Yesterday as I looked at the assorted pick-ups parked in my court cul de sac, it finally occurred to me that I went from living a sophisticated Manhattan life to one that The Dukes of Hazzard would be proud of, not that I have ever seen the show or movie. Nothing against pick-ups; I have become very used to riding around town in Eldon’s only cleaned on Christmas and his birthday truck that’s chock full of instruments of the contractor/handyman/bar designer/floor installer trade. And my next door neighbor’s is downright pretty. The Professor is a retired judge turned law school professor. Whenever I call him The Professor he chokes with laughter as most people around here think he’s a retired handyman. He likes people to think he’s an uneducated redneck and does a damn good impression of one. He has long white hair that’s thicker and frizzier than mine if that’s possible, and wears shorts and sandals even in the dead of winter. I only know his profession as my neighbors on the other side are both lawyers and they know people who know people who know him.
I’m not a New Yorker anymore! Not only am I not a New Yorker, I moved to the wrong Carolina*, didn’t move to South Florida, California or any of the four other places Upper West Siders’ move to. When I’m not freaking about losing my bragging rights to Manhattan I truly love it here. But the transition’s taking a long time. Though most of my “problems” are truly stupid. I’m freezing because I forget that the landlord can turn up the heat!
Will I ever call myself a Southerner?
*Asheville, Chapel Hill and even Charlotte are on cool lists. Oh, I forgot about Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach– a mini Charleston that’s also a TV & film production town and one of the most beautiful beaches anywhere.