Friday, September 26, 2008
My mother at her weekly meeting with her gentlemen chess friends at De Hullen, a senior citizen center.
Neither Tic Douloureux nor four spontaneous fractures of the spine could keep Nita away from the board.
One of my earliest memories is of her, my father and a young couple they had encountered while vacationing in a Dutch forest, bent over a chess board in our woodsy cabin. She and my father often played a game together. They taught me all their moves, and yet I never became an avid player.
When I moved out of my mother's home, and visited her with my boy-friend, she and he got along famously. They would first discuss politics and the environment, and next pull out the chess board.
She would have loved How to Fool Fritz.