Renter Beware 2

We've now looked at several places: a lovely LITTLE condo on a golf course with the hole in the bedroom window to prove it. A lovely half a house with an incredible layout and cathedral ceilings but 2 lanais in the dark (no sun), and the pool a car ride away. A single mobile that I actually liked (it had 3 recliners and I'm really getting used to reclining) except the beds were too small. A double-wide mobile that I liked, so spacious, but hubby didn't like the park it was in. So we are now moving into the same condo park as 2 of our friends. But. (Here comes Mrs. Fussy again!) But, the living room furniture isn't fit for the Sally Ann. As luck would have it, we found a set of rattan living room furniture for a song in perfect condition so we bought it, rented a van and moved it in our new place. Now I have to convince the landlord to let us chuck his stuff (really, it's pretty awful) and buy our stuff. Wish me luck. Can you tell I like these little challenges? But hubby doesn't. Poor man, I drive him crazy but I gotta give him credit: off he goes with me, rents the van, hauls the furniture and so on. Only gets a little testy when he gets hungry.

The upshot of all this is, we have a far better idea of what is out there in our price range. Friends took us to a very large mobile park that was quite impressive; beautiful, spacious mobiles, and a large population of Canadians live there. It has large pools, hot tubs and a gi-normous rec centre with all the bells and whistles, even a computer room with several PCs (looks like a government training room). The park is enhanced by a little lake curved around by a neat little nine-hole golf course. Part of the park is segregated for pet owners. It has loads of activities and looks like day after day of fun.

The lady showing us around confided her own impression, whispering "Yes, it's very nice but they don't seem to allow black or other ethnic groups in. I don't know how they do that but they apparently don't. They just recently let in the first gay couple." Hmmm. If that is the case, it's ironic, and sad, especially on a day when the first black president is being sworn in that so many are still striving to truly be treated as equals, and apparently, many are still holding them back. "Well, they let Seamus O'Hare* in," I joked making reference to her friend who is Irish. No one laughed.

So while it appears to be a lovely Shangrila, I have to wonder if it really is? As a Canadian who accepts, likes and enjoys living in a multicultural country, you have to ask yourself do you want to live in a community like that? The easy answer is no, I don't. The harder answer is yes (who doesn't like fun?) but then to stick to our principles would require the stamina and intent to get involved on the board to affect and change the exclusive policy and such decisions as to who is allowed to live there, assuming, of course, that the board would let the likes of us in there in the first place. I'm hoping the lady who said this got it wrong because if it is true then it means some of my fellow Canadians living there support what appears to be a racist policy. I don't like that.

Which leads me to applications. Every community of 55+ wants you to fill out an application to know who you are. They want to know who they're living with. As in the case above, there's nothing to say what their criteria for acceptance is. We had to fill out a form AND pay a small fee to be eligible to rent our 2nd condo and receive a pool and community centre pass. Despite having paid the landlord 3 month's rent and moving in our bargain furniture, we still don't know if we passed muster. We also don't know that their "policies" are. My eyes are a little wider open now. Wish us luck yet again.

Renter Beware

Florida is, as promised, sunny. OK; not sunny today but most of the time it is. We weren't very sunny when we arrived here having opted to drive longer than planned and not spend a night in a motel when we could get to our destination before 9pm. With our newly acquired GPS, we could tell the landlady exactly when we'd be arriving and so it was.

Despite her assurances to meet us, she wasn't here. First bad sign. Gone to grab a quick bite, a neighbour told us. Eventually she showed up with her dad in tow (89 and about to turn 90 the next day). We slowly followed dad and her up the steps to our unit. Inside we had the whirlwind tour and as she was extolling her honesty and the cleanliness of the apt. & using the word "immaculate" I was staring at a dirty stove and a worrisome rain-stained ceiling. I was really wondering if she was perhaps blind. Second bad sign.

I should have pointed out my vision of this little shop of horrors then and there but I was a little shell-shocked being car-bound for 12 hours plus hubby had made a left hand turn almost into a ditch having missed a "street" which dear old GSP guided him to. As he backed out of that, with cars coming at us in the dark, I was sure we'd have a collision. I guess that was really the beginning of this little saga. All I really wanted to do, as she showed me the place, was to fall in bed. But no, "let me show you the pool and community centre." Zombie-like I followed. I mentioned friends were also staying here so next thing you know, landlady's knocking on their door. They're also renting from her. While it's all nice to say hello quickly, this wasn't quick. Our friends were glad to see the landlady as they had a list of things they were unhappy about or missing. Bad sign #3.

Finally we rid ourselves of the landlady (who, it turns out is really NOT the landlady but acting on behalf of her "friend" D who'll be coming down in a couple of days). We're beat and fall into bed. I awake but feel absolutely blue knowing in the light of day I'm going to have to do a more thorough check of the place. Things are surface clean, as if someone did the bare minimum. But the kitchen floor, fridge, stove and cupboards need scrubbing. We should have called friends to put us up and left then. But oh no...we buy cleaning supplies and get 'er done. Bad sign #4.

There's a mop but no pail. There's an ironing board but no iron. There's a sink but no dish rack nor towels. There's a new washer & dryer but landlady says it's not for our use; we have to use the laundry mat around the corner. What!!?? There's cable in both bedrooms but no TVs. The baseboards everywhere, white, are black with dust. The windows and windowsills - you don't wanna know. We're disheartened & should have been assertive with our dear landlady but no, we just get to it & clean. First bad move. Once all is clean, I feel better. Another friend in another area which we love offers a phone number to another place there. But we feel we're over the worst. This place is spacious and while definitely not modern (as my friend P says "a little tired"), will do now that it's clean. We give the number to our friends (the first ones with the list). Second bad move.

We give the landlady our list (iron, pail, dishrack, toaster, blender, bdrm TV, fix the patio screen [another story], cupboard liners [she or someone had started scraping the liners out of a couple of cupboards and just left the tool and scratched up liner there], strainer, patio chairs, oven mitts, and bedroom wastebaskets). She promises to get the items but its 4 days before she shows up with anything. Needless to say, we aren't eating toast for breakfast.

Our friends made the call and move into the new place. It's lovely, has everything including a different landlady, back balcony and front lanai AND it's cheaper! What the Hell were we thinking? We still don't have a toaster let alone a balcony and we gave that number away? Third bad move plus the ignomy of kicking ourselves for our own stupidity.

But it's not all bad. We can walk to the grocery store, the gym (named anytime cuz you can go "anytime"), church, etc. The pool is across the street and is a wonderful temperature and surrounded with chaise lounges. There is a BBQ, and a piano in the community centre so I can continue with my piano lessons. Our downstairs neighbours are wonderful and also happen to be the president and vice-president respectively of the condo corporation we're in. Both beds are king-like, meaning, they are king by virtue of two twin beds pushed together. The trick to making whoopee is to maneouvre so you're not about the fall through the crack! The landscaping is lovely, we're not on a busy street so it's very quiet. They don't seem to believe in water conservation (despite signs to the contrary) and the shower, compared to our lowflow at home, gives us copious amounts of water. We're still within walking distance of 3 other couples we know, one of whom we golf with.

On day 4, landlady shows up with most of the stuff on our list. We're in the toasting business again. But, bad sign #5, we mention that we'll be having guests. Sorry, she says. Guests can't stay beyond 2 weeks and we have a couple coming for a month. She asks for Jan and Feb rent. I tell her our deposit was to cover Jan and we only owe for Feb & Mar. These two things are my breaking point. I tell her that in that case I guess we won't be staying. I get on my soapbox. I turn into the horrible little bureaucrat I could sometimes be. Yes: Jekyll & Hyde, that's me. I let her have it. I set her straight about the rent & that she won't get a penny until Feb 1 and Mar 1 roll around. I tell her I'll be speaking to the condo prez & vice-prez about the guest limitation. I let her have it about the condition of the place. She asked why I hadn't complained about the cleanliness problem the first day. I said she'd had 6 months to get this place clean and what would one more day do? I was very stiff with her and was almost feeling bad when she apologized.

And it's funny. The longer you stay in a place, the more comfortable you get. It's really a pleasant place and now that most of the hurdles have been jumped, I could even recommend it. The prez said our guests could stay the month if they liked, no problem. He then showed us his place which is for sale and it's lovely and really IMMACULATE in the true sense of the word. Unfortunately, we're not in the market to buy. But we have decided to try to get over to where our first friend is staying as it's just more our style.

I knew going into this that taking a place sight unseen was a risk and as far as risks go, it wasn't that bad; however, we're now here a week and we have not unpacked as we expect to move at month's end. I've scanned the ads and have 2 possibles set up to view this week. Keep your fingers crossed that all goes well. Worst case scenario? We stay here. There are now mostly pluses to staying so who knows? One thing is for sure, we'll certainly know better next year and hope to lock into a place this year for next year so we don't go through this again.

Thank you to the Universe

It's now 2009 with all the possible joy and fear that a new year portends. So to start it off on a positive note, I hereby express my gratitude to

- my family, near and far, for loving me despite my faults
- my friends for listening and supporting me through my ups and downs
- my parents, though gone. Thanks for having had such a good time. Had you not, I might not be here.
- my neighbours for their good humour and inclusiveness. Need to feel welcome? You should live here!
- my correspondents; those who take the time to send me personal notes or even routine jokes. Nice to still be connected albeit electronically.
- those who serve me locally and in the city. So pleasant. So helpful.
- the animals who enter my life through various means but who invariably enrich my life
- my teachers for their patience, their willingness to share their knowledge to help me learn
- those in whom I find fault for there's often a lesson to be learned, yes, even tho irked!
- my little town, my province, my country. What a great place to live! Who doesn't love Canadians and the Canadian way?! Yes, the weather can be a challenge but the views, the land, and our culture more than make up for it!
- and last, not least, those whose paths have crossed mine. It's always a pleasure.

I'm glad to be alive, to be able to dance, sing, make music and love. To cook and eat with gusto! To strap on my skates and glide (something we did today on the lake). To swim, paddle, walk, write, paint, golf, and collect and yes, even to dust for in dusting one is reminded of the feel of things. It's good to be alive. Economy be damned. It's good to be alive, to feel alive and especially to be living in Canada.

The Piano Recital

Certain events envelop you in the spirit of Christmas, and last night's piano recital was one.

It was a perfect wintry night, crunchy snow, and -23 degrees as we approached the white farm house (my piano teacher's home) with its wraparound verandah. Old and young entered, breath steaming, stamping their boots, to be warmly welcomed by our teacher and D, her mother, and the four wide-eyed little girls each one head taller than the other, taking in each person as they arrived.

Ushered through the kitchen warmed by an incredible stove that looked from another era, we deposited the goodies we'd made to contribute to the festivities on a huge, long kitchen table.

Their giant Christmas tree resided in front of the bay window, obliterating it with its lights and decorations. Kids abounded, all pressed and shiney, girls and boys in bright colours, all eager to listen or play the piano which sat in Christmas splendor for it too was dressed up in a swag topped with red ribbon. Moms, dads, siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles and in my case, a husband, found themselves spots in comfy chairs and sofas. The kids sat here and there on the floor making happy the huge grey barn cat which circulated amongst the many little bodies and hands reaching out to him. I'd met him earlier in the year, trying hard to squeeze by me at the door when I'd enter, but he's not allowed in until mid-November.

A colourful fruitpunch loaded with summer berries found its way to my hand, thanks to B's father. C, her brother, in his bright red shirt, black pants and suspenders also welcomed us. The show began. Our young teacher, B, looked like a Victorian beauty: her long hair pinned up to fall freely down her back to her waist, a pretty white blouse and vibrant full length skirt layered in reds swayed over her shiney black boots. She outlined the proceedings: she would draw a name, that student would play, then in turn s/he would take a lollipop, draw another name and so on. I felt nervous and wondered if the kids did too. No one looked it. B herself was the first to play. She made a few mistakes which she said were on purposed to relax the rest of us. It worked. And so the evening progressed, little voices announcing the next player, little players tackling their tunes, some shyly, some with great gusto, other with determination. Some with legs hanging over the edge of the piano bench, some with their toes barely touching the pedals and one (me) having to push the seat back to accommodate my height in this concert of Lilliputians. It was wonderful. We even learned a little anecdotal music history!

People beside me commented on the progress made by the students since last year. I was told I'd be amazed at my own progress by next year. I certainly hope they're right. It seemed my name would never be called but then it was. My cold hands shook; I was surprised at being so nervous. B introduced me as her first and only adult student. I hoped I wouldn't be her last. I also hoped no one had great expectations. I sat, caressed the keys and began. "Still, still, still" became shrill, shrill, shrill as my fingers found some wrong notes but I persevered. As luck would have it, the name I drew was my own so I had to play again. By this time, the nerves had dissapated and I aced it. The applause felt warmer for the second time.

The other students ranged from about 4 or 5 years old to 13 or 14, I guessed. Their diligence and hard work was evident. Little J, a very neat and self-possessed little boy, kept patting his shirt pocket where he'd amassed four lollipops, one for each of his performances. I couldn't keep my eyes from B's little sisters, four little stepping stones sitting almost at my feet. All were dressed in lovely Christmassy dresses with big sashes and bows, leotards and tidy little shoes, their hair as shiney as their bright eyes. They whispered amongst each other, pointed, laughed, petted the cat, gave each other little kisses and hugs, having a fine time. One could crawl up to Granny's lap from time to time for a better view. I had to step carefully through these delightful little girls to wend my way to the piano.

Before you knew it, our concert had come to an end. We trooped into the warm kitchen, working our way around the table laden with goodies then socialized in the large living room. I met a man who'd help create the Highlands golf course back in 1952. I didn't dare tell him that was the year I was born. He still golfs 4 times a week and his wife nodded knowingly when I told her I knew what it was like to be a golf widow. They were there supporting their lovely teenaged granddaughter who'd played one of her pieces by memory.

I also met B's grandmother whose mother had been a concert pianist. She herself, now in her 70's, did play as well but no longer. Gave away her piano, she said. I told her I'd learned that to master anything, one must devote at least 10,000 hours to it. At that rate, I told her, I'd be in my 80's. At that, she expressed regret she'd ever stopped playing. I hope I never do.

We left the farm embued with a wonderful sense of fellowship and warmth, happy and grateful for the open hands, hearts and minds we'd just spent time with. The Christmas spirit is truly alive and well and living in Kinburn. I look forward already to next year's recital.

Merry Christmas - 2008 - Happy New Year!

Christmas is a comin',

our snowshoes are on the rack.

We'll soon be wearing golf shoes,

& we ain't a lookin' back!

So when the temp hits 80, we will think of you with cheer!
We'll both sit back, some beer we'll crack.

...Hope you have a great New Year!

Cheers,
W & D!