Christmas in condoland - the lights they do shine

Every year since moving to condoville, the buildings in our area go all out when it comes to Christmas decorations. Down the block at the senior's residence, nary a balcony is without glimmering, shimmering colored (and then some) lights in shades of dark blue, light blue, white, red, yellow... You name it, they're displaying it in geometrical shapes and garlands of electric. Let me put it this way: airplanes flying over our area could mistake all the lights as a landing strip and Las Vegas hotels could relate.

It's obviously important to everyone because professional Christmas hanger-uppers are hired to handle the task. It takes on average and without exaggeration, a whole day to string up the trees in our two twin condo buildings. Although nobody openly discusses or admits it, there is an underlying air of competition with more and more trees acting as artistic pallets. Still, it does make one wonder how the squirrels sleep at night.

This is all leading up to the decision by our condo association for whatever reason, to cut back on this year's display. The truck arrived as usual early in the morning and the team of men got out holding lengths of electrical wire, quickly setting to work stringing the lights around the tree trunks. Two hours later they were gone. The evening told the whole picture when a mere two bushes and four trees with lights constituted the holiday display. Perhaps our condo association is cutting back in light of economic conditions, in which case they are to be lauded. Meanwhile, we're waiting to see if and when the plastic Christmas tree garnished with elaborate decorations, will make its appearance. At least the squirrels will get some shuteye.

Space - the parking garage

Go figure that the parking garage would be a cause of friction. The front bumpers of our car have been dented three times now. Not badly mind you but visible none-the-less. Heaven forbid the "bumper" should leave a note of appology to the "bumpees" or pass along an anonymous hint that would point to the guilty car. It's like the condo residents take an oath of silence to ignore anything that could cause a verbal confrontation. Unlike TV shows which can narrow down potential perps by analyzing paint chips, a lot of the parked cars have bumps. Go know!

In order to narrow down the culprits, my husband deduced by the placement of the small dent(s) that it was the condo shopping cart used to transport grocery bags back to the apartments, which did the damage. When confronted with evidence the owner of the garage space on the left denied any culpability.

"I'm careful!" he responded maybe a little too quickly indicating some potential feelings of guilt. "How come you pick on me?" The owner of the other garage space on the other side not surprisingly, also denied any involvement.

Incensed with everyone's indifference, a hand-made sign was posted informing everyone who passing through the parking garage that our car had been the victim of a shopping cart-hit-and-run. It made my husband feel better but embarrassed the heck out of me! Never a dull moment.

Yesterday,somebody blatantly and openly smoked a cigarette,a no-no, in the parking garage, which is considered common area governed by condo rules. The one thing one learns quickly living in condoville is that there are rules governing...practically everything.

A condo is an apartment with lots of neighbors

Moving into a condo has been interesting from a life-changing perspective. Having lived in a house for umpteen years, the first adjustment was getting used to the idea that we're no longer alone. This means movement from the upstairs neighbors who I call "The Clickety-Clicks" since one of them sounds like they're wearing high heels. Actually, it could be both of them come to think of it.

It's particularly annoying when I'm attempting to focus on my writing or painting a canvas. Mentally, I find myself following their footsteps as they 'clickety-click' while moving around their apartment.

Clickety-click.... Clickety-click...back and forth, back and forth.

On occasion in utter frustration, I find myself screaming - okay not screaming, yelling softly, because neighbors won't like that - "shut-up...shut-up...shut-up!" I've threatened to physically confront the C-C's but have been restrained by my husband. I mean, what would I say?

"Hi there. I live downstairs. Your slippers or shoes or whatever you wear on your feet are driving me up the wall! Kindly exchange them for a quiet sole. There's some on sale at Walmart."
I suppose I could send them an anonymous letter but it wouldn't be difficult to narrow down the letter writer, which could prove embarrassing.

Anyway, it's quiet upstairs since they've left for Florida. At least I think they're gone. I could swear I heard footsteps yesterday. Meanwhile, Mr. Happiness who rarely cracks a smile, is leaving the condo shopping cart in the hall in front of his apartment, instead of returning it to its usual place in the garage. It's always something.