Bingo Therapy

This letter was written at a time when my mother who was 54 years old, lived with my Grandfather at a house on 97 Falstaff in Toronto. She found his care a burden at times as well as her job was frustrating her. What follows is her unique solution and observations.

January 19, 1986

My Dear Heather

I am sitting in the Bingo hall waiting for the gambling to commence. There are a multitude of sounds assaulting my ears – small hammers pound in tacks, ladies’ high pitched laughter, men’s lower toned chortles. There is a snack bar here. The Ladies’ Auxiliary makes the food. Home made cakes, tarts, sandwiches, cabby rolls and hot dog. I have already had dinner before I came but have decided already on a hot dog at intermission.

Years ago when my Mother took me to Bingo there were no men. It was a female forte. It still is to some degree for when a man call Bingo, you can usually hear some old timer say “He should be home either watching hockey on TV or the kids.”

I like Bingo. It is a mindless game. I do a lot of serous thinking while plopping down chips on the 20 cards I play. I also like to go to Bingo along. There is no idle chatter at me. I can play in comparative solitude and certain amount of peace prevails. When I go home, winner or not, I always feel better. Weird it may seem. But it must be so for my Dad always seems easier somewhat and I don’t feel as frustrated.

Things around home have been tiring since Dad fell and broke his arm. He was badly shaken and he is 80 years old. He is also in very good shape. He is once again going downtown to his club on Thursdays. Very big step for I feared he would never venture out again and you can just imagine how I was feeling about that.

I am sending resumés out again. The company has become so large they are unable to control what is happening. So off I go to seek my fortune.

Home again. A no win night but I feel very relaxed. Ready to face another week of whatevers. Love Your Mom