1hundredsixty8

…In New York State. This month, Barbara and I relocated permanently to the Gulf Coast of Florida. While the change of residence was long-planned, it was still accompanied by a sense of loss. Being New Yorkers was part of our identities, even as we bitched about the taxes, the traffic and our fellow suburbanites. (Bitching about things is a New Yorker's birthright.) Having easy access to one of the world’s great cities was never taken for granted, and it always had some role in our lives: Barbara worked in NYC regularly, I did occasionally.

And there are all the memories:

The World’s Fair and seeing Michelangelo's “Piéta”. Hearing the writer Elmore Leonard speak at the New York Public Library. Attending a performance by Muddy Waters in Central Park (and realizing college classmate Paul Oscher was the harmonica player). Walking past celebrities on the street.

Enduring Penn Station and marvelling at the grandeur of Grand Central Terminal. Riding the subway. Crosstown traffic. Having my car commandeered one time by three plainclothes cops.

Yankee Stadium: seeing the great 50’s teams, Ted Williams near the end of his career, Reggie Jackson hitting his 400th career homer, Don Mattingly’s major league debut. Watching the New York Jets with Joe Namath at QB,, most memorable being their victory over the Oakland Raiders on the way to their only Super Bowl.

Broadway theater. Miles Davis at the Village Vanguard. Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee at the Gaslight. Little Feat at the Beacon. The Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza. Chinatown (where I once watched tourists lose at tic-tac-toe to a rather famous chicken). Little Italy, Greenwich Village, Soho and it's galleries. Music Row on 48th Street. Being a member of one NYC's first online communities ((echonyc.com). Reading a piece I wrote at KGB in the East Village.

The great museums- the Metropolitan, MOMA, the Guggenheim, the Whitney. The outerborough neighborhoods- Coney Island, Sheepshead Bay, Park Slope, Red Hook in Brooklyn, Arthur Avenue, the South Bronx and City Island in The Bronx. Greek restaurants in Astoria.

Sailing down the East River after passing through the treacherous currents of Hell’s Gate. Being on the 94th floor of the old World Trade Center, looking down on helicopters. The great lower Manhattan Bridges- the Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg.

And there are so many more.

But now we are making the transition to being Floridians. Like many our age, we moved instinctively to the figurative Elephant Burial Ground. We have opted for the warmth of the sub-tropics and an unhurried lifestyle. Having owned a residence in Cape Coral for seven years and spent the winter's here, we have not embarked on an adventure of discovery.

Still, the permanence of the change did not register until I surrendered my New York driver’s license- which I had for fifty-six years- for a Florida one. I registered to vote but cannot do so in the upcoming elections because of a time restriction. So I have a year to bone up on the local politics.

To paraphrase an old cliche, you can take the geezers out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the geezers.