Yes, that’s what we call ourselves.  We number twelve and range in age from late sixties to late seventies, and many of us have been playing together, once a month, on a Monday night for twenty-five years. 

I’m a late-comer to the group.  When I returned to California after almost twenty years in Arizona, I first subbed and then joined them in the late nineties. – invited by my (almost) lifetime friend, Jo.

The core group had been part of a mother/daughter group for seven years in National Charity League that met on Monday nights.  After an NCL traditional Presentation in l996 (complete with white, full-length gowns, an elaborate dinner dance and a program highlighting each girl and detailing how mothers and daughters earned their volunteer hours), the daughters were all off to begin careers or attend college, leaving their mothers behind.

The moms looked at each other and wondered, “What now?”  Because they had become such fast friends during those seven years, Betty suggested they continue meeting once a month on Mondays, but instead of tending to NCL activities, that they play the very cerebral (I’m Kidding!) game of Bunco.

If you’re not familiar with Bunco, it’s a pretty simple game, but lately it seems to have become more complicated..  

Every once in a while, one of us has to be kicked under the table to remind us it’s our turn, or to keep score, or to be told for which number we’re throwing the dice, or to ring the start and finish bell.  We talk about having younger members to keep us on tract.  Now, I’m not speaking about all of us, but…

People come and go to the group, but the core group has been together all these years.  We did have one special person who passed away, and we miss her still – Mary.

We’ve been through births and deaths, surgeries, Illnesses, and whether it’s a celebratory occasion or a sad one, we listen and support each other.

Some of us walk a bit more haltingly now, and COVID stopped us altogether for over a year.  As I was writing this, we learned that Toni, who puts together our holiday dinner, has COVID and won’t be able to attend this year’s get-together. 

Ideally, we like to have three game tables of four each going, but as I said,  the pandemic put a glitch in our plans, and we didn’t meet for over a year.  When the worst was over, we had one big party to celebrate the 25 years, but then a few of us dropped out again because they were still a bit wary of COVID and its variants.  Understandably so.

Everything in this life has shifted.  It seems sudden, but I suppose it has been a long time coming.

I’m the 78-year-old, and I think I feel older than I should.  As Jo said to me once, the pandemic changed more things than the obvious.  I believe it damaged our psyches.

I often feel blue, and truthfully, I wasn’t always crazy about Bunco.  I’d groan and say, “I don’t feel like going tonight.”  But it always cheered me up, and this year even more so.  I’m disappointed if we don’t have enough for at least two tables – even with stuffed animals as place holders.  (Don’t ask.)

We have snacks on every table.  Rarely have they been healthy.  Every once in a while, someone will bring carrot sticks, and we always say, “what a good idea,” but we really love Paula’s homemade kettle corn, anything chocolate, Good ‘n Plenty and Betty’s special Halloween treats. 

This Halloween we had to cancel Betty’s night because we couldn’t even get enough people for two tables of four – even the stuffed animals couldn’t help. (Again, don’t ask)  That made me very sad – even sadder because I was her co-host, and she told me to do NOTHING because she enjoys doing the whole Halloween celebration herself. That meant all I had to do was go and eat some goodies. 

At holiday time, we meet at the Smokehouse, an old-fashioned dinner house in Burbank.  It’s dark, has booths and a great bar.  In the olden days you might have seen Bob Hope there or Frank Sinatra.  These days you might spot a face you thought you recognized as “somebody I saw on television,” but you don’t know their name.

At the beginning of the holidays, we exchange small gifts, although I’ve excluded myself from that now, but I usually get presents even though I demand that they not give me one.  Wink-wink.

Jo, the person who brought me to the Bunco Babes all those years ago, always writes a special  song in the tune of a popular Christmas song.  She includes each of our names along with a small remark about each of us.  She’s very imaginative and talented.

We are required to sing it in the restaurant – something I always fight.  We look like a bunch of old ladies (senior women, more correctly) singing in a restaurant.  Imagine that. 

I hope we’re together another twenty-five years.  I’ll be 103 then, but you just never know with the advances in medicine; none of which have helped anything so far, by the way. 

We’ll have to play in the morning or afternoon because it’s getting scary to drive in the dark.  On second thought, mornings will be better because I’m going to need my nap.

The End.