I wish I had counted the number of people and their dogs who have come and gone during this season. Two things I know for sure: every sleeping possibility has been occupied and there were fourteen around and five under the Christmas table. Ages around the table ranged from one to eighty-six, with the average being 41 and the mean 31. Those under the table arranged themselves strategically around the one-year-old’s seat and were rewarded for their fealty.
Food came and went with alarming frequency. Most of it chocolate. One dog ate a whole half pound (plus the box), but he is a big dog and the only ill effect we could see seemed to be a day and a half of extremely brisk walks.
And games. Always two tables of games, from intricate to uproarious. Gone are the days of Monopoly and Parcheesi of my childhood. These games are beautifully crafted, with many pieces, figures, cards, and tokens. The boards are works of art.
I enjoy the background sounds from the games players – laughter, instructions, consternation, thoughtfulness. I play only two of these games, Ticket to Ride and Mexican Train. My favorite is Mexican Train. The tiles feel so smooth, making a satisfying clink when they contact each other, and our trains snake around the table in unpredictable ways. I have searched for the origin of the game and its name, but both are shrouded in uncertainty. There are many sets of rules and ways to play. We follow the real rules.
One night six of us started the game late, finishing after midnight. Halfway through thirteen innings I gazed at my recent set of tiles in despair; nothing matched, and I had apparently cornered the market on the high-numbered tiles. I couldn’t achieve an opening move. If you don’t know this game, that all bodes poorly for three related reasons: The chances of my being able to play my tiles were poor; the chances of my having to pick up extra tiles were excellent,
But here’s the thing. I won that doomed hand. Through incredible luck and modest skill, I was the one who went out; the other five racked up the dreaded points. All those high tiles went from my possession out onto the tile trains. One by one, I was able to offload those ominous tiles. When I was down to one, I played it quietly and won the round.
So, I am taking this game as an icon for 2025. Immersed in this cold, gray, windy January day, the indications are bleak. But then, there is hope and laughter and warmth in the mix also. And unexpected changes of fortune. Which will be the way forward?
And I go back to those under the table, waiting at the feet of the one-year-old’s chair – their hope is fulfilled by her happy collaboration, the laws of gravity, and random bits that fall unexpectedly from the sky.
That’s where I hope to live in 2025.
