So there I was, enthusing about New York again. We had come out of the Andre Watts concert. I had found parts of the Schubert very moving.

"That's what I love about New York," I told Chuck. "The arts are so important. Where else could you hear music like this? Every night, at least two or three concerts. Maybe more. In San Francisco, it's not like this. The weather's always beautiful. Everybody's out walking on the beach. Or surfing. Who wants to be indoors at a concert? In New York it's different. New York is ugly. The weather's awful. So no one wants to be outdoors. That's why the arts are so important." This is my new theory on the arts.

But Chuck likes San Francisco. And he doesn't like it when I don't.

"It's not just San Francisco," I said. "It's not just California, either," I assured him. "I don't like lots of states. I only like the Northeast." I had just realized this. It was an interesting discovery.

"I don't like the Midwest," I said. "In Iowa, you're not allowed to criticize Ronald Reagan."

"You did," Chuck reminded me.

"But you can't get away with it," I continued.

"You did," Chuck reminded me.

He was referring to a conversation I had had with Diane Young, a wife of one of Chuck's Midwest clients. I had told her I didn't like Bill Clinton much. She looked at me as if, for someone from New York, I was unexpectedly enlightened. Encouraged, I went on to say that I didn't like Ronald Reagan much, either. With this comment, all political discussion came to an abrupt end.

"What about Colorado?" Chuck asked. He likes skiing in Colorado.

"I don't know that much about Colorado," I said honestly.

"There's a lot of right wing politics," Chuck observed.

"Oh, yes. The Mormons," I agreed.

"I think you're confusing Colorado with Utah," Chuck said. "The Mormons are in Utah."

"Colorado. Utah," I said. "Who can tell them apart? It's six of one. They're both in the Midwest, aren't they?" I went on. "I don't like Texas, either. It's boastful. Florida is the pits. Except for Princeton, New Jersey is oblivion."

"What about Connecticut? How do you feel about Connecticut?" Chuck asked.

"Connecticut's okay." We had lived in Connecticut. Jill was even born there. "Yale's there. I don't mind states with good colleges. Massachusetts is okay, too. Boston and Washington aren't bad. They're just also-rans." I paused.

"I said I liked the Northeast." I reminded him. "But there's still something special about New York. Something very different from any of the other fifty states."

Chuck was astonished at this remark. "There are only fifty states," he said.

Now it was my turn to be astonished. "There are? Are you sure?" I asked. I somehow thought I remembered that there were fifty-one.

"Now I see where Jill gets it," Chuck said. "We thought she was out of touch with reality. You don't have any idea about the real world. There were forty-eight states when we were in school," he explained. "Then Alaska and Hawaii were admitted. That's fifty. Did you think Puerto Rico was a state?"

Of course I didn't. I hadn't been thinking of anything that specific. I just thought there were fifty-one states. That's all. "Are you sure there aren't fifty-one?" I repeated, astonished at this information.

But Chuck was sure. "There are only fifty states," he assured me. "What did you think the fifty-first state was?" he wondered, as we drove home.

We were back at the apartment now, about to go in. "I know," Chuck said. "I know what the fifty-first state is. 'Of Mind'".

I looked at him appreciatively. I laughed. "The State of Mind," I repeated.

I liked that. I think I live there.

December, 1997
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I read this to Chuck. He was astonished again. "Colorado and Utah aren't in the Midwest," he commented. "They're in the Southwest. But keep that in, anyway."

"How can that be?" I wanted to know. "Colorado has snow." I know that for a fact, having skied there. "It can't be in the Southwest."

"It is," Chuck insisted. "Texas has snow, too."

"Are you sure?" I asked in disbelief. Chuck says he's sure. But we're going to get out an atlas to check. Not that it really matters. Midwest. Southwest. Who can tell them apart, anyway?

Which only goes to prove my point. It's just like I said. Six of one. Half a dozen of the other.

December 1997
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