When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
People ask me what I like about Bridge (usually with some disbelief). After all, how many former poet potheads think a good time is sitting around playing cards? Poker sure. But Bridge? Here’s my answer, aside from the fact that it’s a highly competitive and challenging game that involves both team work and individual skill. It’s the way Bridge pre-empts all other thought. When I play Bridge, all the noisy voices in my head (and in my head those voice are usually nasty) quiet. You need to concentrate so deeply when you play that you can’t think of anything else. Hours slip away. It’s intoxicating and absorbing, and it reminds me of only one other things: writing.
What makes time disappear?
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Betsy Lerner 
The perfect page because it’s never perfect – but oh the quest.
Liberty jigsaw puzzles.
Reading, and strangely enough weeding. It’s you and that goddamn patch of weeds. Someone is going to go down and for once it isn’t you.
Lots of things. Writing, for sure. And reading, and like independentclause, weeding or any sort of yard work. Riding my bike, running, baking. Honestly? The older I get, days just…go. Like right now, I can’t believe it’s freaking JULY. Where did January go?
Potato chips.
Picking on the old guitar. There are times when my fingers move so fluidly it’s hard to tell where the strings end and skin begins. Once I become aware of it, the moment is gone.
Working in the garden puts me in kind of a trance, too. Digging, weeding and nourishing the soil; the whole process of planting something and watching it grow into something delicious to eat or beautiful to look at is pretty satisfying.
Writing, yes. Distractions annoy me more when I’m writing than any other time because I’m so focused (or trying to be) on something I don’t want to lose.
Mostly I’m pretty scattered and it’s a relief if I can release tension without trying to.
This week and last week – wimbledon. One of the few times the TV is ever on in the daytime.
Walking. It’s beautiful here and there’s so much to look at that I can find myself miles from the starting point before I realize where I am, and that I have to also walk back.
good old grateful dead–always, still. Mayer is awesome but I miss Jerry.
Wonder if Jerry ever covered Croce.
In my mind I can hear a free form jam of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. Time in a Bottle, not so much.
“What makes time disappear?”
1. Not looking at a clock.
2. Dying (maybe–I can’t speak from experience).
3. Writing or photographing or painting.
4. Not looking at a clock.
5. Not looking at a clock.
6. Reading (not any old thing, though).
7. Sleeping.
8. Not looking at a clock.
9, Facebook.