I made a resolution on my 79th birthday: "No more winters in Winnipeg for us." My wife, a mere 78-er, said, "I'll drink to that!" and sipped her weak tea.

We decided to leave for Palm Springs, California, via North West Territorials (Canadian Airlines) due to leave at 8:30 a.m. The agent advised us to be at the airport by 7:00 a.m. in order to get "preference in seating". We arrived at the airport in time and found a long line-up ahead of us. It appears that I wasn't the only one who had made a resolution about skipping the Canadian winter.

Our friends, Moe and Izzie, were just ahead of us engaged in a deep discussion. Izzie turned to me and asked how well I knew my geography. "Try me," I answered.

"There are three Baltic states," he said. "One is Latvia, another is Lithuania. What is the name of the third?"

"Estonia," I answered, like a fountain of knowledge! "It will probably be another half-hour before we reach the check-in counter," I said, "so this is a good way to pass the time. Tell me, Izzie, where is the Romanian border?"

"Alongside the Soviet Union," came the quick reply.

"Wrong," said I. "The Romanian boarder is in the park with my auntie, and my mother doesn't trust him!" I don't know, I thought it was funny, even if it was not original. Izzie promised to get even with me.

It then appeared that another plane had usurped our spot at the terminal so they advised us over the loudspeaker that we would have to "hike it" to our plane. They wrapped us in blankets and we hiked. It was only about one hundred yards but it seemed like a hundred miles. How come the wind can blow from all directions at once at the airport?

We finally made it to the plane, more dead than alive, only to discover that we were on the wrong plane! Can you imagine such a thing? Please don't tell Izzie or he will lose all faith in my knowledge of geography.

I woke up Monday morning in a very pleasant air-conditioned condominium in Sunny Palm Springs. "All's well with the world," I thought. "All's well except... nothing serious, except..." I couldn't close my left eyelid and I couldn't spit straight. Could it have anything to do with the fact that the air conditioner was blowing on my head all night?

My wife, Gert, suggested that we should go to the emergency department of the Desert Hospital. So we went. Do you think they take patients in the emergency department on a "first come, first served" basis? No! They take them according to the seriousness of the case. How could I compete? There were people there with ruptured appendixes, broken legs, broken arms, broken jaws, knife wounds, gunshot wounds, etc. "This is America the beautiful?" I wondered.

After waiting for five hours, I was ushered into the inner sanctum. The doctor took one look at me and said, "You will have to wink at the ladies with your right eye instead of the left one for a month or so. I"ll give you a prescription for Prednisone. Go see an eye, ear and throat specialist. Good-bye. By the way, you have Bell's Palsy."

I phoned for an appointment with the specialist as soon as we returned to the condominium. The receptionist was very compassionate. "That will cost you $182.00, sir," she said.

"You mean that's the standard price for curing Bell's Palsy?" I asked.

"No, no, no; the charges will come later. That's the price for the first visit. In American currency, please. We don't deal with Canadian insurance companies. Your appointment is for 10:30 Wednesday morning. We under-book, so don't be late or there will be an extra charge. Good day, sir."

I arrived at the doctor's office at 10:30 sharp. The office was huge. The reception area was furnished with white chesterfields, thick wall-to-wall carpets, and fancy lighting like in an expensive hotel. I counted four efficient-looking female clerks, plus a nurse, a technician, and one no-nonsense-looking little man: the doctor. All of them seemed very busy except the doctor.

After filling out a two-page questionnaire, I was ushered into a small cubicle by one of the clerks and introduced to the technician of audio. This efficient young lady checked my hearing and pronounce me "not bad". Then she escorted me to another cubicle and said, "The doctor will see you shortly."

But shortly! The little man in the white coat ran in and said, "I've read your documents You have Bell's Palsy. I'll give you a shot of antibiotics and some pills. Come in to see me in ten days." And he ran out.

A nurse walked in with a needle and said, "Lower your pants, please." By that time I was so angry that I was prompted to make an immoral suggestion, but I restrained myself. "When will I see the doctor?" I asked.

"You've just seen him."

"Look lady," I said, "I'm from Canada and I'm not used to this rush act. Isn't the doctor going to examine my eyes, nose, ears and throat?"

"The doctor doesn't do eyes," she answered. "He specializes in ears, nose and throat."

"What side of the nose does he specialize in?" I asked. "The right or the left side?"

"You're joking, of course."

"I am not joking. He didn't examine either side."

"If you will kindly lower your pants and let me give you this shot, I'll tell the doctor you would like to see him again." The nurse with the sense of humour gave me a professional jab in the hip and vanished. Then the little road-runner in the starched white coat appeared and said, "You want to see me again?"

"Yes, would you mind examining my ears, nose and throat?"

"I've already told you," he replied, "I got the report about your ears from the technician. But I'll take a look at your nose and throat if you insist."

"I insist."

He took a quick look in my nose and said, "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." He got a hold of my tongue and said, "Talk to me." I figured that was his way of getting even with me for taking up another minute of his precious time.

"Your nose and throat are OK, baby," he proclaimed. "Don't forget to see the cashier on your way out!"

"Which one is the cashier?"

"You can't miss her. She's the one with the bullet-proof vest," he replied. I approached the young lady with the biggest chest. She was wearing a T-shirt with the word, expensive, across it. Sure enough, that was the cashier.

"I'd like to pay my bill," I said.

"That will be $183.00, dearie," she said.

"What's the extra dollar for?"

"That's for the shot in your behind."

I felt like spitting on the floor but I couldn't spit straight on account of the Bell's Palsy, and I was afraid it might land on the 'expensive' sign on the T-shirt. All I needed now was to get mixed up with American lawyers as well as doctors! So I paid my bill and left.

We phoned the Desert Hospital the same day and asked for a list of eye specialists in our area. They submitted three names and I chose Dr. Guss because the name had a familiar ring to it. When I told the receptionist that my problem was Bell's Palsy, she gave me an appointment for the following day.

The reception area was tiny. There were no fancy chesterfields, just straight-backed chairs; no thick carpets nor fancy light fixtures. The office was just large enough for two efficient-looking young ladies dressed in modest sportswear. One was the billing clerk and the other, the doctor's assistant.

I was ushered into a small examining room by the doctor's assistant who wrote down all the particulars of my problem, and tested my vision.

The doctor turned out to be a tall, handsome young man with a little black moustache. I judged him to be in his early thirties. He was dressed in blue jeans, sneakers, and T-shirt. His relaxed manner put me at my ease immediately.

"So you're Fred Narvey. I'm Dr. Guss. Are you related to the Narvey's of Portage la Prairie?"

"No," I replied. "Are you related to the Guss's of Winnipeg?"

"No. Do you know Abe Simkin?" he asked.

"I know his whole family."

After a pleasant conversation, he examined my eyes and explained that Bell's Palsy is caused by a nerve at the side of the skull that goes out of kilter. It usually takes approximately six to eight weeks for the nerve to rejuvenate itself. The eyes must be lubricated frequently to prevent dryness which can cause irreparable harm. Because Palm Springs is desert country, this danger can be acute.

The doctor then gave me some free samples of eye salve and "Liquid Tears" and said, "Phone me any time if you have any problems. You don't have to come down to see me." The bill was $50.00. "What a difference in appointments!" I thought. "No starched white coat, no fancy staff, just good solid advice. America, you have redeemed yourself!"