One Year Later...

It's been almost a year since we had to move from the apartment building shown above. If you folks remember correctly, our nine-unit complex was purchased by the Sinai Temple across the street. When we first got notice that the new owners wanted us all to vacate within three months, it was a punch in the gut. While we had been there in Apartment # 1 a scant seven years, some of our neighbors had been there since 1970! The lady next door had moved in as a single person, married, watched her husband pass on, and then approached retirement herself while never changing her garage parking space.

When this happened, the nine units of 10400 Ashton Avenue bonded in a strange way. While no one was ever completely unfriendly, it wasn't exactly a Mickey Rooney-Judy Garland musical either. We weren't all banding together to stage "Strike Up the Band" on the rooftop garden. But, it's amazing how empowering an eviction notice can be. Suddenly, we were together as an aggregate in each other's homes, essentially plotting strategies but also....being neighbors.

We didn't all vacate at once. One or two units stayed to the bitter end in July. Yes, we all traded contact information: e-mail and home addresses, cell numbers, etc.. There was one semi-reunion in the last summer, but nothing since. I am sure pockets of people are still in touch. But, sadly, as a unified community, no.

Ultimately, after all the hoopla, everyone landed on their feet, although I'm certain some may still be experiencing a slight limp from the fall. Apartment 1 transitioned to another place down the block and became the habitants of Apartment 101. Despite the issues we experienced in a veritable steelcase struggle with the Condo Nazi, we are fine.

And, if you're wondering what became of the former property, I can tell you in one word: nothing. I drive by there all the time. Most of my neighborhood routes take me past the building. Our satellite dish still sits on our terrace. The same flyers are stuck in the same mailboxes. The blinds are drawn in each apartment just as the day we each left it. Except for a regular cameo appearance by the gardener, there is no activity on the premises. It would probably now function best as an outlet store for termites and spiders.

We were hustled out of there like some sort of immigration sweep on 24. Little time to think. Little time to regroup. Just get out by July 15. You figured that Sinai Temple had big plans for the property.

Well, apparently the nitwits on the Temple council wanted to turn it into office space. Except they didn't bother to check the zoning laws. Then, they were going to turn it into a pre-school. Oops, those pesky zoning laws again. I'm convinced the Temple's development plans were formulated not by its council, but a couple of four-year-olds in its resident pre-school. I hear they are now considering it as a site for senior citizen housing. Of course, three of the people they kicked out were senior citizens. Two were Jewish themselves.

So, the place sits. And sits. They used the garage as a parking lot extension on the High Holidays, but, other than that, it's hollow.

Except for what we left there.

Memories.

Dinner last night: leftover andouille sausage.