Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Trudy's Second Husband

A few years ago, my parents sold their house and moved into an apartment. Their five-bedroom house was too big for them, plus they couldn't afford it anymore, so my sister and her husband bought them a two-bedroom condo near the beach.

Since they moved in, Trudy has refused to park in their assigned parking space in the garage of their new digs because it is too far away from their apartment. She doesn't park in front of the building, where she would be very close to their front door, because there her car would be exposed to the elements. Instead, Trudy parks in the garage, in the area marked, "2 Hour Parking - Guests Only." Last week, when I came by to have lunch with my dad, I found a stack of notices on the kitchen counter ordering my mother to stop parking in the, "area reserved for visitors," and threatening to tow her car.

Appropriately enough, about 50 years ago, my father met my mother because she repeatedly parked her car in his space at the apartment building where they both lived in Mill Valley. Trudy parked in my dad's space because it was much more convenient to her apartment than her own space was. My father tells this story with a shrug of his shoulders and a resigned, "Well, what could I do? I had to marry her," smile on his face. My mother smiles too, fondly remembering that she drove a white Cadillac in those days.

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