Oven Evolution

It's good to be home even if it does mean a return to the delights of housekeeping. 

Trails, tinkles, and tarts

We began our Memorial Day weekend at a nearby reservoir, which has a very manageable bike/walking path that runs through the woods and beside the water in spots.

          I like it much better than more popular trails – unlike in Northampton and Amherst, I’m not dodging skateboarders and herds of families with kids that wander across the path or come teetering toward you. Having only learned to ride a bike as an adult, I’m not all that confident myself and appreciate an empty lane for my own teetering.

  

 

        There were a few patches of fisherpeople.

          Banks of ferns.

          And reminders that if I fell, to go for the asphalt instead of these three-leaved dangers.

          My afternoon was more mundane, with a trip to the garden/pet supply place where fortunately, no one spotted Mamie shamelessly peeing on the floor. 

(No photos - I was busy quickly shuffling us off to some other part of the store)

          But the evening proved that you never quite know how life is going to work out. 

 

Who would have ever thought that this new care-free condo life would also come with my own rhubarb patch (thank you, previous owners) that I could harvest for a tasty rustic tart. 

Fence Sitting

When my kids were young I worked the 3-11 shift two evenings a week as a unit secretary in the pediatrics ward of the local hospital. It was interesting work -  answering phones, scheduling tests, transcribing orders, and a hundred other tasks. I really enjoyed it, probably because it was part-time.

I think I recognize the face. . . .

One thing about a new home is getting to know the neighbors and sorting them out.

Any Day Now

     Life here in condo land can be a bit insulating from some of the harsh realities of home ownership.

Rolling along

Condo living may be designed to simplify life, but it still requires some adaptation – even in the dog world.

Country girl to city girl

Mamie is adjusting nicely to condo living, although I’m sure she misses her favorite patch of pachysandra back at the house. 

Quiet day at the condo

Our relentless pace has slowed down a bit.

She Who Must Not be Named

Today, Mamie and I had just begun her early-morning stroll and snuffle.

Power to the People

The first skirmish I noticed here at the commune was the monthly ladies’ luncheon. These are at a different restaurant each time and should draw a big crowd, considering there are 130 units here in our complex but that day there were only about 10 people. In a world full of retired people you’d have we would have filled the place.

          And there are the bi-weekly cocktail Thursdays by the pool. Again, perhaps 15 or 20 at most showed up.

          But I hadn’t yet learned about the power plays going on behind the scenes.

          My next door neighbor, M, who organized the Thursdays, never goes to the luncheons, and B, who organized the luncheons, won’t attend the cocktail Thursdays. Hmmm.

And then there’s C, the head of the social committee, reportedly as difficult to unseat as the Pope and who keeps an iron control over the pot lucks.

Who knew Shangri-La would be so riddled with power struggles?

Our condo board takes this to a whole other level. At least here the politics are about things that matter, like water bills and maintenance.

We’re still the newbies here, but even we have figured out that our complex is in need of change. Our complex is governed by a board of 5, and the place is overseen by a management company that deals with the day to day administration.

Our current board president – S - has dug into her position like a tic on a hound dog and seems to have forgotten that this isn’t a life-time term.  She also doesn’t realize that the management company actually works for us, not the other way around and so we’ve received pretty lackluster service. Painting is flaking on one of the older buildings and the landscape company hasn’t fertilized the grass for over a year.

I’ll give S credit though – in spite of being 80, you’ll see her everywhere, on the job. However, people who have been to her unit on the third floor of her building report that she also keeps a pair of binoculars on the ready. Her place overlooks the pool and heaven help the person who puts a float in the water or who stops by to chat for a moment with their dog.

       

   The good news is we’ve just elected two new members to the board and S is due for re-election next year. I see a coup in the making.

Mystery Solved

. . . . goulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night. . .

          We’re still adjusting to life here in the commune. After years and years and years of living in a house, we’re used to hearing water run and knowing who flushed. Now we have two floors above us, and in spite of having two feet of concrete between us and our neighbors, sound still manages to travel. 

          One night last week I woke at 3:30 a.m. to Mamie, usually the most silent dog on the planet, barking her head off. This was immediately followed by pounding feet running upstairs.  I made it to a front window just in time to see a car in front of the building, motor running, passenger door open, and a young woman sprinting toward it.

          Robbery? Family drama?

          The next morning I asked the woman on one side of us if she’d heard anything. Nope.

          I asked the woman two doors down if she’d heard anything. Nope.

          Later in the day I asked the neighbor next door if he’d heard anything. Nope. But as a year-round resident he’s also sort of the mayor of our building and has keys to many of our places so he can check to make sure we don’t come back to ugly surprises. Nobody had arrived yet at the units above us so he said he’d go upstairs and take a look.

          When I saw him the next day he said the doors had been locked and nothing looked disturbed.

          Huh. The next night I thought twice about leaving our window unlocked, but I slept soundly, undisturbed.  

          Days went by and the upstairs neighbors arrived, followed by their three granddaughters in the 7 to 13 age range. In person they look sedate enough, but once in their grandparents’ condo they must strap on hobnail boots and while away the hours moving furniture. The first night they were there I woke again to running footsteps at 3:30, but attributed it to the heavy-hoofed kids above us.

The soundproofing between units is excellent, but our concrete block and iron buildings carry percussive sounds so effectively they’d be perfect should we ever find ourselves duck-taped by evil-dooers and forced to tap out a cry for help in Morse code.

Yesterday we had our annual condo meeting, and after discussions about landscaping, building color, water bills, and non-working street lights, the grandfather from upstairs raised a tentative hand.

He asked, “Has anyone else heard running at 3 in the morning?”

He was answered by puzzled and affirmative head-noddings.

So, I thought, that latest pre-dawn clomping hadn’t come from his family after all. .

Then from in the back of the room someone called out, “Oh, that’s the paper delivery.”