My friend Jennifer and I like to head down to Potawatomi Casino occasionally to play Bingo. She goes a little more often than I do. And she has inducted more than one person into the world of bingo cards, daubers and a smoke-filled non-smoking section.
I believe last night was my third or fourth time in as many years. For the uninitiated, Bingo is crazy! You get a million bingo cards of all different shapes and sizes. It is rare that you actually are trying to get one row like the kind of Bingo we played when we were kids. Instead you are trying to get the "postage stamp" or the "small turtle" or the "crazy kite." You use your ink dauber to mark up to nine cards, at a time, if you buy a single set of cards--more for the people who buy more than one set. They tell you to use the olive-colored sheet next and as you are looking for it they've already called out three numbers. That is when you figure out that olive is really light grey and no one else seems to have any trouble with figuring this out. (Is everyone here color-blind?)
Even though I've gone a number of times and learn a little more each time I go, I still don't know what the heck I am doing half the time. Here's an example from the second time I went. You are given a little door prize number when you purchase your bingo cards. Throughout the evening they call out these numbers and if it is your number you scream "buddy!" at the top of your lungs and then they will come and check your winning ticket, and in a little while, someone will come and hand you some money. I know this from first experience.
I was with Jen and another friend when they called out the first number. I couldn't find my ticket anywhere. We had eaten a snack and threw out the garbage, so I look in to the bag that they have taped to the table (for all your used bingo sheets) and sure enough, in with the napkins and nacho crumbs is my ticket. O.K., cool, crisis adverted. They didn't call my number so I put my ticket in a safe spot this time. We continue to play Bingo and then they call out another number, since my friend Jen's ticket was one number away from mine, she knew they had called out my number. I hadn't even heard them call the number I was still searching for B13 or O73 or something of that nature. I start looking for my ticket...where was that safe place again? My coat pocket, my purse, my jean's pocket...where is it? "Scream buddy!" "Scream buddy!" my friend Jen is yelling at me. I scream, "Buddy!" and then there it is. I find my ticket.
A man comes and takes my ticket and I keep playing. A little while later, he comes back and counts out $250 for me. I kid you not! And I never win anything, or up to that point I rarely did. How fun is that? I was headed out on a vacation that following week and now I had my spending money.
Last night, which was typical, I won nothing. Jen and I had a great time laughing and having fun (quietly), while all the people around us were extremely serious. And, quite frankly, a little snotty. Even though I started out this blog about my winning story, because, well, it's sort of fun, the real reason I wanted to write was about something that we observed while we were playing.
A granddaughter was there with her grandmother and every time the grandmother asked a question or made a comment the granddaughter would reply to her with a snotty tone. I ignored it at first, but after a few times I met eyes with Jen across the table and you could tell she was thinking the same thing I was. I said to Jen, "I really miss my grandma; you know this was the first Christmas I spent without her." Jen had been at the funeral but couldn't believe it had only been a year since my grandmother had died last January.
I then continued, "I never talked to my grandmother like that." And Jen agreed that she had not talked to hers that way, as well. We discussed how much we missed them and how much fun it would be for them to be there with us. She said, "I feel like saying something to her." I agreed. I'm not sure if the girl heard us or not, but she stopped talking so snotty to her grandma so I think maybe she did.
My grandmother was 96 when she died. She was always one of my number-one fans. She was also funny, really funny. And my cousin's child thought she was called "great grandmother" because she was so great. If you are fortunate enough to have your grandparents still alive, make time for them and cherish them. One thing I loved to do with my grandmother, when she was still alive, was to stop at Taco Bell and get tacos (she loved them) and then take her to the playground so we could chat while she watched her grandchildren play. She loved getting out of the assisted living facility she was in. Later when she was placed in a nursing home and went down hill fast, my goal was always to cheer her up and make her smile before I left. If I was having a bad week, nothing cheered me up more than heading to visit my grandmother.
The price of the taco: about 79 cents, I believe. The visits were priceless.