Why do I love condo life? At this widow wisdom time in my journey, I do not want to garden or impress neighbours with decor. I live for me, myself and I. It is not selfishness, it's selfness. One of my pet places to be, is on my sun deck. This is an old low rise building, well maintained but spaciously endowed with units that are mostly redone and well appointed. All are owned, just like houses. Others in my building fancy their street facing, big window units as ideal, but my secret is that where I am on the shady side, away from the street and facing only an outside, seldom-used walkway of the building opposite, affords me more privacy, quietness away from the busy thoroughfare and the delights of choice in what I put on my deck. One must follow the rules. Our rather bureaucratic council demands or as one told me, she "will enforce the bylaws for the intergrity of the community". Whatever that means. My relatively large deck is my go-to place, away from the rollicking world outside. It affords me seagull watching, reading endlessly, yummy bbq, and a little star gazing notwithstanding the blazing security lights next door. My plants are all fakes. I am in a forest of tall leafy trees, a covey of ivy covered trellises with the glass railing in bamboo and wandering leaf. My deck floor is rain safe fake green football grass. When I go out my only real gardening is a shelf of pots that offer me herbs for cooking, all summer. My big umbrella gives me shelter from hot summer rays and my swinging basket chair rocks me. My fake flowers look real until you touch them. They change with the seasons but they take no water and live all winter rain or shine. If they fade, they're replaced. They offer me shade, static beauty and a feeling of being in a garden. Little birds, that I do not feed, often come to my bird bath water and stay to admire a shade they don't quite understand, but somehow, like.
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