|Our set looks just like this one.|
On Sunday afternoons, we (husband, two adult children, and I) play Scrabble at the kitchen table. It is after the dinner is cleared off, the dishes washed, dried and put away. It is a cozy, sleepy time that often begs a nap, but instead, we rally around the table, for a game or two.
We chat, and carry out the tasks at hand. Then if all is as it should be, one of us retrieves the game. We place it on the table, bickering, just a tad, about whether or not we will keep score or if we need to time one another's turns (so as not to make the game take so long) or if we can use the dictionary (online or hard-copy: one vote for online, three votes for hard-copy.)
The funny thing about Scrabble is that it is not about the words or points as some might have you think. It is about time. Time spent together. Spent together working out how to play together, not just in Scrabble...but in life.
Hard to believe, but I never realized that you could keep score in Scrabble.
(Though, in life, I am acutely aware of how often keeping score is what it is all about, sigh, too bad, I think one misses a lot that way) I don't know how I could have missed that fairly obvious point. I just thought it was a game about making words.
Let us be painfully honest here, as much as I love words, I am a terrible speller. So anytime, I get the word spelled correctly, I consider it a win. For others, not so much, I have found.
Some, which I play with, are all about the points. They carefully plot their next move, entirely basing it on the highest possible score. Probably, this does not surprise you, but then, I am always surprised...
What has slowly evolved on these Sunday afternoon's is a delicate dance of Détente. Together, we are learning; the fine art of easing expectations, scoring the game, not each other, using kinder words in conversation, and leaving the harder words for the board.