January 3, 2012--Snowbirding: Parallel Parking

“I just had a very disturbing phone call.”

“With whom?”

“Peggy.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yes.”

“So what was disturbing?”

“The things we talked about.”

Rona was looking concerned. “The things? Such as?”

I was reluctant to say much more. “Just things.”

“I can’t be helpful unless you tell me what’s going on.”

“I told her about Florida.”

“What’s disturbing about that? The weather’s been perfect; and with the exception of . . .”

“That’s part of what was disturbing.”

“The weather? That’s it’s been beautiful is a problem?”

“No, not that.”

“Then what? You’re totally confusing me.”

“The very fact that we spent so much time talking about the weather. She and I usually talk about books, the theater, what’s going on in the galleries, politics. New York kinds of things. But now, we talk about Florida kinds of things—the weather, the cost of vegetables in the supermarket, medical tests.”

“So?”

“So, I think I’m changing. But not in good ways.”

“If she wanted to talk about Newt Gingrich then everything would be fine?” I could tell Rona was already becoming exasperated with me.

“Not necessarily fine but better.”

“I can’t believe you’re so disturbed just because you spent some time talking about the weather. I’ll bet she told you about how mild a winter they’re having.” I nodded. “And I’m sure she’s not sitting around moping because she spent ten seconds telling you about the temperature in New York.”

“We spent more than ten seconds talking about the weather here.”

“Well, maybe that’s because it’s been so perfect that it deserves more air time.”

Under my breath I said, “That’s not all.”

“Not all? Like what? Early-bird dinners? I know that’s one of your favorite subjects. How, you can’t stop reminding me, people here eat dinner while it’s still light out.”

“It’s not just that,” I protested, “It’s more the obsession about how much things cost.”

“Well, a lot of people here are living on fixed incomes and with the economy the way it is it isn’t easy for them to pay their bills. Even for necessities. You’re a big liberal and you should have a little more compassion for people who are struggling.”

“About that we’re in complete agreement. I’m talking about people with lots of money who seem as obsessed about not spending it as people with very little.”

“This is what has you so upset? Because you were busy telling Peggy about how people looking for two-for-one specials make you crazy?”

“If that was only it I’d be . . .”

“Only it? I assume then there must be more to have gotten you so agitated. Please, I don’t have all day. Tell me everything? Maybe then you can move on and we can talk about which movie to see. This is the best time of year to go with all the serious pictures not released until December so they can get Golden Globe and Oscar nominations.”

“I told her about my haircut.”

“Your haircut? You really are something. What’s to tell about having your two hairs trimmed?”

“If you’re going to give me a hard time, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“But with Peggy it was all right to talk? But not your wife? I’m busy. I have things to do. So when you’re ready to tell me what’s troubling you, I’ll be available. Until then . . .” She scooped up the New York Times and turned toward the bedroom.

To her back I muttered, “How I was upset that they raised the price of haircuts from last year to this.”

She whipped around to face me, “It was by a dollar! A single dollar? This is too ridiculous to take seriously.”

“I don’t take it seriously. I mean I shouldn’t take it seriously. But I did, I do. That’s what’s disturbing me. That I’m becoming just like the early-bird people. I confess I’m being ridiculous. That fortunately the prices of most things—even if they’ve been raised—don’t mean that much to me. To us. But, I’m being honest. It’s the way I’m feeling. That’s what’s got me so worried—the awareness of what I appear to be turning into.”

“That spending winters in Florida is having this effect on you?” Rona was sounding more sympathetic. She had some similar concerns last year. How she couldn’t wait for the after-New-Years sale at Neiman-Marcus when many things were marked down 75 percent. Even if waiting this long to shop there meant she would miss out on some things she wanted and could easily have afforded when they were “only” 50 percent off.

“Yes, the snowbird effect,” I said.

“That’s an interesting way to put it; but the important thing is to remain aware of what’s happening to you, really to us, and to try to accept the good changes—and there are many—while continuing to struggle with the ones like fretting about the price of haircuts. Eight dollars as opposed to seven dollars is still quite a bargain. How much do they charge you in New York? At that salon you go to? You’ve told me for years how they should charge you half price since you have only half-a-head of hair.”

“But even if they did it would still cost $35. Which is ridiculous.”

“That’s New York. We pay a premium to be there. And up to now we’ve always felt it’s worth it.”

“Agreed. But since I’m confessing let me tell you some other things that I mentioned to Peggy that are disturbing me. Also as a consequence of the snowbird effect.”

“I’m listening. Let me sit down since I think this is going to take some time.” Rona plopped down into the recliner. “I wish I still smoked. I’d love a cigarette right now.”

“You remember the other night after seeing Young Adult at the Regal?”

“I do. You liked it a lot. Feeling it was an amusingly dark send-up of classic romantic comedies and . . .”

“True, but that’s not what’s on my mind about that night. Actually, I mean afternoon since we went to a one o’clock show. Which is part of the point I’m trying to make.”

“Because the tickets at that time only cost . . .” Rona cut herself off, not wanting to go there, not wanting to encourage me to obsess again about the cost of things.

“What I told Peggy about was how though it was only 4:30 when we got out of the movie I was hungry and suggested we go to the China Diner at early-bird time. Though I hate eating that early we had skipped lunch and I had an appetite.”

“I did too.”

“Right. So we went. It’s right across Federal Highway in a shopping plaza. As you like to point out between a nail salon and a place that does MRIs.” Rona chuckled at that.

“And,” I continued, “when the waitress told us that when you order that early egg rolls are included at no extra charge, I said, ‘Fine.’”

“That did surprise me. You never like to have things that are included in a dinner special. Even the pistachio ice cream, which is also included. And you love pasticcio. At times you can be so silly.”

“I prefer to see it as a small way of preserving my sense of self.”

“And I consider it silly. But go on. Please.” She saw that I was sulking. This confession and her reaction weren’t going as well as I had hoped.

“This time I agreed to both the egg roll—though they’re so greasy—and the ‘free’”—I made air quotes—“ice cream. Which in fact was quite good.”

“And this is what’s got you so crazy? How much they charged you for a haircut and your agreeing to have the ‘free’ egg roll and pistachio ice cream?” There was a hint of understandable mockery in her tone.

“There’s more,” I said softly.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I feel that we’ve, I mean that I’ve fallen into a totally medicalized reality.”

“This I understand.” Rona was now smiling.

“Everyone we know seems to spend at least half their time seeing doctors and having medical tests. Let me give you an example. Talking to Cousin Sam the other day he was telling me about how, since they found a few polyps in his large intestine, they recommend he have colonoscopies every six months.”

“At his age and in his circumstances hat seems sensible to me.”

“And I suppose to me. But in addition to getting drawn into a discussion with him about what he had to do to prep for the one he just had—and, graphically, what the prep did to him, if you get the picture,” Rona made a face and held her nose. “Exactly.”

“So, what’s so new about this? We’ve had them done and everyone we know has as well. What’s the big deal? It’s just life. Biology. Get over it.” I could see her reaching toward the coffee table as if looking for a pack of cigarettes.

“I don’t have issues with the gory details. I’m an adult. In fact, I’m fine with them; but it’s how I reacted to the whole situation.”

“Go on. I’m listening. Or at least trying to.”

“Since talking with Sam I’ve been plagued by cramps and am thinking I too should have a colonoscopy.”

“But you just had one. These are empathy cramps. Your gastroenterologist said to come back in four years, not four months.”

“You’re making it difficult to tell you what I’ve been thinking and agitating about.”

“Sorry. You’re right. I apologize. Go on.”

“Since speaking with him and having all this gas I’ve been wondering if I should wait five years between colonoscopies.”

“You’re thinking . . . ?”

“Maybe every year makes sense. Or even every six months. With my family history . . .”

“You’ll live to be 103 just like your mother. And I doubt she has them every six months or, for that matter, every year.”

“Your point is well taken. But I’m trying to tell you how I’m feeling. Don’t you always tell me that one shouldn’t argue about feelings, but only about facts and opinions? So I don’t want to argue about what I’m feeling, even though I know you’re right. I’m hoping that by talking about this maybe I can put some of what I’m feeling behind me.”

“Sorry. I’ll try just to listen. Is there anything else? My Week With Marilyn starts soon.”

“One last thing. It happened this morning. I suspect it’s was a version of the last straw and got me thinking about calling Peggy.” Rona, I am glad to report, did not chastise me by word or look for talking first with a friend rather than with her.

“As usual we drove over to the Green Owl for coffee.” Rona nodded but with a quizzical look. “And when we were a block away there was a parking spot. A single one by the curb.” She nodded again but more vigorously as it was coming back to her. “I pulled up alongside the car in front of the space, signaled for the car behind me to pass, and then began to back up slowly, cutting the steering wheel hard so as to swing the rear of the car into the space.”

“I’m sorry. I’m doing my best to be sympathetic. But parking the freaking car is what’s making you crazy? To tell you the truth, you’re making me crazy!”

“Sorry about that,” I was peeved by Rona’s response, though I certainly understood it, but wanted to get my confession over with. So I continued.

“It’s what happened while attempting to parallel park. Down here in Florida mostly we park perpendicular—we pull right into spaces between two cars. In New York and most cities, you have to parallel park, which takes some skill in the backing up and swinging back and forth. Especially in tight spots.” Rona rolled her eyes.

“When I tried this this morning what happened? Do you remember?” Rona didn’t seem to. “Well at the time you said something about it.” I paused but there was no response. “Though it was a big spot, I not only hit the curb hard when backing up but jumped over it onto the sidewalk. Not far enough to run anyone over, but it sure shook me up. And you got on my case about it. Deservedly so.”

“I remember that, even though I was only half-awake, not yet having had any coffee. But I do recall you seemed more upset than I would have expected. It was no big deal. Really.”

“But to me it was.”

“How so?”

“I used to be an excellent parallel parker. One, two, three and I would squeeze the car into the smallest spaces without even touching the bumpers of the cars in front and back of us. No problem. But after spending three winters in Florida, I’m parking on the sidewalk.”

“That’s a little overstated, don’t you think?”

“Maybe if one is thinking about this objectively. Not, on the other hand, if we’re talking about how I feel about it.” Rona smiled. “And I’m not feeling very good at the moment.”

“I get it.” With effort, she pulled herself up out of the recliner and moved to put her arms around me. “Don’t worry,” she said soothingly, rocking me in her arms. “You’re still a New Yorker. My favorite New Yorker.” Feeling that I teared up. “Maybe a little warn around the edges but . . .”

This was in fact helpful. Talking it out. Confessing my concerns even at the risk of seeming silly. I do, after all, believe in “the talking cure.”

“But promise me one thing,” Rona said.

“Sure. What’s that?”

“That you’ll never--and I mean never--even consider wearing a white belt.”

Rona was smiling so I knew she was being only half serious. “I promise. You’re right about that. But I still think it makes sense for me to have an annual colonoscopy.”