A unit down the hall from ours has been vacant for several months. The owner died and her kids put it on the market. They were there so often during the end that my Dad got really attached to their dog.
Imagine our surprise when, after returning home from the doctor the other day, we saw the dog (and his human) walking in front of our building. My Dad was so happy you’d think he just won the lottery.
Oh, to have that much power…!
When I finally convinced my parents that it was time to move out of their 3-leveled townhouse (after both of them had fallen) and into a condo without stairs, the fun had only just begun.
It never occurred to me that this almost 60-years-married couple could not (and would not) part with a single item… many of which had not seen the light of day in more than half a century.
We all love our memorabilia and no one would ever suggest throwing out an original photo or a special letter. But 70+ year old school report cards, brittle clumps of no longer fine, baby hair and (there are no words) what appear to be baby teeth in little plastic treasure chests are NOT items that need to be saved and moved to yet another home.
Sometimes, ‘out with the old and in with the new’ has tremendous merit – especially when not doing so turns a home into a hoarding house!
It is becoming yet another full-time job of mine to troubleshoot everything and anything my Dad thinks he hears:
It’s entirely possible that some of these noises DID occur, at one time, and some I have actually heard myself. But I simply cannot track every sound and motion – even as it becomes his latest obsession. Then, when I tell him to please stop tapping his fingers or grinding his teeth because it’s distracting me while I’m trying to write (this blog post, for example), he gets all bent out of shape because he doesn’t think THOSE noises are annoying.
So, what’s the solution?
The solution is: turn up the volume of his TV (even more, if possible); wait for him to fall asleep in his comfy lounger (oops, he just did) and Voila… Problem solved!*
*at least until next time…
When living in a co-op or condo community, you’re bound to run into your neighbors at some point. In our case, since my parents pretty much never leave their home for social occasions, that meeting of people tends to take place in the elevator.
It’s a very short ride so not much gossiping occurs during the trip down to the lobby. Once downstairs, people either head to their respective mailboxes or to their garages.
I’ve lived in many towns and I’m not one of those people who tends to run into friends and neighbors at the supermarket. Even when my kids were small and had various groups of friends, I seldom ran into their friends’ parents or their teachers or their coaches outside of school.
But here, where a large majority of homeowners are retired and/or widowed and have nothing but time on their hands, running into someone – anywhere – is pretty much a given.
Some of my favorite meeting places are:
1) The Gym – where they often fight over the single stationary bike (and the tv remote)
2) The Pool – where they often fight over the single lap lane (and the one remaining noodle)
3) The Clubhouse – where everyone wants to invite their entire family over for Thanksgiving (because who wants all those people in their home?)
4) The Clubhouse, again – where men and women have separate poker games (and heaven help them when they’re scheduled at the same time)
But I guess I’d have to say that my number one favorite place that people meet here is… the semi-annual homeowners meeting. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. People come out of the woodwork to air their grievances and hear what catastrophes everyone else is dealing with. I almost expect to see Madame Defarge, happily knitting away, while corporate heads roll under the scrutiny of the elderly!
hellomuddah hellofadduh 