Ten years ago, after four decades of cutting grass, shoveling snow, and trudging up and down two flights of steps, I made the most drastic decision of my life. It was time to sell our farmhouse and move into a modern, elevator condominium.
Convincing my husband was not easy. There were the usual persuasive arguments: our ages, our ailments, our desire to travel… He eventually came around, with an occasional bout of panic.
“We’re going to live in a building with thirty strangers?”
“What if we don’t like it?”
“What are we going to do with all the stuff in the attic? the basement? the barn? the stable…?”
And I’d give him a pep talk.
“It’s going to be wonderful. No more stairs, no more branches to trim or gutters to unclog, no more tractors to grease or blades to sharpen…”
For an entire year, we ran ads, had yard sales, made trips to Good Will and the dump, and foisted our ‘treasures’ onto our children and grandchildren — until they were suspicious whenever we invited them to dinner. Finally, we found the perfect condominium and sold our house.
I swore that I would never move again. Days of unpacking and organizing, and trying to stay positive as my husband’s voice floated in from the balcony:
“Hey Hon, where are the clotheslines?”
“How come we only get one numbered parking space when we have two cars?”
“I’m going to measure the parking spaces; I think ours is smaller…”
“I feel like a bee in a big hive…”
It’s a fact that men have difficulty dealing with transition — and arbitrary rules. Such as: no clotheslines on the balcony; no throwing left-overs to the wildlife in the community; no car-washing. I still remember the look of disappointment the afternoon he returned to our condo with his bucket of dry rags, sponges, and unopened liquid car-wash. I wanted to hug him.
We learned early-on that a condominium building is a microcosm of the world: sixteen families from different backgrounds — some friendly, and some aloof…
Unfortunately, one of the first neighbors we met was fourth-floor-Henry, a grumpy man about our age with a mold and mildew fixation. He roamed the building looking for code infractions and adjusting the summertime common-area thermostat so that our teeth were chattering by the time we made our way through the halls and down the stairway to the outside door. Residents complained, but each time our building captain readjusted it, Henry changed it back to frigid temperatures. The ‘cold war,’ the neighbors called it as we listened to Henry’s dire predictions of mildew and mold growing on the common-area walls and ceilings if the temperature was raised to the recommended 78 degrees.
One summer day when we had propped our hall door open to carry some things into our unit, Henry appeared and ordered us to close our door.
“You’re suckin’ up the cold air from the hallway,” he accused.
As John hung a curtain rod at the window, I smiled at Henry. The old grump has a sense of humor after all, I thought. I smiled and invited him in for a visit. He stood firm, deadly serious, hands on hips, and threatened to report us to The Board if we didn’t close our door immediately.
There was a whoosh of air and a blur as John charged past me. I went weak in the knees as the two men stood toe to toe.
“Go ahead! Report us!” John challenged. “It’s my cold air too, and I’ll darned well suck it up if I please!”
As Henry left, John turned back to the curtain rod with a look that said, “I wonder if there’s a rule against stringing up a neighbor from the balcony…”
Henry reported us, and the board president paid a visit to our building captain that same day. On his way out, he set the common-area temperature at 78 degrees and installed a lock box on the thermostat.
No one spoke of the incident, but whenever we ran into board members on our neighborhood walks, they laughed and asked if the Rowes were still sucking up the cold air in our building.
That was years ago. Henry smiles more these days, but I suspect he still checks the staircase walls for signs of mildew and mold.
Being able to walk to the grocery store as well as to a state-of-the-art library, is a great convenience, but I still fantasize about opening my balcony door and shaking a rug or mop over the railing — a capital offence in a condo. We’ve adjusted to using our clothes drier and garbage disposal, as well as the car-wash down the street.
I look the other way when John throws stale biscuits to the wildlife in the woods on our neighborhood travels. I’ve discovered that I, too, have a rebellious side. Sometimes I shake a table cloth over the railing — after dark — and after surveying the area for late-night dog-walkers.
Condominiums are not for everyone, but even John admits that it was a good move for us.
11 Comments
Hi Auntie,
Seeing the picture of your house brought back some very fond memories. I love your blogs and the memories some of them bring back to me
Love,
Mike
Moving from a farm house to a condo is a huge transition. Brave of you guys. You’re right about men too. Those arbitrary rules, like the clothesline thing, drive me nuts!
Mrs. Rowe, you’ll think me foolish, but your home reminds me of Rocky Ridge Farm (Laura & Almanzo Wilder’s home) in Missouri. Of course they look nothing alike, but both seem to have a sense of peacefulness about them.
I moved into a new home, new country every 3 years or so: an actual home base was wherever Mom, Dad and my brothers were.
Thank you for sharing.
That was a great house! But it makes perfect sense that after 40 years’ worth of doing those same tasks you’d be ready to move on. However, now that you’ve given us a peek into your wonderful world of condo living, I want more! (Ha!)
In fact (and I mean no disrespect to him at all), while watching the Weather Channel this evening, I actually found myself wondering how Henry was handling the heat wave situation up there!
Good for you. Aren’t you glad you have your husband for protection from grumpy old men. Glad he’s feeding the wildlife. Don’t know what I would do with out it. Pat from Auburn,AL
Dear Mrs. Rowe,
Change can be a daunting process. Having moved many, many times as a child, I said, “I’m never moving, again!” Suprise! Now a single parent and about to be ‘home alone’, I am considering leaving home for work and volunteering for the first time. They say life is what happens to us when were buisy making other plans and that has never been more true in my case. Along with a renewed sense of excitement, I realize that I may run into some not so neighborly souls but with the right attitude, transitions can be made easily. I am happy to read that you never lost that feeling of home. Like your passions, your family, you bring them with you. To the late night dog walker, sometimes when He says it is time to get up, you get up! Sincerely, Shannon.
I have ALWAYS lived in condos/apartments. In fact I grew up in 700 square feet on the seventh floor. I know that the day will come, perhaps soon, when I end up living in a house and while I’m excited, I’m also a little shell-shocked even from the thought. I don’t know how to handle waking up to birds chirping, I don’t know the first thing about lawn maintenance, and my life would be empty without the nightly ritual of imploring the parking gods to grant me a convenient parking space.
When the time comes, I will have to read this story again… in reverse, I guess… I think it will help.
Thank you for another great story.
P.S: I, too, sometimes shake a thing or two over the balcony railing. High-five, Mrs. Rowe!
Mrs. Rowe, I couldn’t agree with you more. After 25 years in the country, I “downsized” to a condo. Gone are the days of sharing privacy with the wild animals. Adjustments and change are often tough. Thanks for sharing.
I’m sure downsizing is a tough decision to make. It’s a total change in lifestyle. I’m glad Mr.Rowe was able to adjust smoothly to this change….I guess the main reason is because he has a very wonderful and supportive wife by his side.
Good story Mrs. Rowe. Thank you.
~Cyn:)
Your story reminds me of my own parents move from one state to another. My father too, had to be convinced. We kids thought the idea was a lost cause and it would never happen, but we let our mother handle the convincing. And low and behold…they are now neighbors to three of their four children in another state. It was quite an adjustment for them to go from a house with two private acres, to a 1 acre lot in a subdivision with covenants and restriction rules. But it’s been a few years and now they are very happy with their move as well.
I hope things continue to go well for you both. I really enjoy reading your blogs.
Dearest Peggy,
You are abolutely wonderful. You also reared a wonderful son and have continued to rear your wonderful husband. I have just begun to read your web site and within just within these few seconds I love you.
I will write more very soon and can’t wait to read your words !!!!
Later OK ?
Pat