My Brooklyn brother still questions why I left New York. His objections came at the same time the Northeast was under a tornado watch. Fortunately, they avoided a twister, but couldn’t dodge the thunderstorms and flash floods. Here, it was a balmy 77 degrees, with bright sun and blue skies. The forecast there calls for more storms. And in the coming summer, he’ll be dealing with triple digit temperatures and soaring humidity. But the weather is just one problem he wrestles with, among a myriad of others. Like finding parking. He lives in an area where the homes are attached on both sides, measure 18-feet wide, are located on high-trafficked streets, and come with a $6 million price tag. Remarkably, none of those homes have garages. So my brother, along with the other homeowners, are always seeking nearby parking. Sometimes he circles the neighborhood for a half-hour or more looking for a place to leave his car. If he’s lucky, he’ll find something within walking distance, but sometimes he needs to hail a cab for a drive home. There was a time he actually found parking directly in front of his house. He was so thrilled to discover such a prized location, he decided to take a taxi to work. But taxis are expensive, so he limits employing such extravagances to only those occasions when his car is either parked too far or too close. Once my brother survives the heat, humidity and the storms of the oppressive summer, winter arrives. It means subzero temperatures, freezing rain and icy snow. Often, he’ll spend a half-hour or more shoveling that snow in order to free his car so he can drive to work. I recall the occasion when, after a lengthy and tedious time clearing a mountain of snow from the car, he discovered that it wasn’t his. His wife argues that it doesn’t really make much sense to own a car in Brooklyn, but my brother rejected the idea. The issue remained in dispute until the matter was finally resolved when the car was stolen. It was one of the rare fortunes to come my brother’s way.

Now, in lieu of driving, he takes the subway, no longer needing to find parking or struggle to clear his car from the snow. He squeezes in with the subway crowd, along with a briefcase, an umbrella, and a lingering concern about muggers, misfits and maniacs. Strangely, even after contending with the weather and subway security, he still calls me to question my move to San Diego, even though my home is detached, has twice the square feet of his, three times the land, is located on a lovely tree-lined street, has a three-car garage, and cost a small fraction of the homes in his neighborhood. One of the many glorious sunsets in San Diego County. (Irv Erdos / For The San Diego Union-Tribune) Also where we enjoy sunshine, blue skies, fabulous sunsets and a supreme climate. And where we often spend time relaxing on the patio, where, instead of shoveling snow, we’re applying suntan lotion.

An oriole at a feeder. (Irv Erdos / For The San Diego Union-Tribune) A visiting hummingbird. (Irv Erdos / For The San Diego Union-Tribune) And gazing out at the magnificent views, as hummingbirds and orioles encircle the feeders. Tomorrow, my brother will be busy bailing out his flooded basement, the result of the last storm, while my wife will be frying chicken anticipating another blissful day at the beach. Erdos is a freelance humor columnist. Contact him at [email protected].