By NICOLE CARTRETTE
Staff writer

Right now, as I write this, a half full Scrabble board begs to be played. It’s sitting on my dining room table. It’s been there more than a week.

My mom would shudder at the thought of leaving a board game unfinished, scattered on a table and even worse – on the dining room table – for everyone to see.

I didn’t inherit, much to her displeasure, an almost obsessive compulsive ability to keep my home every day like something out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. That is her gift – not mine.

Though I dream of it, and from time to time and come close, nothing is ever picture perfect at our home. There is always another load of laundry and stack of dirty dishes calling. We often let our daughter – Kaylee, 18 months – turn the living room into a giant toy box. I’m guilty of leaving more than one pair of shoes at the door.

The Scrabble board is nothing. It is not exactly like the smudged handprints on my glass door – proof of the obvious that screams: “We live here,” and even worse, yells: “We don’t even take the time to cover it up.”

An unfinished board game really is the least of my worries –not even an eyesore. My grandma, Maw-Maw, would bail me out on this one.

She always tells me to enjoy the little things; in fact, I blame her for my lack of guilt over the Scrabble board in the first place. It’s blame I am willing to bet she would gladly take.

When I was a little girl, I know there were many times she could have finished that last load of laundry if she hadn’t taken us swimming. A little less time with us, and the floors may have never missed a mopping.

Grandpa, Paw-Paw, too was a sucker for abandoning the vacuum for a game of checkers or Scrabble with us grandkids. He may have taken the time to organize the tools in the garage had he not thought taking us fishing was more important. He has even been known to mow the front lawn and back lawn on two separate days –that game of badminton, checkers, or basketball just couldn’t wait. He understood.

Together, they made our summers in West Virginia spectacular. They took the greatest interest in sharing their time with us.

They took slow steps when all our parents knew was to rush (like I do now). They made sure we didn’t miss a weekend camping on Sherwood Lake or the view from Spruce Knob because the windows were not spotless or because the steps could use a fresh coat of paint.

I guess in putting off those chores once in a while, they taught us something more than how to wash windows, mop floors, mow a lawn, and keep a garage tidy.

Because of them, we know when to tap a birdie over the net and when to spike it, how to catch a fish with a dough ball, and a few of those unusual two-letter words that will kill an opponent in Scrabble.

A retired postmaster who had balanced family, home and work for years and a retired chemical plant worker who worked shift work including holidays and weekends for just as many years, found value in play because they found value in family.

Most of all, they passed on a few of those values to us grandchildren. They showed us how to treat moments with family – like you treat the letters in a game of Scrabble.

One letter can score you a lot of points and win the game if you know how to play it right.

My grandparents always knew how to play it right – even if it meant leaving a Scrabble board on the dining room table to come back to.