Mr. Butts

Mr. Butts

My mother and I do not always see eye to eye. No surprise there. But every afternoon my dear mother and I sit down, call a truce and pay tribute to Alfred Mosher Butts. Every afternoon Mom and I play Scrabble.

The year my mother was hauling me around on her hip, Al Butts was washed up as an architect and invented the game of Scrabble. Not until the 1950s did the game take off and now it is found in one of every three homes in North America. Our family has played for as long as I can remember. (I hate to tell you that Doug and I even took our board and letters on our honeymoon! But we did play while drinking some Caribbean cocktails, so I guess it isn't that bad!)

At eighty-two years old, Mom is sharp as a tack, and to prove it she scored an all time high of 333 points this week. Any score of over 300 is recorded on the lid of our game box. So it was quite an accomplishment that she beat every number on the tattered box! Our games are cut-throat with Mom pretending to accuse me of denying her legitimate words, wrecking her planned next move, or fudging the score. When my sister joins in, we share the heat.

I will miss this part of our time together when we head west.

Thank you, Mr. Butts.