Chapter 2, Part 7 - The Condo

Arriving at their Harbor View condominium and setting it up for the season is a big chore, Mom says. Almost as big as packing up the home they have just left. Each year when Mom and Dad get to Florida, they have to first clean up their apartment, which gets filthy very quickly in the Florida humidity. Then they have to unload all of their belongings, which have been up North with them all summer. Lastly, they have to turn on the water and all of the appliances that that have been off all summer. Let me just inform you here that Dad is as good at doing these small handyman jobs around the house as he is at understanding driving directions. He is a smart person, but one of his strengths is not doing mechanical tasks. In the past, he has called to ask me where the knob is to turn on the water to the dishwasher, how to reset the breaker in the fuse box, and even how to set the alarm on their clock radio. So I can understand why setting up the condo is a big deal for them.

One year Mom and Dad arrived to find hundreds of dead ants scattered throughout their apartment. The ants were on the floor, in their bed, and in the kitchen cabinets. Mom and Dad spent more than three days trying to get rid of them. That season Mom swore she was selling the place, but after a few days in the nice weather, and hearing about the snow and ice back home, she changed her mind. Except for that year when it took a full week to get rid of the dead ants, it is usually two or three days of hard work before Mom and Dad have the condo set up for the season.

But setting up the condo is not even the end, Mom says. Next, they have to deal with the incompetence of the phone company, she tells me. Each year, Mom temporarily stops her phone service in Florida and then has it turned on when she gets there. She usually asks to have it turned on a few days before she arrives just to be sure it’s working. Yet in three out of the past four years, she has gotten there to find the phone not connected. She is able to make local calls, but not long distance calls (fortunately, she can receive them, however). So, if Mom ever wanted to get in touch with me in those first days (it is usually about five or six more days before they turn on the phone service), she had to call Flo to call me to call her. Luckily, Mom and Dad bought a cell phone this year, so they can use that while the phone company works out its problems.

But the worst offender of all, Mom and Dad complain, is the postal service. Mom and Dad have their mail forwarded from their home up North to Florida for the time they are residing there. It should be a neat and orderly procedure, as the post office has forms particularly for this purpose. However, each year it takes weeks, if not more, to get mail forwarded to their place in Florida. One day last year in late-January Mom called me to say she had just gotten a holiday card from our cousins in Texas – nearly five weeks after they sent it. But at least it came. Two years ago I sent pictures to Mom and Dad at their address in Pennsylvania a week before they left. What arrived at their Florida address about three and a half weeks later was a ripped envelope with a handwritten note on it that said, “This is how these materials arrived at our post office.” The envelope was empty. This year Dad received a magazine cover in the mail – yes, only the cover. I suppose some postal worker up North is enjoying planning his retirement using the rest of Dad’s ‘Retire Young’ magazine.

Before they went to Florida this year, I tried to tell Mom and Dad that they should rely on their computer for communicating, as they can do a number of things online – send and receive e-mails, instant message people, and read online magazines. I informed them that there would be little need to depend on the phone and the post office for those first few days they are there.

“Great idea,” Dad said. “When you come to visit, you can set up the computer for us.”

Chapter 2, Part 6 - The Condo

The truth of the matter is Mom and Dad really could have afforded to buy a condo in a much nicer development than Harbor View. And they did consider other places – there were Villa Lakes, Harbor Cove, Tuscany Atlantic, and Spanish Waters, which, if you go by the names of them, all sound like dream retirement spots. Of course while most of these developments are somewhat more luxurious than Harbor View, they aren’t the exclusive enclaves that they sound like. That’s the funny thing about the retirement complexes in Florida; most of them sound very lavish. I’ve noticed that nearly all of the developments have either a body of water or a Spanish word in their names, neither of which, necessarily, has anything to do with the complexes they label. Apparently the builders add a Spanish word or a body of water to the title and voila, their community suddenly sounds very prestigious. Most of these communities, however, are just regular developments of condos, townhouses, or single-family homes. Although admittedly, most are a bit nicer than Harbor View.

It’s not that Harbor View isn’t nice; it has all of the amenities one could want at a retirement community. It’s just that it is basic and not too picturesque. And I really do think that Mom and Dad deserved something prettier and more luxurious. Dad worked hard at his job his whole life, while Mom worked equally hard taking care of the house and our family. They did not live extravagantly, and while they gave us kids everything we needed and probably more, they still managed to save well for their retirement. However, Mom rationalizes living at Harbor View because she says she really didn’t want to spend a fortune on a condo she uses just three to four months a year. “Besides, there’s so much to do here,” she tells me. “They have more activities than any other condo development around.”

Dad, on the other hand, justifies choosing Harbor View by pointing out all of the wealthy people who chose it as their winter home over other condo developments in Florida. “You know Bernard,” he says, “he is a hot shot orthodontist back home and he comes here. Don in our building has another vacation home on Nantucket. And our friends, Susan and Stan are both attorneys with a lot of money. If this place is good enough for all of them, then it’s good enough for me. ”

“Yeah, I suppose so” I say. Then I just have to add, “but I bet all of them have two bedrooms.”

Chapter 2, Part 5 - The Condo

As I mentioned, Mom and Dad’s condo is a one-bedroom. ONE bedroom! All of my life I have listened to my friends tell me about vacations visiting their grandparents in large condominiums by the beach or have had cousins describe trips they had taken to see their parents in luxury vacation homes. Now Mom and Dad finally purchase a place in a Florida vacation spot, and at last it is my turn to do some visiting, and they buy a ONE bedroom! The message came across to me loud and clear – NO VISITORS.

When Mom and Dad first bought the condo about five years ago, Mom called me up, happily chirping into the phone, “We did it! We finally bought a place in Florida like we’ve always wanted – a one-bedroom condominium.”

“One bedroom?” I whined. “That’s it? Couldn’t you have gotten something bigger?”

Now, for all of you readers who right now are thinking to yourself that I sound like an ungrateful daughter, and that I should just be happy for Mom and Dad, or perhaps that a one-bedroom is all they could afford, YOU ARE WRONG. See, the thing about Harbor View Condos is that they offer both one- and two-bedroom condominium units, and they are practically the same size. The one-bedroom offers one larger bedroom and a large living room, while the two-bedroom offers two smaller bedrooms and a smaller living room for virtually the same price. Believe me, Mom and Dad could have bought the two-bedroom unit just as easily as the one. They just do not want visitors. Mom claims she liked the layout of the one-bedroom better, but I don’t buy it. Let me tell you about the rest of our phone conversation and you’ll see why:

Me: Congratulations. A one bedroom, huh? Well, I guess I’ll sleep on the sleeper sofa when I come to visit.

Mom: Well, um, we bought a regular sofa. It’s not a sleeper.

Me: No problem, I’m just one person. I suppose I can just sleep on the top of the couch.

Mom: Well, I’m not so sure. It’s a light-cream color and I really do want to keep it clean. Perhaps Flo and Irv will let you stay in their place.

Me: What? Stay with your friends? When you have a place in the same development? You’re crazy!

Mom: Well, there’s a nice hotel down the street. You could always stay there.

Me: If I’m already paying for a hotel, I might as well go somewhere else than visiting you at a camp for senior citizens in Florida. Thanks anyway, Mom.

In the end Mom and Dad ended up returning their cream-colored couch and exchanged it for a sleeper sofa. I was able to stay after all. However, every time I would visit, I would come home with an aching back. I suspect they bought a low-end mattress for the sofa just to ensure that my visits weren’t too long.

Chapter 2, Part 4 - The Condo

The other thing you immediately notice about Mom and Dad’s condominium is all of the mirrors they have. They have them not only on their bedroom walls, in their dressing areas, and above their bathroom sink, but they have them on their closet doors, too. It seems to be the style among 60- and 70-year olds. Mom told me, “For my whole life, I always wanted mirrored closet doors, and now that I’m retired I finally have them.”

Now, I don’t have anything against mirrored doors. It certainly isn’t my style or anything, but I don’t have anything against them. However, if you have to have mirrors on your closet doors at some point in your life, shouldn’t it be when you’re in your twenties and looking your best, rather than when you’re old, have gained weight, added wrinkles to your face, and shrunk two inches? Do you really want to look at yourself at this advanced age each time you open your closet to take out a pair of pants?

Chapter 2, Part 3 - The Condo

Mom and Dad’s condo is a one-bedroom, one bath apartment. If someone from the sky dropped in on the apartment blindfolded and didn’t know what state he was in, he would know the minute he took off his blindfold in Mom and Dad’s place. The apartment screams ‘Florida!’ from its cream and white furniture with peach accents to the framed pictures of palm trees, blue oceans, and flamingos. There’s even a fake palm tree in the corner of the living room. This always struck me as odd. I can live with the pink flamingos and the peach furniture, but a fake palm tree? Most people who buy fake palms are those who are pretending that they are somewhere tropical. Mom and Dad already live in a tropical location, with real palm trees right outside their door. Why have fake ones inside? As I said, their condo screams ‘Florida!’ Perhaps it just says it with a New York accent.

Chapter 2, Part 2 - The Condo

There are three modes of transportation around Harbor View. They are (in ascending order of how many can be found at the condominium complex):

1. The Harbor View shuttle bus;
2. A resident’s personal automobile (whether he is capable of driving it or not); and
3. The wheelchair.

I’m not kidding on number 3. The wheelchair not only exists as a way of getting around Harbor View, it is the most prominent mode. Not that there’s anything wrong with people getting around on wheelchairs, it’s just that they catch you off guard if you’re not used to seeing them. And you do see them – everywhere – on the sidewalks, in the streets, and at the pool. Even on the golf course.

When Mom and Dad first looked at Harbor View as a potential condominium to buy, Mom said, “Hon, we can’t buy here. Look at all of the old people. So many of them are in wheelchairs.”

“Sweetheart,” he replied, “a lot of those people in wheelchairs are younger than you are.”

“But, I can still get around and do things.” Mom said.

“Some of those people in wheelchairs are doing more activities than when you were in your thirties,” Dad said to his wife, who has never been a very active person.

“True,” she replied, “But I don’t look that old. Do I? I’m only 58, after all.”

“Honey,” he said, “let’s face it, we look like we could be at home here.”

Chapter 2, Part 1 - The Condo

Harbor View Condominiums – Mom and Dad’s winter home. If you have ever dreamed of what your retirement home would look like – perhaps a light-colored stucco home sitting gracefully among tall, swaying palm trees, overlooking a cool, blue body of water – this is not it. Now, don’t get me wrong, their place is not a dump, but it’s not exactly the Vanderbilt Estate either. My sister has nicknamed their development ‘The Army Barracks’ – one hundred identical two-story brown and beige buildings with palm trees and a few small lakes scattered about. And of course there’s the occasional old man driving around in a golf cart. There is no harbor view to speak of, as the name implies.

Now, when you are coming into Harbor View, you might think you are entering an expensive luxury complex that is worthy of the large imposing gate with the guardhouse and guard it has at its entrance. Do not be fooled. This place is hardly luxurious, and the guard is usually a little old man weighing all of 90 pounds. He seems to have his pants pulled up to his ears, both of which, incidentally, have hearing aids in them.

I don’t know why this relatively basic condominium development is gated, except that it seems most Floridian retirement complexes are housed in gated communities. It’s as if when people turn 55 they suddenly feel that they have to protect the treasures they have accumulated over their lifetime – their hi-fi stereos, their collections of spoons from 50 years’ worth of vacations, and their oversized pieces of gaudy costume jewelry. As if any self-respecting burglar would want to steal any of those things.

There are two lanes to drive through at the guardhouse. One is for residents, which is an open lane that is to be used only by residents who have the brightly colored HV sticker on their windshield to prove that they live there. And one is for guests, which is a closed lane with one of those large orange and white arm barriers. If you are a resident, you drive through the resident lane, wave to the little old man, and he waves you in. If you are a guest, you are supposed to stop at the imposing orange and white arm barrier and tell the man the name of the resident you are visiting. He is expected to make a telephone call to the resident to confirm that you are indeed supposed to be visiting. However, the little old man rarely ever calls the residents. In fact, you can make up any name you want and tell the old man you are visiting that person. He won’t know that you made it up, since he doesn’t call to verify. And I’m pretty certain this old guy doesn’t know the names of all 10,000 residents by heart. But all of that doesn’t matter anyway, since he probably hasn’t even heard what you said.

So you drive up and say, “I’m visiting Mr. and Mrs. Blank.” (Insert name – Miller, Cohen, Blank). He’ll wave you in. Or, do what Dad did the first year he visited. He drove through the resident lane (sans the HV sticker) and gave a wave and a smile to the guard. The guard waved him in each time. I tried it the first time I visited Mom and Dad, and he waved me in. Did he really think I lived there? I was only 26 years old at the time.