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It took me a week to work up the nerve to introduce myself to my neighbors — some of whom, I’d later learn, affectionately referred to me as “the skeleton lady.” The HOA emails had left me feeling exposed and embarrassed, as though the whole neighborhood had been quietly judging me. I had started to believe everyone hated my decorations, and maybe thought less of me because of them. “I’m sorry,” I said. Then I planned to explain that there had been complaints about my skeletons, so they’d be coming inside November 1. I’d finish with an invitation: the Board was considering a new policy about outdoor decorations, and I wanted people to have a say. Before I could get through much of that, the reactions came. “Oh my gosh. Miserable people.” “We love your skeletons.” “It wasn’t us.” “I thought they were cool.” “Love your skeletons.” None of that was solicited. I wasn’t asking anyone to take my side. I was just introducing myself and explaining why I was walking around with postcards. And then we just talked. About the neighborhood. Kids. Running. Wichita, of all places. At one point I explained that what hurt most wasn’t that somebody didn’t like my skeletons. People are allowed to dislike things. It was that somebody was bothered enough to complain but never came over and talked to me. I mentioned that I hate wind chimes. When a neighbor had really loud ones, I talked to her about it. She moved them. “That’s what you do in a community,” I said. It took two plastic skeletons and an HOA complaint, but I finally went out and met my neighbors. Maybe I fit in here after all. Pavilions at Pantops neighbors: If you’ve enjoyed my decorations—or want to share your thoughts about any new outdoor-decoration policy—please contact our community propert manager, Cory Jordan, at [email protected]. Compliments count, too. 💀
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 SAME SKELETONS. NEW ADDRESS. 💀💀 Apparently my skeletons needed a moving announcement. 💀🏠 On Nov. 1, Skelly & Skelly 2 are relocating inside for the winter. They’ll be back Oct. 1. The considerably longer story of how two plastic skeletons became an HOA policy question — and why I keep asking Where is the line? — is here.
 I've ruminated about this HOA debacle for days now and I see a clear path for how one simple email could have changed everything. If I had been alerted by the manager after the first complaint, whenever that was (I was denied access to that or any other detailed information), we could have started a conversation. That conversation would have helped build community and develop shared standards rather than create confusion and hurt feelings. Or, even after compiling multiple complaints, the manager could have acknowledged that the timing (September 9) and the lack of a written rule gave me some leeway to leave the skeletons up until November 1. Neither of those options happened. And the amount of stress this has caused me and my family was completely avoidable. The irony is that I ultimately reached that compromise myself. Regardless of what policy the Board adopts, I have decided the skeletons will come inside on November 1. I enjoyed dressing them for the winter holidays, but I am willing to give that up to be a good neighbor. That is precisely why the way this was handled feels so unnecessary. What could have happened:
I know I am an intense and action-oriented person. When I am upset, my coping mechanism is deliverables. I understand that receiving a lot of emails can be frustrating. But I also believe this entire dispute had been only two messages:
Last year, I asked him for a live conversation to discuss some concerns and was told that written communication was preferred. At this point, I am asking for both: a civil conversation about the path forward and a clear written policy. Whatever the Board adopts, I will follow it. The path we got: Complaint(s) → directive to remove → unclear justification → much larger dispute over what the rules actually mean. A better path: Complaint → early conversation → acknowledge no clear rule → reasonable temporary compromise → Board develops a neighborhood-wide policy. I’m ready to talk. Is anyone else? AN ALTERNATIVE APPROACH And because criticism is only useful if it points toward a better process, here is the email I wish I had received.
Leah, I wanted to reach out because I’ve received a concern about the skeleton decorations at 1872 Verona Drive and how long they have been displayed. The Association does not currently have a specific written policy defining seasonal decorations, how long they may remain outside, or whether removable decorations like these fall under the architectural-review process. Given that Halloween is approaching, it would not make sense to ask you to remove the skeletons now only to potentially put them back out again in a few weeks. Would you be willing to remove them by November 1? In the meantime, I’d like to bring the broader issue to the Board so we can establish clearer guidelines for seasonal and other exterior decorations going forward. That way, everyone in the neighborhood will know what is and is not permitted rather than trying to interpret a rule that does not specifically address this situation. I also wanted to mention that earlier this year I noticed part of the display blowing toward the roadway or neighboring property. Please make sure anything outside is secured and remains within your property. If there is context about the decorations that I’m missing, or if you’d like to discuss this before the Board considers it, please let me know. I've spent all day working on a presentation for my HOA Board. It's important to me that my voice is heard.  SLIDE 1 — WHERE IS THE LINE? This started with two plastic skeletons, but the larger question is: where is the line? I walked around the neighborhood because I wanted to understand what we actually look like — not hypothetically, but in real life. And we’re eclectic. There are lions, dogs, geese, angels, skeletons, yard flags, flagpoles, lights, planters, wreaths, wind chimes, and all kinds of things people use to make their homes feel like theirs. These aren’t complaints. I’m making the opposite point. We don’t all have to like the same things. I don’t like every decoration I see, and I don’t expect everyone to like mine. But if we’re going to have rules — and therefore violations of those rules — homeowners need an objective standard they can understand before enforcement begins. Seasonal? Decorative? Permanent? Violation? Where is the line? SLIDE 2 — WHY I’M HERE I’m not here to fight over two plastic skeletons, and I’m not asking for a special exception. I’m asking for clarity, consistency, and fairness. When I was contacted, I tried to find the rule I had violated and couldn’t find a clear written seasonal-decoration standard. My goal is a constructive solution for all homeowners — conversation, not confrontation. SLIDE 3 — WHAT HAPPENED I moved here in 2019 and have decorated ever since. We’ve had year-round exterior lights and put up Christmas decorations beginning November 1. Two five-foot skeletons arrived in October 2025. We enjoyed them so much that we began dressing them for different seasons, and neighbors complimented them. In September, I was told to remove them or seek ARB approval. I made a good-faith change by removing the lamp-post display and moving the second skeleton to the stoop. Now the Board is drafting a decorations policy, which I think is an opportunity to make the expectations clearer for everyone. And regardless of what policy is ultimately adopted, I've already decided that the skeletons will come inside on November 1. I think that's a reasonable compromise, and it's one I would have agreed to from the beginning if someone had simply asked. I'd like to start next year's Halloween display on September 1, but if the rule is October 1, I will respect and follow it. SLIDE 4 — ENCOURAGEMENT vs. ENFORCEMENT The Association has encouraged residents to decorate. But I have not found a definition explaining when a removable decoration becomes a “permanent improvement,” or whether seasonal and non-seasonal décor are treated differently. And that raises a very basic consistency problem. If a plastic skeleton that can simply be picked up and carried inside is a permanent improvement, why isn’t a wind chime? Why isn’t a yard flag? A porch goose? Lion statues? I'm not suggesting that any of those things should require approval or be removed. I'm asking why one removable decorative object falls into this category while another doesn't. And the answer can't depend on whether somebody complained about one of them. A complaint can identify something the Association should look at. It cannot, by itself, define what the rule is. Unwritten expectations are impossible to apply consistently. So again: where is the line? SLIDE 5 — THE MISSING STEP One email could have changed the entire trajectory of this situation. If I had been contacted after the first concern or told, “We don’t have a clear seasonal-decoration policy, but since Halloween is approaching, would you be willing to remove the skeletons by November 1 while the Board develops one?” I would have agreed to that. In fact, that is essentially the compromise I eventually reached on my own. I know that approach can work because I’ve been the complaining neighbor. I don’t like wind chimes. Years ago, one particular wind chime across the street bothered me. I spoke with my neighbor, and she moved it. My dislike of wind chimes did not ban them for the entire neighborhood. My complaint started a conversation. It didn’t create a rule. But when neighbors complained about my skeletons, I was told to remove them, with no indication that I could put them back out for Halloween or when they would be permitted again. That’s the distinction I’m struggling with. The problem was the process, timing, framing, and lack of a defined rule. A complaint could have led first to a conversation and then, if the Board believed a broader standard was necessary, to a policy that applied to everyone. Instead, enforcement came before the policy existed. SLIDE 6 — THE HUMAN SIDE I also want to acknowledge the human side. When you have an anxiety disorder, an anonymous complaint can feel much bigger than one person's objection. It can very quickly start to feel like everybody is looking at you. That doesn't mean complaints shouldn't be addressed. It means how they are communicated matters. And I recognize that managing a community is work. I'm not interested only in criticizing the process; I'm volunteering to help improve it. SLIDE 7 — QUESTIONS FOR THE BOARD I think a policy needs to answer four basic things. 1. What is the standard? What distinguishes seasonal décor, non-seasonal décor, and a permanent improvement? Does simply remaining outside for a long time transform an otherwise removable object into a permanent improvement? 2. What factors matter — duration, placement, size, quantity, visibility? 3. What actually requires ARB approval? 4. And what is the process? Will homeowners have input before adoption, and how will the final standard be communicated and applied consistently? SLIDE 8 — WHAT I’M ASKING FOR My request is simple: a clear written policy, homeowner input before adoption, consistent application, and the opportunity to help. I'm not asking the Board to adopt my preferred policy tonight. I'm asking that homeowners know what is being proposed before it becomes enforceable, that comparable objects be treated under the same standard, and that everyone know the rule before they can be accused of violating it. And I'm genuinely volunteering to help with that process. SLIDE 9 — INVITE INPUT This resolution will affect much more than skeletons. It could affect flags, wreaths, lights, yard figures, inflatables, porch decorations, cultural displays, memorials, and all kinds of things residents currently put outside their homes. That's why I think residents should see the actual proposal before it's finalized rather than learning what it means when something they own becomes an enforcement issue. The whole neighborhood should have a chance to understand what is being proposed and give input. SLIDE 10 — COMPLIMENTS COUNT, TOO This experience also made me notice that complaints create a record, while compliments usually don't. So a complaint is evidence that someone objects. It isn't necessarily evidence of community consensus. A complaint can identify a problem, but a compliment can tell us what residents value. I'd like us to think about ways to hear both. SLIDE 11 — CLOSING And yes, I made a Real Housewives of Pantops logo because sometimes humor helps. I really don’t want this to become a reality show. I’d rather turn a small dispute into something useful: clearer expectations, better communication, resident input, and a policy everyone can understand before they are told they’ve violated it. I don't need the Board to agree with me about skeletons. I do want us to agree that homeowners should be able to know the rules before they're told they've broken them. Different vibes. Same neighborhood. Let’s choose conversation over conflict. OPEN LETTER TO MY NEIGHBORS THE SHORT VERSION Dear Neighbor, I understand that you contacted the HOA about my decorations. I would genuinely like to understand what bothered you. You do not need to identify yourself to me. If possible, I’d appreciate having the specific issue shared anonymously. I’m also open to having a private or mediated discussion. The decorations bring joy to my family, but I also care about being a good neighbor. Knowing whether the issue is the skeletons themselves, their size, or their placement could help us find a reasonable compromise. I hope situations like this can be resolved through conversation whenever possible. Leah THE LONG VERSION
Dear Neighbor, I don’t know who you are, and I’m not asking to know. But since your complaint about my decorations has now prompted a much larger conversation about decorating in our neighborhood, there are a few things I wish I could have said to you directly at the time of the complaint, but I'm saying it now openly to whomever may read this. First: I wish you had talked to me. I genuinely mean that. Finding out that even one neighbor disliked my decorations was disheartening. I wondered almost immediately: If you knew how much decorating my home means to me, would you still have complained? Maybe you would have. And that would be okay. But at least we would understand each other a little better. I bought this townhouse in 2019. It is the first home I have ever owned. One of the things I have loved about it is having a little patch of outdoors that is mine to decorate. The skeletons arrived for Halloween in October 2025. I liked them so much that I left them up and started changing them for the seasons: Valentine boas and hearts, St. Patrick’s Day hats, bunny ears, American flags. They were silly. They made me happy. And based on the unsolicited comments I have received from people walking through the neighborhood, they made some other people happy too. That doesn’t mean everyone has to like them. I don’t like everything my neighbors choose either. I hate wind chimes. One person’s soothing wind chime is another person’s relentless clanging. One person’s creepy skeleton is another person’s year-round friend. That seems like a pretty good metaphor for living in a neighborhood. You keep yours. I’ll keep mine. And somewhere in between, we figure out how to live next to each other. What has troubled me most about this situation isn’t that somebody dislikes my skeletons. You are absolutely entitled to dislike them. It is that a private difference in taste became an official complaint—and because I could not find a written decoration rule that specifically prohibited what I had done, I suddenly had no idea what standard I had violated. When there isn’t a clear rule, a complaint can effectively become one. And complaints create a record. Compliments don’t. For every person who complains about something in a neighborhood, there may be other people who smile when they pass it. The HOA never hears from them. That doesn’t make their opinions more important than yours. It just means neither of us should automatically get to decide for everyone else. That is why I would rather have a conversation than a conflict. Had you knocked on my door and said, “Hey, those skeletons bother me,” I can’t promise I would have taken them down immediately, but I would have listened. I would have wanted to know what bothered you. I might have moved something, removed something, changed something, or discovered a compromise neither of us had considered. In fact, after the complaint, I did change the display. I removed the lights from the lamppost and moved the skeleton that had been standing there. When I looked at the two skeletons together on the stoop afterward, I realized something surprising: I liked them better that way. Maybe sometimes a complaint really is an opportunity to do better. But I think we can do better than anonymous complaints, too. We are all neighbors. We should be able to talk to each other about our concerns and our motivations. We should be able to acknowledge that what delights one person may annoy another—and that neither reaction automatically makes someone wrong. So if you ever want to talk to me about the skeletons, please do. You don’t have to like them. I would just rather know my neighbor than know there was a complaint. I've moved through the stages of grief and have accepted that my skeletons will most likely only see the sunshine in October. That's ok. They've served their purpose. And for what it’s worth, I've ordered a second porch goose. I really hope it's an acceptable alternative. 😀 Leah  I have a memory from 1996. A senior manager told me I had too many pictures on my office walls. From what I recall, my office was tucked away, mostly hidden from view although it was near an emergency exit. It was basically a closet. It barely fit my desk and chair. There was no space for a meeting, so I kept my door open for visitors. There were no windows to look out, so I covered nearly every inch of the walls with 8x10 photos. I loved it. I was puzzled. I couldn’t understand why someone had a problem with my wall decorations. Why was I receiving this criticism from someone other than my supervisor? I know the comment bothered me, but I don’t remember taking any photos off the walls. I think my supervisor told me that if I received a promotion and moved to a real office, I would have to decorate it more professionally. When I did receive the promotion, I invested in 5-foot wooden folding panel frames that held 15 photos each to decorate my new office. I had at least two of them. I filled them with scenes from my trips to Ireland and England. This memory came to me as I tried to understand my current situation with my HOA. Almost thirty years later, I was once again being told that I had put too much of myself into my space that others could see. What happens when the way I care, solve problems, seek clarity, document things, and make myself visible is experienced by someone else as excessive? When does engagement become “too much”? Who gets to decide? And why does someone else’s discomfort with my intensity make me question myself so quickly? I received an email on September 9 from the manager at the association management firm telling me to take down my decorative skeletons or apply for an architectural review because they were now considered to be “permanent ‘improvements’” to the lot and no longer “temporary” holiday decorations. The two skeletons outside my home are apparently a neighborhood issue. Immediately I looked for my HOA packet and imported it into ChatGPT to find the regulations regarding holiday decorations. There were none. I looked at the Architectural Review Board form and filled it out, requesting approval for a Halloween display from September 1–November 1. Yes, I am one of those people who drinks a pumpkin spice latte in August and starts watching Hallmark’s Countdown to Christmas in October. I love fall. I love winter. I love the holidays. The timing of that email couldn’t have been worse. I had just put out my Halloween-themed wreath and doormat. I had expected a new standing 5-foot candy bowl skeleton to arrive that afternoon. It’s difficult for me to describe all the feelings that overwhelmed me—paranoia, shame, vulnerability, fear, confusion, indignation, and the feeling of being profoundly misunderstood—but I soon became physically ill. I was so anxious I wanted to take Xanax, but didn’t want to fall asleep during the workday. I tried to calm myself by learning as much as I could … reviewing all the board minutes and the community newsletter. I was so emotional and frazzled that I knew it would help to use ChatGPT to assist in editing my rambling thoughts and to keep my tone professional. “The fact is that you live in an HOA community, and there are expectations which go along with that.” I wasn't arguing that an HOA shouldn't be allowed to have rules about decorations. I was asking what ours were. The way I saw it, the problem wasn’t actually me or my skeletons, it was that there was no policy to follow. “I am looking for conversation, not confrontation,” I wrote in one of my messages. I was proud of my correspondence: the context I shared, the questions I asked, and the documentation I provided. The problem wasn’t just being asked to remove my decorations. It was the uncertainty about the future and confusion about how we got here in the first place. If I understood the process, if I knew that removal was only temporary and I could put whatever I wanted back up on October 1st, I could accept that. My mind spiraled trying to understand what I had done wrong when there was no written rule. I do not have a problem with strict policies on decorating. I am a very black and white thinker. Most of the time I like to have rules, boundaries, and guidelines. But I also have a strong moral compass, an inclination toward advocacy, and a tendency to fight for what I believe is right. In certain circumstances I’ve been known to ask forgiveness rather than permission. I don’t normally like to do that, but if the choice is between action and waiting, I will always choose to do something.I wish I had a photograph of my office for you to see. This isn’t my first interaction with the manager handling our HOA. During COVID, when everyone was working from home, a neighbor left their garage door open and right near the back of the garage, above the door to their home, there was a very loud wind chime. I like to keep my windows and balcony door open, so I heard this wind chime when I was working and when I was trying to sleep. It drove me nuts. I asked the manager if there was anything I could do and he informed me it would be nearly impossible to ban wind chimes because you need 75% of owners to agree and you can’t get that number of people to agree on an ice cream social. Knowing my sanity was now in my own hands, I wrote a note asking them to close the garage doors so I wouldn’t hear the chimes. I saw the tenant outside and asked her if she got my note. I basically begged her to remove the chimes and even offered to pay her for the cost of the chimes and the inconvenience. She actually apologized profusely and said she had no idea it was bothering anyone, and moved the chimes. It never was a problem again. I didn’t have such an easy resolution to a tenant who moved in next door and smoked on the balcony. I reached out to the manager. Once again I was told it wasn’t against any policy to smoke so there was nothing to be done. So I personally asked her to stop. She agreed, then continued to smoke despite it being against her lease agreement. It was a nightmare. I was so relieved when she moved out. I’ve had two wonderful months with no neighbor drama. Then I get this email about my decorations. The association was powerless against intrusive noise and secondhand smoke, but decisive about two silent skeletons? WHY?!?!?!?!?!?!?! I was 48 when I bought this townhouse in 2019. It is my first and only home purchase and I was so excited to have a front lawn and balcony to decorate. I’ve had lights up nonstop since March 2020. No complaints. I’ve had Christmas decorations up on November 1st every year for at least 10 weeks. No complaints. The 5-foot skeletons arrived in October 2025 and they gave me and my family so much joy that I became one of those people who leaves them up and decorates them for the seasons. Finding out that even one neighbor didn’t like my skeletons was disheartening. I wondered: if they knew how much decorating meant to me, would they still file a complaint? It isn't that I need every neighbor to love my skeletons. They're plastic skeletons. People are allowed to think they're ridiculous. What I wasn't prepared for was how an anonymous complaint would change the feeling of my own home. Suddenly somebody had been looking at something that gives me joy and recording it as a problem. I didn't know who. That meant it could be anybody. My home is where I expect to be most completely myself. And suddenly I was self-conscious about what I had put outside it. When you have an anxiety disorder, an anonymous complaint doesn't remain anonymous in your mind. It becomes everybody. I wanted all the data available to understand why this was happening to me, but I couldn’t get any details on what was said and when. I specifically stated I didn’t want any identifying information, but I was still denied. It’s hard to understand what the process is for taking action on a complaint when nothing about the complaint is transparent. The initial email from the manager was vague and I only got slightly more context during my follow-up questions. There are two issues here: one is the complaint process and the other is the messenger. It’s bad enough to feel like anonymous neighbors can be responsible for making you change something about your home that you enjoy. It’s even worse when the person who is managing the situation is withholding and comes across as condescending and dismissive. If someone had come to me personally and asked me to take the skeletons down, I probably would have. I come in and out of my house more than anyone else. I walk through this neighborhood more than anyone else. I am accessible and available for a conversation—even a lively debate about dead decorations. Being asked by a neighbor would have felt like a conversation. Being instructed by a management employee, without being given an actual written rule, made me want to push back at the way the whole thing had been handled. I ended up taking a sick leave day because I couldn’t think about anything other than how this situation could be amicably resolved for me and handled better for other residents in the future. My husband’s initial advice was simple: “Don’t piss off the HOA.” Eventually he conceded I made a valid point comparing differing treatment of the windchimes and my decorations. By late that evening, my eloquent summary was: “That fucking skeleton thing sucked up my entire fucking day.” Being told to rely on “common sense” was especially frustrating because it substituted an unwritten expectation for an actual policy. Common sense, unfortunately, was not included in my HOA disclosure packet. My position, in less diplomatic terms: Put it in the damn rule book. How was I supposed to follow a rule that didn’t exist? Was the problem the skeletons, the lamppost, the length of time—or simply somebody else’s taste? Who gets to decide when a decorating season begins? What exactly is the statute of limitations on a skeleton? Why can’t changing its outfit reset the clock? It makes no sense. Why would someone wait until now to complain about my decorations, especially since Halloween is less than 2 months away. If you didn’t like my seasonal skeletons, why didn’t you raise concerns in February when they had Valentine boas and hearts, or in March when they wore St. Patrick’s Day hats, or in April when they had bunny ears, or in July when they held American flags? I’m supposed to take them down in September when it’s actually their natural season?! Somewhere between Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day, my removable plastic skeletons had achieved permanent-improvement status. Tenure, but for bones. It’s not a popularity contest. But complaints create a record; compliments don’t. For every person who files a complaint, I guarantee you there are many more people who smile when they walk by. I’ve seen it myself in person and as I’ve reviewed my security cam. At least a dozen people have stopped to tell me they loved the decorations. The HOA never hears from them. When there isn’t a rule, a complaint can effectively become one. So whose voice becomes most important? The complainant? The owner? The board? How can issues like this be addressed fairly? What is the process to achieve resolution? I’d start any enforcement request by identifying the specific written rule involved, how it’s being violated, what corrective action is being requested, and what process exists for questioning or appealing that determination. I’d allow the homeowner access to the actual complaints with names redacted. Had the first message I received contained all of that information—or simply said there is no specific decoration rule, but the Board has concerns about how long these have been displayed—this entire exchange might have unfolded differently. I’d also suggest giving all parties involved the opportunity to discuss the matter with the manager or Board as mediator, if requested. We are all neighbors. We should be able to talk to each other about our concerns and motivations. I have plenty of ideas about how this could have been handled better. Figuring out how best to communicate them took longer. My coping mechanism is deliverables. I was told to remove two plastic skeletons and somehow ended up conducting an extensive ethnographic study of Pavilions at Pantops outdoor décor. Walking every street of my neighborhood, I documented each and every decorative element, knowing that many have been there as long as mine. I also saw pumpkins, ghosts, and skeletons, too. So Halloween decorating has started for others besides me! As I tallied the results, I wondered: Why are stone lions permitted while human bones require architectural approval? I spent hours writing emails I didn’t send. And then writing new ones I did send with the help of ChatGPT as an editor. I spent hours researching HOA decoration policies and seasonal skeleton controversies. And then I used ChatGPT to help summarize and organize all the data. I was proud of myself for everything I compiled. Proud of the messages I sent and even prouder of the ones I didn’t. I thought about this situation obsessively and anxiously, but also organizationally and analytically. I sent one final email on September 10 summarizing all the work I had put into this project and I offered to help the board with the creation of a decorations policy. I was relieved. I was hopeful. I felt good. I thought I was done. Then I got his response. He thanked me for my feedback and said he would share it with the Board, but then referred to my “vigorous interest and desire to assist,” said he didn’t think the Board needed “any more input on this topic,” “Vigorous interest” may be the most HOA way anyone has ever called me too much. At some point the subject changed. We were no longer only discussing the skeletons. We were discussing the fact that I kept discussing the skeletons. And then came the words that I could not get over: “You have now sent seven responses on this topic to me, most of which I believe to have been primarily AI-generated.” I have an MFA in creative writing. I use ChatGPT. Both things are true. I don’t use ChatGPT because I have nothing to say. Clearly, I have plenty to say. Sometimes too much. Seven emails in less than twenty-four hours is a lot. I know that. I ruminate. I know that, too. If fewer emails were the goal, more details earlier on would have helped. Every new response—or refusal to answer—gave me information I hadn't had before, which gave me another question. I was still trying to find a compromise. I turned a complaint about two skeletons into a research project. That is who I am. I’m intense. Too much. And ChatGPT gave my passion some paragraph breaks. If he had any idea how many longer messages I could have sent, he would be grateful that I convinced ChatGPT to stop me. It didn’t matter that I was doing the groundwork and offering to help. It didn’t matter that I had actually served on the Board in 2023. I’ve seen ARB applications. I’ve heard the conversations that don’t make the meeting minutes. I know where the skeletons are buried. A friend of mine was shocked by his response: “Coming from the board side of this, I would be thrilled if someone volunteered to help with literally anything.” Apparently the difference between civic engagement and being a pain in the ass depends partly on who's answering the emails. When I complain about something, even if it’s a complaint about a complaint, I don't stop there. I will try to fix the problem. No choice but action. My house was too decorated. My questions were too numerous. My interest was too vigorous. And apparently my writing was too polished to be entirely mine. I don't know why he brought up AI. I know what it did. It moved the conversation away from whether my questions were reasonable and toward whether my words were artificial. I use ChatGPT because when I’m anxious and overwhelmed, my thoughts come faster than I can organize them. I can write ten versions of the same email and still not know which one I should send. It helps me sort through all of that. It helps me figure out what I’m actually trying to say and, more importantly, what I probably shouldn’t say. I used technology to help keep my correspondence factual, organized, and professional when I was anything but calm. “I stand behind everything I send, regardless of what tools I use to research, organize, or edit my writing.” The suggestion that my emails were “primarily AI-generated” felt dismissive and devaluing in a way I wasn’t expecting. It reduced all of the research, questions, documentation, editing, and restraint behind those messages to: I don’t believe you wrote any of this, AI did it. I was obsessed. I researched this far beyond what most people would. I walked around the neighborhood photographing outdoor décor. I created a policy checklist. I looked up other HOAs. I offered to rejoin the Board. I am aware this is an intense response to a complaint about plastic skeletons. But intense is not irrational. Thorough is not wrong. And using ChatGPT to help me organize an overwhelming amount of thought doesn't negate my core beliefs. Maybe he was just annoyed. I asked reasonable questions, but answering them created more work for him and the Board. I’m aware that it would have been much easier for everyone if I just removed my skeletons and didn’t point out that there was nothing in the HOA packet that specifically prohibited these decorations. This felt uncomfortably familiar. When something important feels uncertain, erasable, or capable of being misrepresented, I make it visible. My HOA was not Grafton Place. Two plastic skeletons are not a dead man’s Instax collection. I knew the stakes weren’t remotely comparable. What felt familiar was the structure: incomplete information created questions; answers created more questions; and eventually the number of questions I was asking became part of the problem. When I was trying to retrieve Keith’s photographs, the lawyer involved also commented on how many emails I sent. I eventually pointed out to him that if I had gotten complete and necessary information upfront or answers to questions the first time I asked, there wouldn’t have been a need for so many follow-ups. That’s what bothered me here too. The number of messages became part of the criticism without any acknowledgment of why there were so many messages in the first place. I didn’t have the information I needed. There seemed to be contradictions and uncertainty. I needed to see the whole picture. Sometimes there is something good on the other side of all that persistence. Keith’s photos, which took months to receive, were eventually displayed as three teeny tiny collages at Second Street Gallery. I raised $50 for Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation for Childhood Cancer by selling one. I made a difference. I did something good. Yesterday, in between sending emails and pacing inside for fear of leaving the house and unknowingly running into the anonymous complainer(s), I decided to make a good-faith effort at modifying my décor. If the biggest problem was the string lights and skeleton on the lamp post, I could easily remove the lights and move the skeleton to the other side of the stoop. Any chance that would suffice? The thing that upsets me is that I actually do think about other people. I gave away my Christmas inflatables years ago because I worried they were too noisy. I was willing to compromise before anyone acknowledged that there had been no written rule for me to follow. When I opened the door to get a package for my daughter, I saw the two skeletons on either side of the stairs and smiled to myself, "This looks good. I like this." Maybe it's ok that someone complained. It's an opportunity to do better. I still don’t understand how leaving a removable decoration in place for too long transforms it into a “permanent improvement.” Maybe the policy that my “multiple responses” prompted the Board to create will explain this. If the eventual policy allows skeletons only during the month October, I will follow the rule. I’ll put all seven of them in my yard for one glorious month. It still feels like discrimination against skeletons, but I will respect the rule of the HOA. For now, maybe improving my decorations instead of removing them will suffice. My twin took a photo of the new layout as she left and texted me. “I like them so much better together!” Me too.     I recently edited my original "TOO MUCH" blog post to be under 1,000 words so I could submit it to the Women's Initiative Challenge Into Change. I realize after an incident with my HOA yesterday that I need to write a follow-up, which I'm doing ASAP. I document everything. I have an MFA in creative writing. I use ChatGPT. I am transparent. I am vulnerable and overshare. I am passionate and kind. I will not let other people's opinions of me define me. I love my home decorations. If someone is offended by them, I wish they had the courage to speak with me in person. I did that when I had an issue with the owner of a relentlessly loud wind chime and with a renter who smoked on the balcony. One was resolved amicably. The other was a disaster. Both have since moved. NOTHING IS PERMANENT. ALWAYS BE HONEST. BE KIND. BE FRIENDLY. JUST HOW YOU WANT TO BE TREATED. FYI: None of this was AI generated. It's unedited. Unfiltered. REAL.  PERMANENT IMPROVEMENT |
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