You’re 94!

I’m sitting with Mom at her cardiologist appointment. The doctor comes in and sits down. “You’re 94,” he says. (“Every time I see him he mentions my age,” Mom tells me later.)

Among his questions was, “Do you get any exercise?” “A little,” she says.

His next question: “What do you like to do?” “Bowling!” pops right of her mouth.

His eyes get big. “Bowling at your age! Remarkable!”

As the appointment ends the doctor reminds her of her age once again. His parting words are, “See you when you’re 95!”

I guess he approves of her choice of exercise.

Mom’s best bowling story

Once, after they’d just polished the lanes, Mom took my sister-in-law Gail and her kids bowling. It was Mom’s turn. They’d been warned not to step over the line but unknowingly she stepped over the line. Her feet went out from under her and she slid on her back part way down the lane. Unable to stand up on the slippery floor, she had to scoot on her behind all the way to the right side of the line. She and Gail nearly died laughing.

“Do you want to go bowling?”

We get in the car to drive home. “You want to go bowling with me on Monday?” she asks. She looks as she did in the photo of her and her sister Betty when Mom was about 17. (She’s on the left in the photo below.)

“Yes, Mama, I want to go bowling with you!”

 Sunday I call her. “What time do you want to go bowling tomorrow?” She sounds surprised. “Oh, do you still want to go?” she asked enthusiastically. I offer to pick her up at 1:30. “Sounds good! I hope Tom will come. We’ll need someone to keep score. I sure don’t know how.”

“I don’t either, Mom, but all bowling alleys are automated now. We’ll be fine.”

When we get to Mom’s I go in to get her and deliver a jar or soup. She giggles. “I have a jar of soup for you too!”

Rocket Alley Bar & Grill

Did you know there is a bowling alley in downtown Arlington? I’d never seen it before so I am surprised when Mom suggests we go there. But there it was—Rocket Alley Bar & Grill at 420 N Olympic Ave.

We open the door and find ourselves in the restaurant. Get your food here, with a side of bowling shoes!

The young woman at the counter greets us. She gets us shoes. Then she hands us the menu, the scoring rules, and the score sheet. “What, your scoring isn’t automated?” I ask. “Nope. We’re in the 60s here!” Here beautiful smile tells me she loves her job.

We step down into the 6-lane bowling alley. She is absolutely right. It’s the 60s!

Good thing Tom came!

I’m used to bowling balls with the weight stamped on them. Here the color indicates the size.

Let’s bowl!

Woohoo! I get a strike! But also more gutter balls than I have fingers. Mom and I consider using the metal ramp to keep our balls from heading straight to the gutter, but we don’t do it. Anyway, we gave ours to the grandma bowling with her family.

I remember watching bowling on TV. I like how the pros can run up to the line and release the ball as they dip down a bit on one leg and kick the other leg behind them. I give that technique a try. It gives me a charlie horse.

The grandma and her family have left. Another family has come. They are getting ready in the lane beside us. The little boy is about six. He impresses me as a very sweet child.

He watches as I send my ball flying down the lane. About half-way to the pins it goes into the gutter. The boy looks at me with a big smile and gives me a thumbs-up. Maybe he hasn’t learned the rules of the game yet.

Mom and I are already talking about when we can bowl again. After all, humiliation is good for the soul!

For the joy of the game,
Ginger