Parking: now, there's the ticket!

What is it about parking on your driveway (as opposed to driving on a parkway?)

This isn't a rant, or at least it's not intended to be. There's always the possibility that it will turn into one.

The fact is, however, that the world divides into two types of people: those who, when they come over to your house and notice that your car is parked in the driveway, blithely park behind you, and the (very few) others who don't.

Think about it. In our situation, we have a long, very narrow, single strip of tired old asphalt that accommodates three cars, but we only have two. So when someone comes over, sees a parking space behind the second car, they have a decision to make. For most, that is easy, apparently. Nature abhors a vacuum.

Here's the thing. There are no parking prohibitions on our street. It's a long, dead-end avenue, filled with houses populated mainly by older people and younger families, many of whom have only one vehicle. There's room in front of our house, and our neighbors', to park at least six vehicles. That's more cars than we have friends.

Here's the next thing. My wife's disabilities qualify our cars for handicapped parking. Unlike most, she doesn't put the tag on her mirror unless she's actually in a designated parking space. I have a duplicate tag which I use only when she is with me, or I'm picking her up from some appointment or store. Nevertheless, everyone who visits us knows about her condition. So why, then, would they not assume that I need extra room on the driveway to load the trunk or the back seat with the wheelchair, walker, oxygen tank and whatever else is needed? Sometimes I need to get out and back the car in, to put the passenger door on the easiest side for loading.

Unfortunately, there seems to be a rule around here that if your car is more than ten feet away from the house, it is fair game for vandals. There are street lights, but they are largely concealed by ancient tree foliage. One night both rear doors of my car were keyed in a random spiral pattern. Another time, a brand new front tire was slashed, but that was likely because we were proudly displaying an Obama lawn sign prior to the elections. Raccoons don't carry shivs, so it had to be a message from a political opponent.

In an effort to keep the car from being damaged, I leave it close behind the other one, so that when the vandals appear, the porch light automatically turns on. At least this allows them to complete their masterpieces with less chance of hurting themselves. Bottom line: there is generally a full car length of free space behind my car.

On some occasions, I've maneuvered like a truck rodeo contestant, inching back and forth with much turning of wheels and adjusting of mirrors, to make it out of the three-car trap. This usually ruts the lawn somewhat, but as long as it doesn't happen in the spring, the grooves even out over time.

Let's be clear here: there is no possibility of a double width driveway. The gas and water lines would end up being directly under any such extension, so that in the event of a problem, a Bobcat would be required.

I think there are two influences at work in this whole situation. America's car-centered culture demands convenience. Why have a car if you have to walk more than twenty feet to its doors? Hence, the development of valet parking services, the drive-thru church, the drive-by funeral home, and, of course, the fast food joints.

Apart from the obvious air and noise pollution that occurs while drivers wait impatiently at a window, there is much to be said for not having to get out of a car to go into a pharmacy, especially when you look at the lineup at the dispensary, and the distance you have to travel to the rear of the store to get in line. It's always good to know that the fast-food joints are doing their damnedest to get you fed up faster.

The other influence, sad to say, is thoughtlessness. I never park in anyone's driveway unless there is a good reason, or better yet, an invitation, to do so. Why would I want to inconvenience myself by having to go out to the car (especially in winter) to move it so that the host can get out of his own driveway? Why waste the gas and generate the pollution?

Even if I were carrying, say, a trunk load of concrete blocks, my instincts are to deliver them and then find a parking space elsewhere until it comes time to leave. Who knows? If there were an emergency, wouldn't it be better not to have blocked the paramedics?

But judging from the number of perfectly-abled drivers who pull up into a handicapped parking space, hang a permit from the mirror (or not) and march into the shopping centers, this whole parking thing is never going to go away until the car does.

So I'm sorry, I guess this was a rant after all. I guess I'm guilty of the desire for automotive convenience after all.

What is it about Florida?

What's so much about Florida anyway?

The climate? The beaches? The ocean? The people?

Well, three out of four ain't bad.

And it's not the people: it's the crush of people and traffic, all seeking only two things: a place to eat and a place on the beach. Preferably both at the same time.

For anyone who has been to the running of the bulls at Pamplona (and I haven't), the only thing lacking in the Florida beach scene is "thee bool". Along the roads of Clearwater that parallel the Gulf shore, any place that has public parking is, by definition, full. Every other place has a private property sign, rife with the numbers of local ordinances that condemn the violator to a life of perpetual payment and pariahhood. People circle the block or doublepark (with engines running and the A/C/ on of course, because it's hot in a car) while waiting for a parking space to become available.

By contrast, if you are fortunate enough, as we were, to drop your air mattresses into someone's spare bedroom, you can suddenly find yourself, as our host frequently remarked, "Livin' the Dream." Even if only for a couple of days.

The future of Florida is uncertain, as it is with any near-sea-level outcropping near the great oceans. If global warming doesn't slow down or reverse, all the beach-front public parking areas will be part of a huge involuntary marina.

The only other place I've been to where access to Paradise is comparably restricted is San Juan, PR, and that was a few decades ago. I don't know how much things have changed, but at the time, the island was full of junker cars. These old crates were imported by the shipload from the mainland because there was a prohibited import tax on anything that was less than a couple of years old. It was said that in PR, there was only room to park a third of the cars. Thus, two-thirds of the cars had to keep moving.

Of course, certain times of the year are more congested. We know this. Events, however, conspired to make us take the trip or not go at all. And to our host and hostess who saved us the cost of accommodation and let us be who we are, we can only say,"Thank you so much." With friends like these, who needs beach-fronts?