12/24/2023 0 Comments Fort worth gin card gameThe second summer, her name did not come up, unless I forced it up. The first summer after her death, we were able to talk about her, the real her of flesh and blood, the one we both knew and understood and loved. It was bridge and pinochle in those days, and a ''game'' was understood to mean an evening of games, 8 to 2, my father making drinks, my mother bringing pie and brownies to the talbe between hands, my grandmother sitting like the Queen of Hearts, eating and drinking more than the rest of us, miscounting trump, false-carding, bidding on hands in her head instead of in the cards, rapping the talbe with her knuckles, and cackling from behind false teeth. In those days, seniority ruled, and nobody quit until my grandmother said ''quit.'' I was the last to sit down and the last to get up again. ''growing up'' years, I was the necessary fourth, the one child among seven they could always count on to sit down and spend an evening. My grandmother loved to play cards, and my mother loved to please my grandmother. An hour or so after supper, time enough to digest the food and clear the talbe, my father used to make Manhattans for everyone and clack the cards on the table. In the last few years, I have been the sole initiator of these games. My father and I sit down to play a game of gin rummy.
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