\/em><\/p>\n The paper had corners that were turned and wrinkled.\u00a0 This poem, written years before, had been transferred from fridge to fridge… and to my Aunt Rachel I could see that it was worth more than a chest full of gold.<\/p>\n I don’t think I could have loved Rachel more.\u00a0 When she returned to the kitchen, I had a catch in my throat.\u00a0 Sure.\u00a0 What could I say?<\/p>\n “So… Rachel.\u00a0 That day… did you really bid a small <\/em>spade?”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “Pass” “Pass” “Pass” A few seconds waiting for a bid in Bridge can turn into an eternity.\u00a0 Sherman (that was my Dad) asked, “Well?” No answer.\u00a0 Sherman waits for another few seconds while Rachel re-arranges her hand for the third … Continue reading