checkers

Walking up the stairs this morning, paused for a minute and looked at the things there. Along the side next to the wall are pictures of family. Denise and Mike when they were still in high school. Jim's sons when they were pre-teens. Jim's father holding his firstborn son, Michael. A picture of his Mom in her uniform when she graduated from nursing school, standing next to her best friend. My parents. A battered picture of me standing next to my Dad, as far I know, the only one of me in uniform with family, because you know they were not at all happy with that decision, but that's another story and better not explored here and now. The only picture of Mother's mother that has survived the years, and an email print of her with her immediate family when she was about three. My Dad's parents standing solemnly proud, Grant Wood without the pitchfork, taken only months before grampa died. And of course various pictures all my grandchildren.

On the other side, next to the rail, are pretty decorator boxes. I rotate them according to the season and color scheme of the living room.

Also, there are two candy dishes that came from Mom's house, both in shades of sage, olive, and a green so dark it's almost black, one shaped very like a swan, the other with a neck turned back in upon itself. They don’t go with anything else in the house, since my decor is neither early American nor fifties kitsch, but I keep them there because they are simply lovely and I enjoy seeing them and I choose not to relegate them to a closet or the guest bedroom.

On the third step from the bottom is a tin box of checkers. I opened it the other day, just to make sure all the pieces are there. Yep. It's complete. And so they sit and wait for someone to take them out and place them on the board in its still vibrant hues of ruby and jet, and push them from block to block, jump them from one place to another, and place one on top of the other with the joyous cry of "king me!"

But no one who comes to my house these days is here long enough to play a game. Besides, the internet is much more alive. And more suited to the quixotic attention span of a gnat that the general populace seems to have adopted.

And that's my fault. Even when we lost the electricity the other night, we did not settle down to play a game. I picked up a book and read by candlelight. Not that there's anything wrong with reading. But even Jim fell victim, and the choice was made, instead, to run an extension cord to the computer so he could play solitaire.

The chess pieces have been put away, too. The wonderful huge set of ebony and ivory we received for a wedding present is bubble-wrapped and closed in a box and stored away, because it just catches dust and tantalizes the cat to walk where he should not.

I long for the days when, by the light of the fire, we sat down on the rug and played checkers. Or chess. And actually talked to each other.