In a year where things were far from normal, the biggest adventure, besides becoming a pandemic dog owner (a story for another time), was my big journey from Phoenix to Scottsdale. Join me on my best 2020 trip… a magical place where clocks don’t exist because no one works anymore, the pool is a geriatric TRL Spring Break shoot and you never have to worry about crime in this little haven because everyone is always watching everrrrrrything… it’s a little place I like to call Casa Serena.
That’s right folks, I think I accidentally moved into a retirement community and it might actually be the perfect fit for me.
Let’s back up a little bit. I had been on the hunt since procuring my dog, Rona, to give her the backyard she deserves, get rid of my defiant and, I am pretty sure, drug dealing neighbor and get a little place of my own. My condo has been a great fit for 8 years but it was time for a change. My amazing realtor, Mandi (who also doubles as my best friend and gets a 10 star rating at both roles) did what she does best – found me the perfect house. The market was limited and everyday searching felt like there were less properties I liked and more compromising of location, price and functionality. I came to terms with the fact that me as a buyer, and them as the seller had different definitions of “move-in ready”, “new” and even “clean”. House hunting is kind of like dating – some were awful and not even a chance you would live there, some were great but not for you. I was convinced there had to be one out there that was going to be a match. So we kept looking.
The benefit of having your best friend as a realtor is that she calls you on your shit. Anyone else that might not know me would believe me when I reconciled the purchase of a less than ideal home with the ideas of “I can just take out this wall to open things up” or “shag carpet probably will come back so it isn’t that bad right now”. Mandi, on the other hand, bluntly reminds me that this sounds good in theory, but it won’t happen and you will be disappointed. Dang it, she knows me. So we kept looking.
And then one fateful afternoon, I get a call to check my email. And there is it, a beauty on Via de McCormick. The fact that it wasn’t yet on the market yet didn’t deter Mandi, she said we were going that night. Another reason in life, and real estate, she is the best, she isn’t a rule follower and she makes me follow suit. This usually turns out good like 99% of the time, so I said ok. Within the hour, we were back to my condo and proceeded to photograph, list and get my house on the market while simultaneously making an offer on my new oasis.
Moving during COVID limited the welcome mixers and patio parties I was hoping for to meet my new neighbors and had to resort to limited waves across the driveway, as I came and went. Brian, the HOA President, visited me, gave me a run down of the neighborhood, high level gossip, knowing there were additional festering details he wanted to share but wanted to make sure he knew what type of neighbor I was going to be. I am happy to report, he soon found out I was in for him to spill the tea. He asked me to write up a little paragraph for the newsletter to introduce myself to the neighborhood. The following week, I received my electronic copy of “News in the Hood” – yes that is what it is called for real, and I knew I was home.
I would say I bring down the average age of this neighborhood to about 65 years. There are a handful of younger families, majority are retirees who eventually made their vacation home their permanent locale since desert living was better than the cold. The real outliers of our mean age though are Betty and Gloria, 91 and 97 respectively. Both live independently in their own homes, still drive (although according to Pam across the street, shouldn’t be) and most importantly, love to get together for gossip and wine. You heard it here, the key to longevity is booze.
But anyone that knows me knows, I love to learn about people. And the great thing about this place is these people have stories for days. They come from all over, they have lived all sorts of different lives, they have experiences I have never dreamed of and the best, we have a helluva neighborhood watch program. I am pretty sure it is unofficial and mostly just being noisy but I am not going to complain. They have taken me in as one of their own, I even got invited to Charlie’s garage parties. In his words, they “tricked” out there garage to have BYOB parties – random Saturdays when the weather is nice, roll up the door and see who is around – sign.me.up.now. When my first experience with Christmas lights didn’t pan out as well as I wanted, Larry across the street brought over Luminarias to spice up the joint. Kathy stopped over and asked for my painters number. And just this weekend, Paul and his wife Pam, along with their 4 dinner party guests, refused to let me go in the house when things didn’t look so right when I pulled in to my garage – it sounds more exciting than it actually was but still, I felt loved that they didn’t leave me behind, I am officially part of the gang and I love it.
I looked up what Casa Serena, the name of my small neighborhood, meant in Spanish – the neighborhood literally means house of the calm and cool. Oh yeah, I can get onboard with that.
View From Row 15 