Lilly taught me how to play canasta in high school.
Her mother taught her how to play.
Hence the Benton League.
I've taught friends to play,
and it breeds a sort of competitive spirit people didn't know they had.
I didn't know I had,
and have,
until I pick up those decks of cards.
We used to play every Sunday under Lilly's lemon trees,
we'd bake brownies from a box,
and order crap pizza.
We'd sing songs and create rituals that we still perform to this day.
Like we used to always say, while shuffling 108 cards...
It's a nice day, for a clambake.
The rules are not so simple,
but once you know them
a whole world of strategy and thoughtfulness opens up.
No game is ever the same,
but you learn tricks, and how to spot certain things.
You begin to get a feeling for the deck,
and what's coming up,
and what your opponent is holding,
though you can never know,
and sometimes she'll surprise you
with a Sneaky Pete (a Benton League=ism)
and you're stuck with all the points in your hand.
Or sometimes you luck out,
and pick up a juicy pot
and sweep the score and the game's almost over.
Though there's always time for an upset.
Never the same game twice,
but a ritual that builds over time,
filled with meaning, and friendship,
creating a bond to another person that is unlike any other thing.
An innocence and a timeless well of creation and thought.
We are accused of being old ladies,
which we like.
So we started a club, O.L.I.T.
Old Ladies in Training.
We smoke a lot of cigarettes,
and drum our fingers,
sing opera and ignore phone calls.
The neighbors must think us mad.
But we care not.