S-C-R-A-B-B-L-E
Catherine Jacobson - May 6th, 2014
The house is completely silent except for the hum of the refrigerator, the light tumbling sound coming from the basement dryer, and the mother sitting in her usual spot doing her usual task. A sophisticated wooden dinning table sits on the far left side of the living room right in front of a three-window piece above a cluttered windowsill. There are just as sophisticated chairs sitting around it, but the woman chooses to settle in a large comfy desk chair. This cozy seat has to be adjusted so the mother can reach the table and scrabble board centered on it. She must hop onto the seat, for her short swollen legs can’t reach. Often the wheeled chair will glide across the room, forcing the mother to leap down and start again.
She begins her game by swiping her plump hand across the board, stretching to each corner, making sure all of the letters are in the velvet drawstring bag. The mother proceeds to blindly pick seven square plastic tiles separately from the soft bag. Her smooth-to-touch right index finger brushes delicately against each tile as she reads the braille engraved on them above the worn off print. Next she sets the letters on a blue plastic scrabble rack in an organized order. Before making any words the play bottom is pressed on an expensive book recorder. The first of three novels that would be read that day begins. The letters seem to reorganize themselves into an intercut SAT word on the scrabble rack. All seven of the letters have a purpose. She takes the first and extends it to a pink start in the center of the scrabble board. Not even needing to feel the symbol, she knows exactly where to place it.
This process continues in a fast forward manner. The words never become any less complex and she never struggles to find them. The board transforms itself into a maze-like filled-out crossword puzzle that would take a sighted person at least twenty seconds to scan. Saving time, the mother memorizes and pictures the board as she goes along. Placing words, on words, on words. At the end of each commonly unknown combination of letters a score is whispered aloud to no one but herself. A two-player game becomes a single individual’s safe haven. She may not smile to the windowsill or crystal chandelier hovering above, but the glow in her eyes, even the glass one, expresses how much excitement this stay-home mother gets from continuously being able to challenge that beautiful mind.
The games continue throughout the day and night, along with the monotone read-aloud books in the background. Her multi-track mind can build words that her two college educated daughters, and 3M employed husband have never heard before. While doing this, the mother understands and still enjoys novels by favorite authors. But even in her midst of concentration she never hesitates to stop her day to make time for family. Although she rarely asks them to play scrabble, not because she only enjoys solitude, but because she knows their frustration of lacking vocabulary compared to hers. The mother’s scrabble playing days seem endless. The sound of hard plastic fitting into more hard plastic becomes an unnoticeable echo to the mother, but a type of melody to the rest of the household. This mother is always there, doing something that she loves, around people whom she loves. A game so simple, gives so much joy to this anything but ordinary four-person family.
She begins her game by swiping her plump hand across the board, stretching to each corner, making sure all of the letters are in the velvet drawstring bag. The mother proceeds to blindly pick seven square plastic tiles separately from the soft bag. Her smooth-to-touch right index finger brushes delicately against each tile as she reads the braille engraved on them above the worn off print. Next she sets the letters on a blue plastic scrabble rack in an organized order. Before making any words the play bottom is pressed on an expensive book recorder. The first of three novels that would be read that day begins. The letters seem to reorganize themselves into an intercut SAT word on the scrabble rack. All seven of the letters have a purpose. She takes the first and extends it to a pink start in the center of the scrabble board. Not even needing to feel the symbol, she knows exactly where to place it.
This process continues in a fast forward manner. The words never become any less complex and she never struggles to find them. The board transforms itself into a maze-like filled-out crossword puzzle that would take a sighted person at least twenty seconds to scan. Saving time, the mother memorizes and pictures the board as she goes along. Placing words, on words, on words. At the end of each commonly unknown combination of letters a score is whispered aloud to no one but herself. A two-player game becomes a single individual’s safe haven. She may not smile to the windowsill or crystal chandelier hovering above, but the glow in her eyes, even the glass one, expresses how much excitement this stay-home mother gets from continuously being able to challenge that beautiful mind.
The games continue throughout the day and night, along with the monotone read-aloud books in the background. Her multi-track mind can build words that her two college educated daughters, and 3M employed husband have never heard before. While doing this, the mother understands and still enjoys novels by favorite authors. But even in her midst of concentration she never hesitates to stop her day to make time for family. Although she rarely asks them to play scrabble, not because she only enjoys solitude, but because she knows their frustration of lacking vocabulary compared to hers. The mother’s scrabble playing days seem endless. The sound of hard plastic fitting into more hard plastic becomes an unnoticeable echo to the mother, but a type of melody to the rest of the household. This mother is always there, doing something that she loves, around people whom she loves. A game so simple, gives so much joy to this anything but ordinary four-person family.