Pickleball or pedicure? Reporting from the desert, it is today’s burning question.
Meanwhile, earlier this morning Robyn mentioned an ice storm is a possibility back home. Nothing major as ice storms go, mind you, but even an icy veneer will cause fender benders, clog gutters, freeze exterior doors and gates. Walking to your train or bus gets hazardous.
I feel fortunate to be experiencing almost perfect weather, with highs around eighty, and blue skies, or, at worst, a few passing, non-threatening clouds to break up the monotony of constant sunshine and blue skies. And I don’t feel so much as a tinge of guilt over my good fortune.
***
At mid-morning, I met Ross’ wife inside the nail salon, which occupies a large, open, and inviting space in one of Tucson’s many anonymous strip malls, although, strictly speaking, this one is located just outside the city limits. Joanne had booked our appointments. Once we were seated, she mentioned she had come to this place once and enjoyed her experience. Good enough for me.
We each ordered the “deluxe” treatment, including aromatic hot wax, warm stones, a soothing, generous lower leg and foot massage, customer-friendly equipment, and a fully functional massage chair. I tried out every possible setting before I settled on light kneading.
I’m not one hundred percent, but I believe that today Joanne enjoyed the services of “John,” one of the business’ principals, and father (maybe uncle?) of “Tom,” who worked on me in the next chair. There was a gradual, steady influx of other customers, a good sign on a slow Wednesday morning. Soup to nuts, I’d say ninety minutes of my time well spent.
After we left the place, Joanne asked if I would like to get something to eat. I said that I’d follow her in my car. She led us to a nearby anonymous strip mall located on the opposite side of the busy 4-lane road that fronts the salon. The restaurant she chose was a storefront operation with both inside and outside seating. There was more than ample seating, but the place was still crowded and bustling when we arrived. Fortunately, there was rapid turnover, and by the time we’d checked out the menus, viewed the displays of food, placed our orders, and paid the cashier, we managed to locate an airy table for two under pleasant sunlight. I carried the placeholder with our order number like a drum major. I must remember for a future time that the place was dog-friendly.
***
Joanne is smart and well-educated. Like me, she worked for a time as a lawyer, although she did not finish law school until much later in life, yet she and Ross are fully retired with pensions a decade or more. Over the course of our morning, I had discovered that she likes to talk.
During a luncheon consisting of a delicious (according to Joanne), thick and sturdy burrito and my tasty quiche, replete with a side cup of white bean chili containing white meat chicken, we not only explored topics ranging from sickness and death to learning Spanish online to comparing travel experiences but shared a few personal details that only folks who are good friends ought to share.
I’ve known Ross since high school. Midway through my senior year, my folks moved out of the City, thus, I finished high school at a well-regarded suburban institution. This was back in 1969.
Ross might have been the first student I spoke to at the new school. Certainly, he would have been among the first. We met in the student smoking lounge between classes where I puffed at least one Marlboro. Remember, we grew up during the liberated Sixties.
Then, after a few days of attending classes, Ross and I agreed to cut out of school. We walked around aimlessly, ending up in his apartment where we watched reruns of situation comedies on television. I don’t remember much more about this adventure other than it was the day that Ross and I became friends.
However, there were long periods in our lives when we hardly saw one another or even talked. It was during one of these interim periods that I first met Joanne. I couldn’t say precisely how old we were at the time except we were all full-fledged adults. Over the years, I would see them occasionally, briefly, mainly while Ross’ mother back home was still alive, and they would come to visit. So far, I’ve not met their adult son, Seth, but I’ve heard a bit about him from his proud folks, as well as our mutual chum, Steve, who has a son around Seth’s age and has known Seth since they were kids.
It’s funny how things have a way of coming full circle. One consequence of coming to Tucson to spend a large part of the winter has been that Ross and I have renewed a good and valuable friendship. I feel comfortable around him; it’s like slipping into a favorite pair of worn shoes.
Better, in the bargain, I now have made a new friend named Joanne.
