Our previous home with our grandsons. A ‘before’ photo.
Still garden intact a few weeks ago.
But now? This was all done on the order of the “chairperson,” a week ago.
The view from the living room
Outside our bedroom
The entrance
What would Helvi make of this? Outrageous!
The sweetness of Helvi’s garden. You can understand the need for me to move away from this toxic environment. But I still own it!
The sun is out.
The plot thickens. The police turned up as promised after we attended the local Police Station. The Déjà vu feelings accompanying our second reportage of our stolen pot plants did not escape Helvi or me. Visiting Police Stations again? Is this now becoming a ritual in our retirement? The policewoman behind the counter remembered us well. To have potted plants stolen twice within a few weeks was a bit out of the usual, she admitted. How did you go with the sensor lights? ‘Well they worked but did not deter anyone,’ The thief must have got well lit, we answered. She nodded and asked which plants got stolen and the value. ‘Cyclamen, the same as last time but not in ceramic pots.’ ‘They were housed in those white plastic mixing bowls.’ Now I know what happened to my bowl I used for pan-cake mixing, I added. This anecdote to pancakes made the policewoman smile. Perhaps she too understands pancake making and grandkids. It showed a rarely seen but warm human side to the police force. The total value would have been around $ 50.- or so, we said. They had flowered so beautifully since the last theft of the previous cyclamens. They too were stolen at the peak of their lives.
‘It’s really the threatening letter left in our letterbox more than the stolen plants which we take more seriously.’ And with a flourish I showed her the note that asked us to ‘stop bullying or sell up,’ signed by ‘owners.’ ‘This was left in our letterbox,’ we added for good measure, and emphasized the threat to our wellbeing in urging us to sell up and move. ‘At our age, we don’t easily move as when we were young,’ we demurred. We pointed out the second plant stealing must be connected. The reason for this bullying was complex. They always are of a human nature unable to give and take. I gave the policewoman some short snippets of how I fared for about twenty minutes as secretary of our Shared Housing Complex, the Body Corporate, after refusing to engage perfectly good neighbours in guerrilla warfare about parking cars.
I assume that my refusal to engage in neighbourly fights must have been the catalyst in this bullying letter-box note and subsequent plant thefts, I added, with some earlier practise in using the word ‘catalyst.’. Getting-on with neighbours is clearly not in the world that our chairperson resides. ‘So much time on hands, yet so little time left to sow seeds of misery, unhinge others,’ I told the policewoman. I thought it prudent to add a little earthly philosophy now, encouraged by her recognition to the earlier pancake bowl reference. ‘The main suspect is 84, and probably on her final few years.’ She is on borrowed time. What drives this woman to do this?
We could tell that the policewoman now wanted to wrap this up. We felt, that the essence of our concerns of the bullying, was understood. ‘We will make a report and the police will visit you in the next hour or so.’ After that we thanked the nice police woman and hurried to get some shopping done. I needed to buy some aspirin which I take on a daily basis. The taking of aspirin and a wine or beer are my only drug habits. I resist seeing doctors, and so far so good.
We drove home and once again looked at the little table outside now looking forlorn and empty of the cyclamen. We went inside and fiddled around a bit waiting for the policeman’s arrival. We were not disappointed. He arrived fully decked out as if on an Isis terrorist mission. Gun in holster, baton at the ready, canisters of what we assumed to be deadly sprays, incapacitating even the most hardened psychological disturbed maniac.
He made a report and told us he would go and question the 84 year old neighbour woman, the main suspect of the bullying note and organiser of the continuing theft of our loved cyclamen plants. The report has a number for future reference.
I will keep you, dear readers, informed.
Last Saturday morning at around 10.30 I happened to glance outside the bedroom window. I often look through windows. There is nothing wrong with that. I often wonder why so many windows in Australia are covered, shutting out the possible excitement that might be going on outside. The Venetian blind had a lot to answer for.
The outlook through the window is somewhat marred by a paling fence opposite the drive-way passing through our housing compound, or condominium as it known by in the US. We have planted a jasmine against the fence which helps to soften the look of the paling fence. However, we know that the Chairperson, the Secretary and the Treasurer of our Body Corporate are ardent lovers of exposed paling fences. We are therefore in the minority trying to install some beauty and making the best of the ugly paling fence by trying to get greenery to grow up and hide them. The paling fence is a revered type of architectural structure by believers of privacy. Privacy is absolutely set in stone by most people. A much loved emotional stance. It must be defended by hook and crook against anyone who dares to infringe on it.
The paling fence is a kind of barrier between properties, a border but without guards looking for smugglers or refugees. Sometimes it causes friction when a ball happens to cross this boundary. Nasty neighbours have been known to refuse to throw the ball back. In shared housing complexes, the parking of cars and shared paling fences have been known to cause endless wars between maniacally ‘privacy’ seeking neighbours. The popular image of hanging over the fence by neighbours talking to each other is a myth but it makes us look a bit better. Only last week a 68 year old neighbour got murdered by his 73 year old next door life long enemy. The Newspaper described the neighbourhood as ‘a close knit community.’ The article included a photo of a tear-stained woman holding a little teddy bear as proof. The murder was a result of an (illegally) overhanging branch of a tea-tree.
As I said earlier, I was looking through the upstairs window. I noticed a determined looking Chairperson and her equally sharp looking Secretary walking by. An ominous sign was that the Chairperson was holding a garden clipper with the Secretary following her with a small barrow. What were they up to? They stopped right opposite our house and both crawled through some shrubs. The Chairperson is in her eighties and the Secretary in her fifties or so. When they reached the paling fence it came clear what they had conspired to achieve. It was some unwanted ivy that was growing up the fence. It was not to be tolerated. Within a minute they had cut the bottom of the ivy and started to rip it off the paling fence. Such dedication. And it was Saturday afternoon!
We had resolved to not give any oxygen to Body Corporate disputes since last time, when one of them, we know it was the Chairperson had left a threatening letter in our letterbox on behalf of ‘owners’ suggesting we sell up. We let the ivy be taken. Let them relish their nastiness. I was upset but restrained an urge to a dual strangulation. Instead I took the new cordless vacuum cleaner from the room’s corner and switched it on. Helvi noticed I was upset and my usual spirited and enthusiastic vacuuming was obviously lacking. My face was long and the spirit murderous.
She said, ‘why get upset, Gerard?’ True, it is only a trivial matter. The vacuuming did give some respite and seething anger did abate a bit. Even so, I consoled myself with a fervent hope that Alzheimer will soon get to the Chairperson. The sooner the better.
Helvi, as always remained sensible. I said, ‘how come you always stay so calm?’ ‘You give so much more than I.’ ‘So true, she said wickedly and smiled.’ ‘Let’s just plant more Jasmine.’
The hostility by some of my fellow residents of our housing complex sometimes borders on the plain silly. On my approach they turn around or start coughing. Of the eight homes four are lived in by owners and the other four by people renting. Of the owners, we are the only couple. An item on its own a solid reason for their chagrin. The other three ‘owner homes’ are occupied by bitter divorced women. The husbands are probably still running or celebrating their lucky escapes. The eldest, apart from being bitter, divorced, and eighty-three years old is also the ‘chairperson’ of the ‘committee’ in charge of implementing the rules of the common held property. She does so with the fervour of Stalin. The Chairperson makes a big difference between owners and renters. She is also English and hints at being Prince Philips illegitimate daughter.
It is sometimes thought that in ageing people soften up and become less hostage of their nastiness or being mean-spirited. That’s not really true. Those with so much time on their hands still needs their attention to be focussed on something. They can’t just dwell on misery or relive past spousal battles. Those with nasty character traits will sharpen them and exercise those skills in doing harm to others. They have all that time. Readers might remember my twenty minutes career in being secretary of the same committee of our housing complex. I resigned when I was expected to write nasty letters to my fellow residents (the renters) about non-existing car parking problems.
Lucky that we have nice immediate neighbours who also happen to rent. They are busy and go to work each day. They sometimes pop in, exchange the latest gossip. They too are aware of the bitter divorcees and their obsession with trivial. It gives us no greater subject to regale upon than to speculate what next rule they will dig up from the Strata Law manual…They have meetings whereby they have Strata Law readings. Lately, the subject of ‘gardens’ have been perused. A letter was sent. “Three dead plants have to be removed opposite the common-held garden of the Oostermans.” A clear war declaration and reprisal for refusing to cross swords with my neighbours about parking, ( by-law 33d) Narrow-mindedness is increasing with age.There is nothing much we can do about it.
Almost There
Just as I was relishing my new career as Secretary, practising rocking backwards and forwards on my heels, when all has come to a sudden (but not grinding) halt. Readers might remember that on a fortuitous Monday a week ago, I was nominated as Secretary in running together with Chairperson and Treasurer our Strata titled common property. It came out of the blue. Helvi and I both though something was brewing at the AGM which was held at the official address of the Body Corporate. There was an unusual air of joy and conviviality about at this particular meeting.
I accepted gracefully, and even got up from my chair to thank the attendees of the meeting, greatly humbled by the occasion. Who would have thought, and so late in my life? Dad would have been so proud. It brought back memories of the times many decades ago when I was secretary of the Parramatta scooter club. The meetings then were held above the Ambulance hall, an address which came in handy when our president had a nasty fall on his Vespa going down a steep mountains at Stanwell Park during one of the much loved treasure hunts on scooters. I had a Lambretta.
But, lets go forward again. At this AGM meeting it was agreed another small meeting would be held just by the committee. It was to be held the following Saturday at the Treasurer’s town-house just diagonally opposite ours. The meeting was at 5.30 pm. After arrival, the resigning Secretary and treasurer were present and after a few minutes the Chairperson took her chair by sitting on it. The Secretarial books were handed over and I produced my sharpened pencil and shining new note-book to start my duties as the new Secretary. My first entry were noting down the names of all three committee members including my own name, which I still remembered.
But then it all came to crashing halt. At precisely 6.05 pm, I resigned when it became clear I was being groomed to foment discord and disputes between the neighbours living next to the Treasurer and Cahirperson. I walked out and before their meeting was even finished I tucked my letter of resignation under the doors of the three committee members that were still holding the meeting, no doubt discussing what to de next. Looking through the Venetians I noticed they were sipping gin and tonic!
Here is me my letter of resignation.
On 10 Sep 2016 6:43 PM, gerard wrote:
Hello all,
I am sorry but hereby terminate my very short stint as secretary for the Body Corporate at 7 Ascot Rd. I was looking forward to making a contribution to our community and an even nicer place to reside in.
The stumbling block is that I was asked by the Chairperson to write a letter to all residents to park all cars in garages. Any cars superfluous to availability of garages to be parked on the street.
For years, some cars were parked in garages and some in front or alongside garages without any problems. It now seems to have grown into an issue. As most families now have more than one car, I was unable and certainly unwilling to antagonise residents to find alternative parking arrangements on the street.
Number 1 doesn’t even have a garage and parking has never been a problem till lately.
I will not be part of a revengeful shit-fight between some residents.
Yours faithfully,
Gerard Oosterman
Oosterman Treats Blog 