February 25, 2011--Snowbirding: Peggy Pays A Visit--Concluded

Parts On and Two of Peggy Pays A Visit can be found by scrolling down and then working one's way back up.

Back at the condo Peggy did call her broker and it looks as if she will take Ted’s advice and add some gold and other commodities to her portfolio. “That Fred is quite a guy,” she said. I didn’t bother to correct her.

Then, after a long walk on the beach where the mounds of washed-up jellyfish intrigued her (“I could really get into this nature business”), some frantic calls to her publisher (“When will I see some money?” we overheard her asking), and a two-hour nap to make up for lost sleep the night before (thankfully, she doesn’t talk in her sleep), when Peggy roused herself, she said, “I can’t believe it, but though it’s only five o’clock, I’m actually getting hungry. It must be the salt in the air or Florida resetting my biological clock.”

“Didn’t that clock of yours shut down years ago?” I said, fooling with her New-York style.

Back in the city she would have jabbed right back at me, but instead said, “Do you think we could go for an early dinner to that China Diner place you told me about? In an e-mail extolling the virtues of Florida and how you’re missing New York less and less you told me they make a decent sea bass with scallions and ginger. After all that grease I had for breakfast, I could use a little fish to clean me out.”

Trying not to think too much about the cleaning-out part while wanting to accommodate her shifting moods and desires, I added, “And very nice Singapore Chow Mei Fun. You’ll think you’re in New York’s Chinatown.”

“I doubt it,” Peggy muttered. “But I’m trying hard to get with the program.”

We found a place to park and arrived at the restaurant at the stroke of 5:30. It was already filled by obviously-retired people likely there for the Diner’s early-bird specials. Fortunately there was one outdoor table left and we took it, without consulting the hostess, before anyone else could pounce on it. The China Diner is very popular, especially at that time of day so we had pushed ahead of a couple shuffling along using walkers. The possibility of having to wait was a nightmare scenario considering that Peggy was ravenous and we knew from our New York experience that she hated nothing more than needing to wait for a table, movie tickets, or a handbag closeout sale.

Sotto voce, noticing that our table was pressed close up against the shopping plaza’s parking area, Peggy said, “I don’t ever remember eating in a parking lot before. But I suppose it does have its local charm.”

Happily, a waitress we knew from previous visits came right over to take our orders. “Hello, Mr.-Mrs. Rona. Nice to see you again.”

“We’re happy to be here, Mae. This is our friend from New York, Peggy Samuels. She’s a writer.”

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Sam,” Mae as usual was all smiles. “Ready to take your regular order? The fish, the Singapore noodles?”

“You seem to be very well known here.” It was Peggy’s turn to wonder or worry about us.

“Not really,” Rona said. “Maybe every other week. We like . . .”

Not wanting to offend Mae or perhaps us, Peggy managed to whisper so only we could hear, “You come here all the time, order the same thing, and sit out here with cars?”

“Remember, it was your idea,” I said, “We were planning to take you to a really good French place. We even had an 8:30 reservation. Back at the condo it was you who was starving and wanted sea bass and Singapore noodles.” Peggy nodded to indicate that that was true. “And, if you really want to get cleaned out, I recommend their Szechwan eggplant. It has quite a kick. Both while and after eating.”

“You do the ordering; I’ll do the eating.” Peggy smiled at an elderly couple at the next table who had been staring at us, especially at Peggy who was dressed from head-to-toe in her black New York clothes. Everyone else was in full pastels.

Mae asked, “You want wonton soup or egg roll?”

“I hate both,” Peggy blurted out. “Sorry,” she looked up at Mae who was visibly upset, “I sometimes speak before thinking,” she said to Mae. Rona and I were nodding. “It’s just that I’m not in the mood for them. I had my daily quotient of grease this morning at the Green Parrot. Sorry, I mean my weekly allotment of fried foods.” She was smiling broadly at Mae, trying to make amends.

“But it comes,” Mae said puzzled.

“Comes?” Peggy, equally puzzled, asked.

“Yes. If you here by 5:30 you qualify for early-bird. Wonton soup or egg roll come with. No charge. And for desert, pistachio ice cream.”

“Oh, that I’ll have,” Peggy said, clapping her hands excitedly. “I was in Brooklyn once decades ago and a relative took us out for Chinese food. For dessert they served pistachio ice cream. It was so delicious that I bought some when I got back to Manhattan. But it didn’t taste the same as in Brooklyn. Considering where we are now I’m sure it will be wonderful. So, Mae, please, set aside a portion for me.”

“No problem,” Mae said, “we have many gallons. Everyone here loves pistachio. But no egg roll?”

“No, but thank you darling.” Peggy was again at her gracious best.

The food was as good as we had said and Peggy cleaned off all the dishes down to the last mei fun noodle, even licking her fingers as she scooped up the final drops of the eggplant’s fiery Szechwan sauce and of course her beloved pistachio ice cream.

We finished in time to catch a movie at the multiplex just across the shopping plaza. “I see True Grit is still playing here,” Peggy said. “As you know I hated it, but maybe if I see it a second time, I’ll find something to like. Westerns, after all, can be so iconic. Our mutual friend James, though he’s British and loathes all things American, loves the film. So maybe it’s worth a second try.” Rona and I exchanged glances. “Perhaps there’s something he found in it that’s interesting to hate that I missed the first time around.”

Peggy was having fun at our expense, but we happily joined in and feeling very good drove across the parking lot to get closer to the theater.

“Why are we driving?” Peggy wanted to know. “The theater’s only 200 yards from here.”

I just shrugged. “In Florida you drive everywhere.” She snickered.

Actually, though I slept through half the film, for me, even the part I saw was enough to remind me that seeing it once was quite enough: like Peggy initially I too found its message politically regressive, Peggy this time, of course, flip-flopped and seemed to love it in less cynical ways than our friend James.

“You know, on second look there is something about it that is very American and appealing. I mean, positively appealing. How we in America have lost our ability to promote justice and that with so much of work corporatized, with workers feeling more and more alienated, the message may be that we need to find ways to restore our sense of self-reliance and mutuality.”

Overwhelmed by her intellectualizing, I meekly said, “I snoozed through most of it this evening, so maybe when it comes out on DVD I’ll order it from Netflix and give it another try. At the moment it still looks to me like a plain-old western. And not a classic one at that.”

We continued the talk about the film and the state of American culture over espressos at Luna Rosa. “You know, to tell you the truth, I like the Parrot’s coffee better,” Peggy, confided, continuing to surprise us, “But I and all your New York friends do miss our talks with the both of you.” She reached across the table to hug us. We must have looked to the others at the café like quite an unholy threesome.

“I did tell James and George and Sharon I would try to talk you out of insisting on staying here until the end of April. Coffee in the morning at Balthazar is just not the same without your being there.” Rona and I simultaneously began to shake our heads in an attempt to cut off that line of attack.

“I think maybe we should head home,” Rona said, “You have a very early flight tomorrow. We need to get you to the airport no later than 7:30.”

“So there’ll be no time for me to see Harv and Fred again?”

“I’m afraid not. That is,” I jabbed her playfully with my elbow, “unless you decide to come back next month for another visit. You know how much it can snow in New York in March.”

“Here he goes again talking about the weather,” Peggy said under her breath, “Look what his weather did to me. I’m peeling.” She detached a piece of sun burnt skin from her nose. And then directly to us, ominously, added, “We’ll speak more about your plans tomorrow.”

Forewarned, when alone later that night Rona and I told each other to remain alert and wary.

Again the next morning Peggy was up and ready before either of us.

The ride to the airport, without traffic, is no more than 25 minutes; and Rona and I had agreed that we would try to keep the conversation chatty. Knowing that Peggy is usually not very alert in the early morning we thought we could distract her enough with small talk to escape having to listen to her continue to denigrate Florida and snowbirding as well as put pressure on us to come back to New York sooner than we intended.

I drove while Rona tried to keep Peggy occupied.

“One thing that’s nice about being here,” Rona chirped, “is that the roads are in such good condition.” I had never heard Rona talk about roads before. “True, we have to drive everywhere, which is not my favorite thing, but since we do it’s nice that the roads have such fine surfaces. And look at all the highway repair work along the way. It’s from the federal stimulus money. You can literally see the jobs that were created.” Peggy was ignoring her chatter, perhaps, I could see in the rearview mirror, she was taking a little nap.

We were by then only about 15 minutes from the West Palm Airport. Our distraction strategy seemed to be working. Peggy had not said a word since we left our place. So Rona rattled on.

“I was surprised that I slept so well last night. That spicy eggplant dish that we had doesn’t always agree with me. Not that we order it every time, mind you. In fact, not that we go to the China Diner that often, but when we do and I eat more of it than I should it repeats on me all night.”

Rona was sounding defensive, so I jumped in and changed the subject, “You should have a smooth flight all the way. When I got up this morning I turned on the Weather Channel and it looked like there will be no bad weather or turbulence between here and Newark.”

“I hate Newark,” Peggy grumbled. “It’s in New Jersey. I always use LaGuardia for domestic flights.” After that outburst, it looked as if she sipped back into sleep. But with her eyes closed she muttered, “The weather again. All he wants to talk about I the weather. He used to have such a fine mind.” She was talking again as if we weren’t there.

We chose to ignore her and anticipated that her anti-Florida rant would resume. To preempt that, I said, “I’ve been reading this biography about James Polk . . .”

“Who?” Peggy croaked. She was clearly not sleeping, just slumped in her seat with her eyes closed.

“Polk. Our 11th president. Who presided over the Mexican War.” We passed the Lantana exit and had perhaps only five miles to go. “He’s not well know, but he accomplished quite a lot. That is, if you believe in Manifest Destiny.”

“Which I don’t,” Peggy growled.

“California would still be a part of Mexico if it weren’t for Polk.”

“Who needs California? I hate California. It’s another place where you have to drive to the drug store to get a newspaper.”

“But it’s beautiful there,” Rona said.

“Again with the beautiful. First the weather. Then the beautiful. How much further is it to the terminal?”

“Maybe two, three more minutes I said. “If it’s OK, we’ll drop you and your five bags at the curb. There’ll be redcaps there to help you. It’s impossible to park here.”

“That’s fine with me. But before you dump me,” with a softer tone, she said, “I want to thank you for being such good hosts.” She leaned forward and put her arms around the two of us. “I know I’m a handful . . .”

“No, you’re . . .”

“A handful is what I am and you’ve been very good sports, putting up with my nonsense. In spite of what you think, I actually enjoyed myself. Your friends—that Harv and Fred—I even liked the beach, which I usually hate because of all the sand. The Chinese food, on the other hand, is nothing to write home about. To tell you the truth, I think you’ve lost your sense of taste while you’ve been down here vegging out.”

I pulled up at the curb and was actually feeling blue that she would be leaving. She isn’t always easy to take but she is one of a kind. And mainly lots of fun.

We got out of the car together to help unload the luggage and say a proper goodbye. As she embraced and kissed us, to me directly she said, “There is one thing we can agree about.”

Still tense from the drive, tentatively, I asked, “What’s that?”

With a laugh from deep within her, she said, “The weather. It’s glorious here.”

And with that she was gone.