We’ll talk later

So I’m on the phone with my mother.

She’s asking me how many miles it is to Mesa, Arizona.

I click from Dreamweaver to Firefox, browse to maps.yahoo.com, and enter the route. 2000 miles. 7 miles to the gallon. 3 dollars a gallon. 4 months in the winter. My mother goes into detail describing their latest plan to winter over with their RV on a lot in Mesa.

My (step) dad just retired in April. In May, they spent the month away from home, first on a cruise, then with my sister in Florida. They purchased a 5th-wheel RV (and pickup, and accessories) last year. They used it all of twice. Too expensive.

This month, they unpacked the mothballs (it has its own slab in their backyard) and drove it out to the lake not far from their home. Twice. For a few days each. It is from there that my mom is calling.

I’ll have to come out to Phoenix to visit them for Christmas. It is free to come out and visit during the day, but people over 18 pay $3 a night to stay. I’ll stay with my brother’s family in Chandler, thank you.

Part of me is cringing.

My parents are becoming “those” people.

You know, “those” people who travel around in motor homes. Shower thongs and luau shirts and wide brimmed straw hats and instant cameras on teathers around necks, pushing out from the darkness of the RV in some exaggerated birthing to stare squinty-eyed at Needle Rock Monument and inquire about the nearest gas station.

There are lots of things to do there. If the grandkids want to participate in sculpture class that day, they simply go by the office and pick up a voucher to attend. They’ll have a ball.

I begin to realize, as she is describing all of this, that perhaps I’m the one in the family that is having the hardest time adjusting to their retirement. I think this stems from having a close relationship with my parents, and being the last child, who also remained close by.

I didn’t pick this outcome, which is to say I’ve stayed geographically close for my own reasons, and its only natural in that case to also remain close to my folks. They’re nice people. I love them.

She asks if I’m coming out tonight. Out to the lake. I explain I have a date. Thats too bad. My dad just said to heck with the rain and went out to fish off the shore. Their houseguest is listening to books-on-tape in the living room of the RV.

I wish them the best. I do. And I really don’t have a problem if they want to gallyvant around in the RV. I’m glad they want to. Its a waste to own one and not use it. I’m glad they’re finding the money for gas this winter. It’s just so sudden it seems…

My mom is back to the winter trip. She actually says that next year they may not be healthy enough or feel like travelling, so why shouldn’t they go now while they can. She tells me to plan my vacation accordingly, and starts to figure up how much $3 a night for two-weeks is. I ignore the fact that I’ll stay with my brother, and instead derail with a comment about having a new employer by then.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t know that I’m expecting anything at all. Its just that it seems so unlike them. And at the same time, its perfectly them. Maybe its just that they’re doing it without me? I’m jealous of being old?

New employer? Am I quitting? Oh, I can’t talk now? Okay, we’ll talk later. Bye.