Good Old Condo Living, Part II by Arthur Raybold

Last month, I opined that condominium dwellers often complain about the density of their neighborhoods and the proximity of their neighbors. Having recently escaped from this "global village" to a reclusive hilltop, I miss Emily and Mike, this month's absent friends.

Born in the Boston suburb of Newton, Emily married a Navy man from San Diego with whom she began to raise a family until his untimely death. Shortly after, she married Mike, a furniture retailer, and began to raise a second family. When I met them in 1989, they were in their late 70's and enjoyed between them 21 grandchildren.

Emily was the comeliest senior in East County. She dressed as if every day were Sunday, even though her farthest destination might only be to the shared mail boxes. We enjoyed talking about New England, the Boston Pops, Tanglewood and the New York Times top 10. Even in her 80's, she would never miss her annual high school reunions.

Mike was not a churchman and thus did not accompany Emily to Sunday mass. He was a gardener, a mechanic and a tinkerer, much to the delight of one who sometimes has trouble starting his car. Mike's garage was a treasure house of tools and thus a great source from which to borrow implements for every nagging condo need. Mike once helped me rebuild the rear end of our ancient Chevy Chevelle. His wisdom of mechanics amazed me.

His most memorable achievement was building grandfather clocks from scratch for his grandchildren. When I came home from work, Mike would have his garage doors open and he would be putting in his 10 hour vocational day. These clocks were beautiful to behold. His only anxiety was worrying he might not live to gift each grandchild. One day he said, "It's funny. I build clocks all day long, but I know nothing about time."

Shortly after that statement, Mike passed away, leaving a huge void 30 feet from my house. When I asked Emily what happened, she said, "He got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. When he didn't come back, I went to look for him. He was sitting on the toilet with his head tilted to one side. He looked so cute. I wish I had taken his picture."

Time passed and Emily found Doug at church. Well into his 80's, he was six foot six and thin with piercing blue eyes, and he shouted when he talked. They looked like teenage lovers, walking hand in hand through the common grounds. They got married, but Doug became such a controlling person that Emily's son kicked Doug out of her house and sent Emily to her daughter's house in Riverside.

I drove by the old neighborhood recently to pick up a UPS package gone awry when I saw the large triangle of Mike's roses just beginning to bud. Nostalgia. Sure miss that old condo living.