Wondering how it got that name, I checked Wikipedia, learning that canasta is Spanish for basket, and it was actually devised by two Uruguayan men in 1939. We sarcastically pronounced it ca-NAY-sta, with a heavy New York accent, like our grandmothers, making it sound even more ethnic. One game was enough, so we became bridge dropouts and served as guinea pigs for our fledgling instructor. I didn’t want to add to my card confusion. “It’s easier, and more fun than bridge,” she promised, and offered to teach us. Lori, a member of our remedial bridge group, was simultaneously learning canasta. Clearly, our minds needed an easier workout. We were frustrated, confused and got tired of being shushed by the “grownups.” We were tripped up by the tricks, and the North-South, East-West partnerships only made us lose direction. Our group was the youngest by 10 years, but that didn’t give us the advantage. How hard could it be? Truthfully, it was very hard. I signed up for lessons with friends at the local community center. My cerebrum did need exercise - it was a bit scary that I occasionally forgot words, or my phone, or my kids’ names. “It’s good for your brain” was the selling point as friends tried to recruit me. I was too busy to sit around for hours playing games. I volunteered, went to galleries, did some freelance work. Maisel, complete with a cabana boy serving iced tea. That had been my mother’s game - as she sat outside clicking tiles at the pool club in her oversized Jackie O sunglasses. When my friends and I became empty nesters, with the good fortune to be retired or have flexible work schedules, some started playing mah-jongg. But then again, I hadn’t reconciled that I had become middle-aged.

I never pictured myself the type who sat around playing cards in the afternoon. I remember sleepovers there where I’d watch her play with her best friend, Hannah, and “the girls.” Since then I’d always considered canasta a game for older Jewish ladies. I thought, have I turned into my grandmother? I hadn’t even become my mother yet! Grandma Alice had a weekly card game in her Jackson Heights apartment.

I hesitated before I blurted out the embarrassing truth. I was on my phone making plans with a friend.

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