Perhaps you think I’m referring to some weird sort of arsenal. The crack is some kind of baseball bat-like weapon, which you use to crack someone’s ribs, or head, or other delicate body part. Hmmm, I don’t think so. The bam? See “crack” above. And how might one deploy soap as a weapon besides the threat of cleansing a child’s mouth for some verbal mischief?

But what if it’s something fun? Like a toy perhaps. Some grownup kind of toy. Wait, not THAT kind of grownup plaything. But we’re getting closer.

Because it’s a ….game! One I never in a gazillion years expected to play. And not because it was something my mother played. Nope, this was mahjong and it was Grandma’s thing. As was canasta, into whose waters I have also recently dipped a skeptical toe.

Grandma seemed to play both games all the time. I remember discovering some beautiful decks of cards in a drawer in her den. I wish I could recall the designs but all I remember is that they looked and felt expensive and were very pretty. I think they had an Asian theme. I never discovered a mahjong set, and until recently I didn’t know that the game was played with tiles, not cards.

Yesterday at the supermarket I discovered that canasta means basket, due to the placement of a placard that read “canasta” on a shopping cart. See how lifelong learning continues in the unlikeliest places if you know where to look? I take that back, you don’t even need to look- it’s all around you. But you do need to pay attention . Mindlessness leads to nothing less than anxiety brought on by the loss or breakage of your stuff because you’re not paying attention. If you’re acquainted with someone who frequently loses and breaks things due to inattention, like maybe a certain blogger, tell them to look alive!

The games I observed as a kid were being played by people who then happened to be the age I am now. Maybe there’s a rule book somewhere that stipulates “Thou shalt play strange games commencing at the age of six decades plus five years.” I was seventy-two. It was past time.

Some of my friends had already formed groups of Mahjong players, but a couple found me and we agreed to put together a foursome. But first I had to learn. I went to a few sites online to learn the basics, and a very kind and patient friend offered to teach me. Whoa! This was gin rummy on steroids! Multiply the four suits of regular card games by 5 zillion and you have yourself what you need to know in order to take your spot at the mahjong table. But my friend was so very organized and such an excellent instructor that I started to pick it up fairly readily. She invited me to watch her next game and let’s just say it was one step forward, .75 steps back. Less than a disaster, but not by much.

We had one more private lesson, my friend reassuring me I was doing great, followed by my sitting in on her game and actually playing a few hands with some lovely women. Yet…I determined that I hated mahjong. My friend suggested I might give bridge the old college try. I’d actually taken bridge lessons the summer before starting college and hadn’t taken to it then. Or the way I put it to my friend: Are you out of your mind? I would forget the last card played before it hit the table. I know I could handle a good fast game of War and I could probably find someone to play with if a friend promised to invite me over when the grandchildren were visiting, but no, I hadn’t given up on an adult game yet.

I mentioned to another friend that I hated mahjong and she cried “Me too! I’ll teach you and your friends canasta. It’s much easier.”

So… teacher friend, two other friends and I convened for lunch and a canasta lesson. This friend too was a good teacher, and my companions and I started to “get” the game until….things grew complicated. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I could practically see the lightbulb appear over J’s head as she internalized enough of the rules to make it as a canasta player. A few moments later, and I observed that P, too, was sporting a lightbulb. I, on the other hand was about as far from comprehension as a two–year-old attempting chess.

My defeats – yes, that’s how I viewed these experiences – were most disheartening, and confusing as well. As with many endeavors these days, I’m never sure if my failures result from age, my innate wiring – remember my lack of success with bridge as a teenager? – or are caused by my Parkinson’s. Which would be the least upsetting?

I’ll continue to find reassurance of my higher level cognition by completing the daily word games in the New York Times, trying not to think too hard about the day to come when I get stuck, unable to finish. I hope that’s in the distant future; anyway, we’re supposed to live in the now, right?

Meanwhile, care to join me in a spirited game of Candyland?

Thoughts for the Day: Sometimes the best part of the day is buying new underwear.

And just one more: You may think you know Parkinson’s, but there’s a lot to learn. Can you please help us get the word out? Go Fund Me