The Land of Plastic Plants and porcelain Pets.

“The Land of plastic plants and porcelain pets.” It is a name and a sardonic reference to the many rules and regulations, in Florida Golf Communities, where Home Owner Associations manages the property. The regulations are well intentioned and meant to secure the physical premises and the safe, quiet enjoyment of one’s abode. In that most of us are retired, it does indeed necessitate a different environment than the noisy individualism of an old neighborhood, like the ones where I grew up, in South Buffalo N.Y. The individual homes there functioned like castles of antiquity. The owner pretty much decided what went on in and around the immediate precincts of the homestead. This is not so in the tightly regulated communities of the Sunshine State. To be fair, you know this in advance when you buy into a community. Still, the rules can be sometimes ill fitting, when knuckleheads get involved.

When we first started spending winters, in Florida,  we were surprised by people whom we have since come to label as “The Conformity Police.” This might bring to mind an image of a jack-booted, aviator sunglass-wearing and leather-clad, law-enforcement official, who has been designated by the local government to insure peace and harmony.

In reality however, it might be the guy across the street, wearing sandals, a flowered shirt and cut-offs. Or maybe it might be the dude, in the spiffy golf threads and expensive golf shoes. It could even be the harmless and charming woman in the flowered print sundress. They all look innocuous enough in the bright sunshine. Their benign appearances belies the burning zeal that lies within, to enforce the unwritten “conformity laws.” What are they you ask? That is a good question. Most of us have no idea. But, “They know.”

Plant the wrong kind of flowers, in front of your home, or worse plant them on the wrongly designated patch of ground, and these “cops” will be on you like a blanket. They don’t run up and chastise you personally, but they do scurry inside to call the homeowner’s association or complex manager’s office, to report an egregious violation of the rules. You can almost imagine the breathless conversation.

“They have lilies planted out-front,” the conformist constable gasped indignantly into the phone.

“Lilies! And they are planted six inches over their home footprint as well. What are you going to do about it?” They ask in outrage.

On another occasion, we were actually confronted by a smiling older gentleman who stopped his blue van and told us that we were “walking on the wrong side of the street.” We at first thought he was one of the addled ones, perhaps some gentleman in the early onset stages of Alzheimer’s. But upon inquiry, we were advised that “no, he just does that kind of stuff. He is one of them.”

The conformist police are legion. Usually they look through their tightly-drawn, living-room blinds and scan the homes of the neighbors, looking for some unauthorized bit of color or minor infraction. On most days, they strike out and have to go back to watching several hours of games shows and old “I Love Lucy” episodes. But in their heart of hearts their hope is that during the next day, they will catch someone parking several inches over the line of their assigned spot. Or maybe find the big gorilla offense, like an unattended dog or a child doing something that the “rules” don’t allow for. That thought is enough to comfort them and carry them through their troubled night dreams, tormented by shadows of trespassers and illegal flower growers.

How did these rascals get that way? Who knows? But we have decided that rather than let them draw our ire, we can smile and laugh at them for the intolerant, nothing else to do, unfortunates that they have become. And we occasionally plant flowers illegally, walk on the wrong side of the street and even trod on forbidden grass, just to remind ourselves that rules, though necessary, can sometimes be pretty silly, when knuckleheads get involved.

                                                             -30-

                                                      (689 words)

                                                Joseph Xavier Martin