I Hate To Bother You, But...
I'm told there are a ton of great reasons to live in a 55+ community. For the 18 months we've been in one, I have yet to find five. That's a lie. I have yet to find one. I'm specifically talking about one that applies just to a 55+ community.
The community we live in is an OK place. It isn't Beverly Hills, but it isn't Beverly Hillbilly either. Everybody waves to each other all day, even when they don't have a clue who the hell you are. "Hey there, how are you today?"
There are plenty of classes to keep you in shape, especially if you ever have the need to live in a heated pool. We have an 18 hole, par 3, golf course, pickleball, tennis, bike riding, walking around aimlessly all morning, and the always popular dog walking all day long.
I'm particularly encouraged with the social distancing all around us. Apparently we are the only ones with a TV, or newspaper, to know there is a deadly pandemic swirling all around. I love to see a foursome of golfers, each with their own carts, standing 9 inches from each other on the tee's and greens with no masks. "Where did that one go?" "I think you went left." "Of the hole?" "No, the street." "Oh. I better hit a provisional."
I'm still trying to understand the value of living with only old people. It would seem that you would stay younger, in mind, by having some young people, especially kids, around. Instead you get to watch the slow march towards death all around and you just get depressed.
If you are under 55, and you are here for longer than two weeks, neighbors will actually report you to the HOA. Damn Republicans. How is that possibly hurting you to have someone under 55 here for two weeks? I don't get it but it happens.
The other thing I've noticed is that everyone is in your business. They come by with a million questions, or comments, trying to draw out of you information that they can share with everyone else in the community. "Did you hear that Dan and Linda painted their house trim gray!" "Oh heavens, they didn't, that's so 2017." " I know, and their yard is way too neat for my taste."
Recently, my neighbor, who is a wonderful lady even if she is way too Trump for me, mentioned that her front yard light was not working and she was going to hire someone to fix it. I told her I would look at it, and after a quick photo cell replacement, it was back working again. You would think I cured cancer. The next day she came by to deliver a bag of food to show her thanks. We thanked her, told her it wasn't necessary, but she insisted.
She has since told all her friends, in the community, about my prowess in changing light bulbs, and suddenly she is offering my limited handyman services to all she knows. Yesterday she asked if I would change the bulb in a friends yard light. I was happy to do it, it took a whopping two and a half minutes to accomplish this feat, and now she wants to send a letter to the community newsletter about my skills.
I wonder where you get one of those magnetic car door signs made? "Dan Marich, writer, Realtor, and handyman Esq." Maybe it should read, "Will work for vodka." I politely asked her to not share with anyone that I have this tremendously unique skill to change bulbs. We'll see if she complies, but I fully expect her to show up at our front door with a five page long list of things to do for friends.
If only Linda was so impressed. Her usual suggestion when something needs to be fixed is, "don't touch anything, call someone." You just can't buy 44 years of devoted loyalty and respect like that.
Anyway, back to the point of all this.
I am still struggling to find the magic of living in a 55+ community but I have accepted that here is where we are for now. Unfortunately the real estate market is super slow here, just like everywhere else, so we will wait for things to open up and seek shelter elsewhere when it does. Until then I'm going to have to lay low when I see anyone coming close to avoid any uncomfortable conversations that begin with, "I hate to bother you, but..."