My moving abroad has been a surprisingly big deal for a number of people who haven't communicated with me in years or decades. They have no idea where I’ve been living. For all they know, I’m on one of Saturn’s moons. But now I'm moving out of the country. Woah!
I can't stop recalling the demise of Ratner's, a legendary Jewish dairy restaurant on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. When they announced their closure, waves of angst spread throughout the city, with hordes making pilgrimages to Delancey Street to tearfully tell the owner what Ratner's meant to them. In an interview, he said he asked everyone the same question: "When was the last time you actually ate here?" The answer was always “years”. Or “decades”.
People didn't like Ratner's. They liked the idea of Ratner's. So I guess they're going to miss the idea of me.
But then I bounce it back the other way (I always bounce things back the other way), and I have to admit that 1. I loved Ratner's, and 2. I mourn Ratner's, and 3. I hadn't eaten there in decades when it closed, but that doesn't mean there wasn't real love. I should have supported it, yes - people like me let it flounder - but you can’t say I didn’t genuinely love it. I really did.
So if any old associates out there deem it significant that I'm living There rather than Here - even though you haven't kept up on Here (i.e. I'm more notional for you than actual) - I accept, with some light confusion, your solemnity. I will strive to deem this a Very Serious Transition, though it’s really just the latest in a long string of moves, schemes, and adventures.
Next challenge: accept the narrative everyone's painting for me that "Jim's getting older, with his white beard and all, and is surely slowing down a step and deserves to fade into a nice, peaceful retirement in some seaside village."
I understand that this is the obvious movie plot to plug me in to - this is how we mentally process white-bearded dudes - but, actually, the melanin content of my facial hair says quite little about me. In real life - if such a thing even exists for anyone - I'm geared up to do all sorts of energetic cool projects, if the world would just stop treating me like a geezer who's slowed down a step and readying himself for retirement (thanks, waiter, but I don’t need your help capturing the QR code).
Remember, in my head I've been eleven since I was eleven. So this whole “retirement” story seems totally weird and disorienting.
When I was a young kid in Queens my aunt, who lived in Sunnyside, would take the subway into lower Manhattan, but a cheesecake at Ratnner’s , and take the subway out to Jamaica. My dad would pick her up and bring her to our house in Little Neck. Fond memories.
ReplyDeleteWhen j in was a young kid my aunt lived in Sunnyside and would take a bus or subway to Ratner’s, buy a cheesecake, and then take the subway to Jamaica. My dad would pick her up and bring her to our house in Little Neck. Fond memories. Great cheesecake.
ReplyDeleteAuntie sounded like a hall of fame level chowhound.
ReplyDelete