Commentary: I grew up to become a mah-jong lady myself

When I was a kid, mah-jong was synonymous with tightly permed, white-haired ladies who seemed to shrink an inch a year.

“Mawj,” as they said in Brooklyn.

To my 9-year-old eyes, they gossiped too much, asked too many questions, and, when they weren’t playing maj, spent hours hanging out their windows.

This was an enigma to me. All of the windows in our building either faced the sides of the adjacent buildings or eight lanes of traffic. What was there to see?

They took turns playing in each other’s apartments, and rarely had to leave the building. I vowed never to be one of them.

Fast forward 50-plus years. I am now a maj lady and damned proud of it. I’m in a group of 16 vital, intelligent women who like to socialize while using our brains.

Over the 10 years we’ve been meeting, we’ve become good friends and supported each other through both happy and sad times. We know about each other’s mates, children, grandchildren, and pets.

We even give free, unsolicited medical advice to each other. This month we’ve already covered shoulder pain and hip replacements. Next week, knee cap dislocations and bunions.

First, we have lunch together, where we solve all the problems of the world. Then on to maj for the next couple of hours. Aside from accusing each other of hoarding the jokers, we are very polite. We even pretend to be happy when someone wins a hand that costs us a buck apiece.

“You’ll make it back next week,” someone will tease.

“Oh, really. Can you put that in writing?” another person will squawk.

Too often, we start chatting in the middle of a hand, and lose track of whose turn it is. Eventually, we figure it out. Or at least we think we do. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

Mah-jong, which is sometimes spelled Mah-jongg, originated in China, and was imported to the U.S. in the 1920s. It’s a game played with 144 tiles based on Chinese characters and symbols and a card with 60-plus combinations.

It requires skill, concentration and strategy. A decent memory is helpful too. It’s not for wimps or crybabies!

Regardless of whether we’ve won or lost, we leave with a smile and a sense of gratitude that we can count on our fun Thursday afternoons. That makes us all winners!

I’m reminded of a joke I heard many years ago. It has many versions.

Four friends had been playing maj every week for 30 years. They always wondered if there was maj in heaven. They agreed that whoever passes on, would send the answer down to the others. Within 10 years, three of the four ladies passed away. Only Alice was left. One day, she heard a clap of thunder, followed by the voices of her deceased friends.

“Alice, Alice, we have good news and bad news.”

“Uh, oh. Give me the good news first.”

“You’ll be happy to know that there is maj in heaven. We play in a beautiful room with lots of snacks. We even win regularly.”

“Wow, I’m impressed,” said Alice. “What’s the bad news?”

“You’ll be joining our game on Tuesday.”

On that note, gotta run. It’s maj day!

TERRI GOLDSTEIN lives on Newport Coast.