Welcome Committee Fantasy

The only job I will ever accept on my homeowner's association executive committee is "Welcome Chair." The job is simple: greet new residents with a bottle of wine and new neighbor packet, which includes the Devonwood directory. Wifey usually comes along, and gets the new folks' contact info, and tells them, as is her job as crime watch chair, that there hasn't been a real crime in our 'hood since the Bush Administration. The president has to deal with the angry folks who get all steamed up over dog poop, peafowl, and whether or not to oppose fire rescue stations in the next village. I only want the fun stuff --plus I have, of course, a natural curiosity (maybe UNnatural) about who's living in my 'hood. And we have some interesting folks. There's an aging structural engineer, who's responsible for most of the major sports stadiums in America -- a Hungarian guy married to a Puerto Rican Jewess. We have sports psychologists, regular psychologists, various big shot doctors, keen financial planners (including my friend Pat) and managing partners in several prominent law firms (MAJOR yawn). We have a rich widow or two, who I always refer to as "The rich widow (fill in the blank)." And we have an international cast of "ladies who lunch," including, of course, Wifey. So this am, I took my early stroll, and I passed one of the very old houses, which was recently sold. It was the former servants' quarters for the original estate, still standing, and sits on 2 acres. It has 9 bedrooms, but not MTV Cribs bedrooms -- most are smallrooms, in a row, each with its own small bath. There's also a separate guesthouse. The last owner was a white Haitian executive, who used to have workers tending to the vast gardens all the time. He sold the place last month, for $2.5 million, which I think is the highest price a property in my 'hood ever fetched. A quick internet search showed the buyer was from New Jersey --Wifey the snoop found out he worked for a big investment house there. But as I walked, I allowed my imagination to run wild. What if he's really an ex mobster, or CURRENT mobster, and I befriend him. I could become like Dr. Cusomano on the "Sopranos," -- we could share cocktails, and then I could have my new friend whack people who annoyed me. Or maybe he's still working for the CIA --and wants to recruit me for clandestine projects that call for a middle aged guy who still dabbles in the law business (as opposed to his partner, who still works MORE than full time --slaving away, in the pursuit of justice). I guess I'll find out soon. D2 leaves tomorrow for Gville, and I figure I'll stroll over during the week and meet our new New Jersey transplants. I just hope he's not another damn LAWYER...