Fitna on the condo board

Today I ate chia seeds and after a wave of dizziness, I felt much better than I did when I posted the last morose post, so yay for chia seeds. I don't really want to blog about chia seeds, though. Tonight I went for a jog in the park, intent on enjoying the last of the balmy weather before the rains return. It was a half-and-half sky, half blue, half white, with streaky high clouds moving in from the coast, a sign of weather to come. As I exited my back door, my neighbor Kirsten waved me down to tell me that her landlord is selling the duplex she lives in. She and her husband might have to move. As she spoke, her chin began to quiver.

“I've planted over 500 bulbs in that garden,” she moaned, waving at her wild and chaotic yard. I didn't say it, but I learned long ago, all the yard work we do for landlords increases no one's wealth but the landlords.

“There will be other gardens,” I said cryptically.

“What will we do? Where will we find another place like this?”

“It is natural to want to hang on to what we have,” I said. “It's hard to let go.”

I left her gazing dolefully at her flowers and sipping beer out of a can. I enjoyed my trot more than usual, maybe because of the chia seeds, who knows. I smiled at everyone, which is a rare state for a chronically malcontented person like me. A bit of sunshine caught me on the way back. Kirsten was still out front, talking to another neighbor. I ignored them and headed along the path to my back door. I heard her voice calling and turned to see her waving at me.

I pulled my earplugs out of my ears.

“Are you talking to me?”

“I just wanted to thank you for your words of wisdom,” she said, still holding a can of beer. I walked out to the garbage can area to meet her. A breeze of beer breath wafted over me. I can't remember the last time I had a beer. (No, I wasn't blacked out. I just don't like beer.)

“I'm always happy to dispense words of wisdom, whether anyone likes it or not,” I smiled.

“You always seem so calm,” she said dreamily, and then she started to cry. I gave her a hug on impulse, not something I usually do, but she seemed comforted, judging by the way she held on to me a bit too long. Maybe she was using me to stay upright, I don't know.

Luckily at that moment, another neighbor, a woman with fake platinum hair whose bearded husband is a guitar player, came out to dump something in the trash, and Kirsten shared the sorry tale of woe with her.

“I've been talking to Carol, because she's so calm,” Kirsten said. The woman (whose name might be Susan) looked at me with no recognition at all. She has really nice skin, I thought to myself. The woman put her empty bowl on top of the trash can and came over to hug Kirsten. I took that opportunity to make my escape.

It was a day for sharing stories, apparently. My almost 85-year-old mother called me shortly after I had changed back into my usual garb (pajamas). Her voice boomed out of the phone.

“The Board Chair said some terrible things to me at the condo meeting last night!”

“What did she say?” I asked.

“She said she heard me say some denigrating things about one of the homeowners. Who happens to be her friend,” my mother sputtered, lisping slightly because of her dentures. “I don't remember saying anything about the homeowner!” Which, I thought, doesn't mean you didn't do it; it just means you can't remember doing it. But I didn't say that.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I said, 'I'm moving!'”

“Whoa.”

“Then after the meeting, two other Board members came up to me and told me she had done the same thing to them! Accused them of saying something negative about her friends.”

The righteous anger was beginning to pile up in big frothy bubbles.

“What are you going to do, Mom?”

“We need to vote her off the Board!”

“Better check your condo bylaws before you start rounding up a posse,” I warned.

“I've got 'em here someplace. But they are so hard to understand. Can't we just hold a special meeting or something?”

“Probably. But you need to follow the guidelines in the bylaws. This is for the good of the condo association, right, Mom? It's not because you don't like the woman. It's not about revenge, right?”

“I've got two Board members who are on my side,” she said excitedly. “I gotta go.”

If you remember a couple posts ago, I reported that my mother has become a reader of this blog. If she remembers how to find it again, she may read this post and declare that I have failed to accurately report the events I'm describing. It's true I have taken some artistic license in the pursuit of laughs. I've definitely shortened the conversation, and of course, being the malcontent that I am, I've tried to make me look smarter at her expense. Because that's what daughters do as payback for all the years of hell, am I right? But seriously, Mom, if you read this, sorry for taking advantage, but you set it up so nicely, I really couldn't resist. Watching you instigate a mutiny of the condo board is priceless. Rock on, Mom! Fitna on the condo board!