The sound of classic salsa music blaring through the floorboards at 6 PM on a dreary, moist Saturday afternoon takes me back to a comfortable place. About 14 or 15 years old, playing bingo in a ground-floor housing project apartment in the unfavorable depths of Bushwick, Brooklyn, with elderly (only in age, not spirit) family members, their down-the-hall neighbors, and a few other relative families who just as well appreciated the energy and warmth that was generated on these nights. We all convened maybe once a month, or every other month, in that hot, cramped living space with that little bit of inner excitement, and it was as though we never skipped a beat. Hugs, kisses, jokes, laughs, stories, drinks, food, and music. It was always a cozy, familiar environment...even if it had been 6 months since our last visit.
The scene was always the same. The plastic-covered furniture hastily arraged to accomodate the growing crowd, the aroma of simmering recaito (99% of the time for the traditional g0-to meal of arroz juntos con gandules), the characteristic horns and percussion of the native music - usually muffling the sound of the televised 9th inning of a Mets game, a congregation around the dining room table of bingo players, young and old, seated on any piece of furniture that would suffice as a makeshift chair, etc. There was always a sense of bliss and contentment for those few hours on those Saturday nights. Everyone seemed to put aside all of their personal stresses and struggles to escape and reconnect and simply share some laughs and drinks with family. It was far from anything extravagant, as you might have observed from my description, but it was an 'event' that we all looked forward to and put aside time for.
I wonder what's going on this Saturday night, in that meager little apartment over in Bushwick...
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