For the past fifty years, Monday afternoons in New Haven have
always been the same: Roz, Rhoda, Bea, Jackie and Bette - the
Bridge Ladies. A card table with four folding chairs (and one dummy
seat). A plate of homemade cookies or brownies on the kitchen
counter somewhere, largely untouched. And once they begin the game,
hours of silence, punctuated only by the sound of cards being
plucked up or snapped down. As a child, Betsy Lerner thought the
Bridge Ladies were fascinatingly chic, with their frosted hair-dos
and shiny nylons. To the teenage Betsy, they seemed hopelessly
square. As an adult, working in New York City, they were a relic of
her past. But when her husband accepted a job in New Haven, she
found herself right back where she started. Suddenly, the Bridge
Ladies came hurtling back, their Monday lunch and Bridge Club still
ongoing. They had accepted their lot in life and were, mostly,
grateful. They didn't talk about their problems, much less those
involving sex, relationships, or their children. On paper, they
were unremarkable, even dull. But once Betsy started really looking
at them, she realized that they were anything but. Wildly
perceptive and, in turns, hilarious and fearlessly vulnerable,
Lerner's memoir is required reading for anyone who has ever had a
mother. And it teaches us an important lesson: Facebook may connect
us across the world, but social media can't deliver a pot roast and
it won't dry your tears.
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