Forty-five years ago, my mother got together with three other women on our new suburban street to create the “Wednesday night card club.”
It was the mid-sixties and they were young, bored, stay-at-home moms who couldn't afford a lot of outside entertainment. Surrounded by dirt lawns and unruly toddlers, they were desperate for relief from their daily routines. The club was a chance to get out of the house every other week for a night with the girls.
I can still remember when it was my mom's turn to host the card club. I could hear the ladies laughing and giggling from my bedroom and I didn't think they were playing cards at all. Money was tight, but occasionally someone would bring a mickey of rye to go with the six-pack of cola. The snacks included chips and onion dip or cheese and crackers.
The dads would “babysit.” If my dad wasn't home on time on card night, mom would call the neighbour who was hosting and they would each leave their phone off the hook. If I got scared, I would simply yell into the phone and my mom would come running home. (It was only two houses away, but she would probably be arrested for that today.)
Over the years, the club expanded with the neighbourhood, and the card playing pretty much stopped. New neighbours moved in, but even when original members moved away, they kept coming to the club. Chips and dip soon turned into a full buffet meal served at 11 p.m., followed by coffee and liqueurs. Once a year, the women all went away for a weekend vacation to a local resort, and occasionally there was a trip to Vegas or the Bahamas.
In time, a couple of the ladies, including my mother, got divorced and started working full-time, but the biweekly meetings continued. The club has survived multiple marriages, the birth of dozens of grandchildren, the loss of one child, the death of two spouses and, two years ago, the death of one of their own members. All the women are now retired, but they still try to meet every two weeks for tea and rummoli at noon – if they're not in Florida for the winter.
In October, as I hosted the first meeting of my new book club, memories of my mother's card club came flooding back. I have an incredibly close relationship with my mother, but I've always felt we were different. I'm opinionated and outspoken, she doesn't like to make waves. I'm a risk-taker who appreciates a challenge. She's a creature of habit who loves routine. So naturally, I was sure my book club would be nothing like her card club.
First of all, the women I approached were from all walks of life – and not one of them lives on my street. Some I met through my daughter's school, some I have worked with in the past. One is an old friend and one is a new friend who recently immigrated from South Africa. I also asked several women from my jazzercise class. I selected women who would have a lot to say about a variety of topics. They also had to love books. To my surprise and delight, they all eagerly agreed to join.
The next step was easy. You can find everything you need to start a book club on the Internet. I also ordered all the books online. We settled on a date for the first get-together, but within two days one member was called out of town for a business meeting, so we quickly rescheduled.
For our first meeting at my house, I created an agenda and prepared hot and cold hors d'oeuvre. I offered a selection of red and white wines plus beer and sparkling water. Everything went smoothly, except for one hitch. One member prefers to read on an e-reader so we weren't sure how we could share books. Not to worry, we decided to each read the same one and she would read electronically. It was nothing like leaving the phone off the hook to stay in touch with your child, but a sensible technological solution nonetheless.
The best part of the new book club, as I had hoped, is the conversation and friendship that is already starting to simmer. We talked about politics and current events and kids and husbands. The mix of personalities was a perfect blend, and the eight of us all had plenty to say. We have outlined our goals for the coming year, and although we are a group of avid readers, I predict books will eventually become the least important part of the meetings.
As I prepared the agenda for our next monthly gathering, it struck me that my goals for this group are similar to the expectations my mother had in our old neighbourhood. One thing I've always admired about my mother was her ability to socialize. People warm up to her instantly and she knows how to bring friends together. She was only 23 when she started her club. I'm almost 50, but we both know it's important to connect with other women.
I wonder how long my new book club will last and what changes we'll each experience as we move forward, sharing ideas and laughter as our families grow up and children move out. In 45 years, we'll all be in our 90s, but we're in pretty good shape, and the wine should help.
Maybe I'm not so different from my mother after all.
Laurie O'Halloran lives in Oakville, Ont.
Illustration by Peter Mitchell.
