El Condo Pasa
February 15, 2006

The area of Pompano Beach that we vacation in is not too trendy. There are many vacant lots proclaiming the imminent construction and sale of towering high rises with 8 digit prices. So far, only the signs announce the area as being exclusive. It would be nice to ride the ladder of incoming wealth, but I am not sure we will live long enough to experience such a renaissance. Our building is a sturdy habitat for seniors. When we purchased it, the “over 55” rule had just been suspended in order to encourage resales. Today I could buy here with the prior prohibitions, but Steve could not. DAMN.

As Steve has alluded to, there is a supposition in the building that folks on the sweet side of 40 are savages, and only with advanced age comes wisdom. There are rules to keep us in line: fold boxes before placing in the garbage room, wrap trash in plastic with a firm tie, no newspapers in the dumpster, no swimming after 10:00pm, adults only swim 2:30-3:30, park in your spot only, no overnight parking in the visitor’s spot, no guests except relatives may stay when owners are not present, and even relatives may stay only 30 days. On top of that, absolutely no pets are allowed. (That is a bit of a deal breaker for me, since in the future I would not mind spending more time in the sunny climate of FLA.) There are only 24 units, and 7 board members, so there are plenty of enforcers. I do not think I could smuggle in a fish.

Every Wednesday the troops paddle down for the cocktail party, which serves as a way of counting noses to assure each other that no one has passed on. (Sad to say, we were greeted by the news of the demise of Bob Widmar, who was recently predeceased by his wife, Helen. He was 95, and had been stubbornly active until just recently) This event has been irretrievably altered by the hurricane and its attending tornadoes. When Wilma slapped these sandy shores, the canopy that represents the last line of defenses against melanoma went sailing away, like Dorothy’s house in OZ. Dad and his cohorts are adverse to the sun, and a non-sheltered cocktail hour is high risk. They cannot wait until sunset, because their eyes are not what they used to be. Of course, they are very enraptured by cocktails and Cheetoes, and so some brave souls still soldier down. …like Tom Terrific, my Dad. The late and greatly missed Mr. Widmar had his caretaker wheel him down until just a few months ago.

I have been popping into this building since 1978. Mom and Dad owned a condo downstairs, and we loved to escape the Midwest. I cajoled Steve into sleeping in the twin bedded guest room the first year we were married, and when Pat was born, we parked his portable crib in the walk in closet. We added Mike and Matt, and the grandparents had a chance to get to know my Chicago clan. The main reason we bought here was to spend more time with my folks, but Mom short-circuited some of these good intentions by dying in 1998. Still, we have had many wonderful family times here, both with our boys and with the extended family. (I use WE, but of course, I is more precise…though Steve spent an unemployed month without me here between MVP and CKG. He charmed my Mom with his Eddie Haskell ways, and with his screwdrivers. (She was not much of a drinker and did not know what hit her)

When I awakened this morning, I had to smile at three little pictures on our bedroom walls. When the boys were little, I loved for them to make holiday gifts for their Dad, who in truth had everything he needed. In 1993, right after we bought this place, I commissioned paintings of snowmen for Steve. Though the boys were 12, 10 and 8 at the time, it is clear that the same personalities they exhibit today were in place. These images bear witness to family. Family is why we huddle our 5 bodies, with occasional guests, into 800 square feet, with a rules list longer that the Commandments. We can ignore the prohibitions; we can even conform because we get to be together. My Mom’s extended family currently owns 4 of the 24 units. Maybe we can get recruits, run for the board, and stage a rules coup.

Editor's note: Mike, who works for the Sox today, did the Sox snowman; Matt, who has a radio show like Dad made the "like father like son" snowmen (at 8!!!); and Patrick, the most observant of his Dad, did the aloha snowman.