I should have lost at least five pounds just by moving to this condo seven years ago because that’s how long it’s been since I’ve bought Halloween candy. Last night was the seventh year we had no trick or treaters. They just don’t come here, which defies all logic. It would have been the Promised Land for me when I was a kid – all these homes packed in tight, no traffic to deal with. And this is a community filled to the brim with grey haired residents whose end tables probably all groan with candy dishes and who would like nothing better than to exclaim over cute costumes and tweak pudgy cheeks.
I mentioned this phenomenon to two
other condo dwellers that I know, each in a different complex, and they said no,
they had no one ringing their doorbells either. But one of them explained why.
Condo complexes are considered private property and don’t allow solicitation;
some even post signs to that effect. I will admit that I’ve enjoyed seven
restful years of no one trying to sell me anything or hand me a pamphlet.
And it seems there’s always something
new at Yoga. This morning, as our soft ethereal music was playing and we were
all trying – and mostly failing – to balance on one foot, loud manly voices
rang out from the next room. Our YMCA has rented out the kitchen to a caterer
and today we could hear lots of good-natured joshing back and forth. Our
instructor Dawn cut like a bullet through our teetering figures just as we were
hearing laughter and a “What the f…..”
Quiet returned and we went on through
the remainder of the movements until we were lying flat on our mats during the
silent rest period. From the back of the room came a small chirp and gurgle. With 95% of
us being women, we all knew exactly what it was. There were a few soft chuckles.
After class, Dawn wished us all a good weekend and then introduced us to the youngest member of our group, Serenity.
