Board Games

I didn’t talk to my stepfather for two weeks because he beat me in chess one time. It had taken me years to get to the point where I could finally beat him and like the terrible winner I was, I didn’t let a day go by without reminding him who was the chess master now and for all-time.


No. Boring.

We didn’t have a lot of family games other than cards and Chines checkers, so the logical progression was the chess set.

In college, we would literally go room-to-room with our chess boards engaging each other in an unofficial Sectional Championship. I was always second or third, never the bride.

Some real smart players there.

I don’t play silly board games, but I really like games or contests that make you use your brain.

Big on those.

I remember Norman playing Parchisi with a befuddled Dabney Coleman in On Golden Pond.

I am hitting my pipe and I have created some kind of super-duper weed. I took out about a tablespoon of Kif which I got from the bottom part of my grinder. I grinded some flower and then added the extra Kif to it, so, it is probably 75% or so potency.

I don’t know.

But it is money.

I was at the Louvre museum in 1966 and I was acting like I was a lost tourist, which I was, and a very nice young man named Alain befriended me. He was a year older than I and he was fascinated with all things American. He took me to his house on Rue Madeleine for lunch.

His house was white chalk with red lacquered shutters and a great big bronze archway welcoming you into the courtyard. He explained that his family had moved to Paris from Lyons and had established themselves as one of the finer houses in social circles, whatever that means. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know, unless it is about people way too full of themselves and with way too much time on their selfish hands.

We ate a feast in the courtyard: The centerpiece was a chaud-froid aspic of a complete pheasant. This was accompanied by a salmon mousse with caviar butter.

We were each served individual baguettes with fresh-churned butter, and of course wine.

Twelve years old was plenty old enough in some parts of the world and it is just another reason I always liked France.

Crème brulee tarts and Sacher Torte cakes sat next to beautiful Black Forest cakes with their ring of fresh cherries and cream.

I asked what the special occasion was, and Alain told me it was because I was a guest coming to sample their hospitality.

I wonder what they did when someone really important came over?

Awesome people, and I think of them fondly, especially when compiling stories for my book Emotions: Not your Mama’s ABC’s! A few of them are set in France.

I hope you and yours are safe from any natural disasters.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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