My first thought was that she would probably have a coronary if she ever saw Notre Dame.
My second was that we should take up a collection and ship her there (steerage is okay, just cut holes in her crate) to facilitate one.
Home Owners Associations. Wow, the joys of them all.
Of course, I sued my most recent one over bylaw objections and opted out permanently…one of the advantages of being wed to an attorney (don’t ask about the disadvantages–we really don’t have time in this
So much for the ‘Love Thy Neighbor…’ scenario.
I am more a believer in the ‘big fences make good neighbors’ camp. Generally, the more interested the people surrounding you are in your life, the less interesting their own lives are. That also falls into the: ‘Let’s put folding chairs in our driveway and pop a cold one’ philosophy of life to which mercifully, I’ve never subscribed.
I hold the honoured distinction of being the president of a ‘Homeowners’ Association’ for approximately three years. Like most anomalies in nature–I’m not sure how this happened to me. Wrong place/wrong time? Oh, well…..(OH HELL).
I’ve learned the HARD way that: President of any volunteer organization is a rather LOVELESS position. WE (heretofore referred to as ‘the band of patsies’) finally hired a property management company –to referee the doo dah of the other 54 homeowners who apparently had a hell of a lot more time on their hands than common
It seems Most of the “Community” (VERY, very loosely used wording here kids) enjoyed writing letters to me specifically, but us (the band of patsies) complaining about other people’s: mulch, lawn ornaments, choice of house paint colour, car placement, water violations, sprinkler systems, pets, children, lighting, tree growth, noise, selection of interior blinds/verticals/curtains, fences, floratum sod, mailboxes—ALL REQUESTING ABSOLUTE ANONYMITY (Yeah, THEY love THEIR NEIGHBORS alright)…..
It was really heartwarming to receive a letter from Phil X about Jim Y and then watch them get together the next day to play ball with their kids and eat burgers—-of course, then the following day Jim Y would write a nasty letter about Phil X. I felt like I was teaching preschool. As an unpaid social worker of sorts, I decided to RUN if anyone ever tapped me for a job like this again.
I am proud to say that I was impeached (as were my fellow patsies) for making this executive decision to hire trained professionals (naturally, there was money to be paid for the services–GASP).
This property management company, by the way—fifteen years later is still managing the community. I moved. Sayonara. Catch me if you can.