congratulate me, it would appear I have just turned 70.
After a year of being sometimes less than subtly recruited, I have become the fourth in the Sunday Canasta game. I am the youngest by 30 years. I am trying to learn the rules now, but of course, I have already been told they will not match what they play and that everyone messes up all the time.
But I think it will be a good thing.
I, in turn, will try to resurrect and recruit them into an alternate game of Mahjong. Which I used to be an avid player of way back when I lived in the RV. We would connect over the internet and meet in rest stops, RVs parked all around and play mahjong all weekend and then take off.
Most of the times we never learned much more about each other then our first names and whether or not we preferred nachos over chex mix.
But there is something magical about gathering together to play a game in a kind of silence. Something shared. There is always small talk but it is of a quiet variety. Nothing to distract from the plotting at hand. I think that is why I like Matador so much. I have played it in more countries and with more people who we shared no language then I have played it with any english.
I am rambling, babbling, google is so pokey right now I was not even sure that I could sign on. But here I am. And in the back of my mind I am contemplating something that had the real ring of truth to it that I read the other day – something along the lines that “the search for inner peace will never be lasting or successful when done in solitude for it is only found when you turn without.”
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