Service Dogs and Medical Marijuana

Condominiums and Homeowners Associations are a form of communal living with rules.  Before the first condo, townhome or single family dwelling is sold pre-construction, the rules are created and exist in a Declaration.  Buyers agree to be bound by those rules.  There are age-restricted communities and pet-restricted communities.  The new trend is smoke-free communities because we, as a population, hate cigarette smoking, so evil. 

Some restrictions are older than others.  The age restriction has cycled through the court system.  The rules are rigid as are equity memberships in amenities, like golf courses. 

Service animals are making their way through the court system.  I have participated in a fair amount of service animal litigation.  I represent a small number of condo and homeowner associations.  I have sued homeowners to get rid of their animals for communities enforcing their restrictions.

In every store imaginable I see dogs, service animals, on leashes, in baby carriages, shopping carts and carriers.  I see airlines enforcing limits on the number of animals allowed on a flight.  I see restaurants banning animals for health reasons.  It takes very little to ask a doctor to write you a prescription for an animal.  You can buy a service animal certificate on the internet.   There are genuine service animals. 

In my opinion, medical marijuana is trending and it will happen.  Medical marijuana benefits some medical conditions.  I am also certain when medical marijuana is legalized it will not be any harder to obtain than it is to get a support animal. 

Land developers are selling the smoke-free environment as an amenity, like a gym or swimming pool.  Mark my words, you read it here first, smoke-free condo or not, wherever you live your neighbors will be smoking medically necessary marijuana, but not tobacco, until they find a condition that helps, like anxiety.  

Stalking Frank McCourt

Stalking Frank McCourt

By,

Marian A. Lindquist

            In Angela’s Ashes Frank McCourt writes about his childhood.  He was born in Brooklyn to Irish immigrant parents.  The McCourts had a hard life in Brooklyn so they returned to Ireland, where their lives were harder. McCourt’s father was a drunk, who left the family, which subjected them to tremendous hardship. But Angela’s Ashes rises above the hardship and is a story of redemption. Angela’s Ashes won the Pulitzer Prize because it is beautifully and vividly written.  McCourt’s childhood comes alive in the book.  I had my nine year old daughter, Lily, read Frank McCourt’s story because I believed she needed to understand something about the lives of people less fortunate.  I think she is not grateful for all she has.  No more ungrateful than your typical nine year old, but ungrateful nonetheless.

My alcoholic husband also left our family.  I share Angela’s trait of falling for the man who was kind to me.  Angela had very little education or marketable skills, which was the norm for a woman in her place and time, but it did not bode well for the McCourt children.  Fortunately for Lily when her father left I was a lawyer.  That has helped us a lot.  Angela McCourt was young when she had her first child, and after that she had more in rapid succession. I was thirty-four when I had Lily and I waited a long time for her because I wanted to be a mother since I was six.   Lily and I enjoy our lives together.

I pay a lot of attention to Lily.  She is widely traveled, albeit only in North America.  She attends private school and takes private art lessons.  I think she is particularly blessed.  But what do you hear coming from her mouth numerous times daily?  Complaints, and it’s not productive complaining that brings change.  It’s insidious, self-destructive complaining about how she was mistreated, how there is not enough or how some other child misbehaved and got something to which he was not entitled.

            Years ago I read the Bible from cover-to-cover annually.  This is a good practice although I don’t do it anymore.  While reading the Old Testament I saw repeatedly the Jews were doing well, enjoying their Promised Land until they disobeyed and it was taken from them.   What always got them into trouble?  Complaining.  Yahweh/Jehovah through Moses, brought his children out of Pharaoh’s slavery into the desert and dropped manna from the sky, for their daily consumption.  Seems like everyone ought to be grateful, right?  No, they wanted meat. 

            Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden with everything they needed.  God told them, “You can enjoy everything in the World except those two trees, stay away from them.”  (If you thought there was just one tree you didn’t read Genesis, did you?)  What had to come before Eve ate the forbidden fruit?  It wasn’t just temptation.  It had to be temptation with complaining, something like, “Why can’t we eat from those trees?  What kind of rule is that?  Who does He think He is to say I can’t eat from the tree?”  (What happened to the second forbidden tree?  It was hidden and its location is a mystery.  Geraldo Rivera and Robert Ballard are searching.)

            Complaining is the greatest sin in my house.  I haven’t been successful at completely eliminating it, but I think the easiest way to get away from it is to be aware of what you are doing, try to stop and recognize and be grateful for all you have.  That’s why I brought Lily to Angela’s Ashes.  Now, if you’ve read Angela you might ask, “How can you think that is appropriate reading for a nine year old?”  It’s because I’m a lawyer.  Lily is growing up in a law office.  She spends hours there.  She is familiar with adult problems. 

            Lastly, Lily and I don’t read books together, we listen to audios.  I know a lot of purists don’t like audio books but I love them.  When I was Lily’s age I read many a book, but now as a single, working parent with a house to maintain I read very few books but listen to audios in the car and while I’m cleaning the house.  It brings joy to time I’ll tell you that.   I read Angela’s Ashes the first time and McCourt’s next book ‘Tis, but Frank McCourt actually reads his own audio books, as opposed to hiring an actor.  In McCourt’s case I think you get more from the audios because listening to him tell his own story is incredible.

            Lily became engrossed in Frank McCourt’s stories.  They led us to many a discussion about alcoholism, illness, poverty, Ireland, religion and how people used to live in a time not so long ago.  Lily began asking all our adult friends, her teachers and school librarian if they read Frank McCourt.  Lily was sorry when Angela’s Ashes ended so I immediately got her ‘Tis which she and I both like as much as Angela.  

After we listened to all of Frank McCourt’s books we got the Malachy McCourt books, written by Frank’s brother.  Malachy describes his life in vivid English and can string together adjectives better than anyone I’ve ever heard.  You learn more listening to both brothers because Malachy tells fascinating, funny stories that Frank leaves out and tells more of Angela’s later years.  Frank was a teacher for 30 years and led a more ordinary life than Malachy.  Malachy’s experiences were extraordinary.  He was a bartender, actor, New York celebrity and globe-trotting gold smuggler.  Malachy smoked cigarettes, drank too much, ate too much and through his writing brings you understanding of the hurt that comes from the memory of want and longing.  I think Frank has enjoyed more commercial success because Angela’s Ashes makes me want to pick him up like an abandoned puppy, take him home and care for him.  Malachy either has more flaws than Frank, or is more frank about his flaws.   He can not be compared with a cuddly puppy but strikes you more as an abandoned mutt who has to fight daily for sustenance.

In addition to the McCourt family of books there were three documentaries available at Amazon.com, so I bought them.  It was a few months that our house was engrossed in all things McCourt.  They became part of us, as had Laura Ingalls Wilder and Harry Potter before them.  We missed them when it was over.    

            Then one morning I had on Good Morning America and caught a public service announcement that Frank McCourt would be speaking at a teachers’ function in Miami-Dade County, one county to the south of us.  My ears perked up and my fingers ran to Google, where I learned he would be at the Miami-Dade County Teachers’ Education Summit.  There was nothing on the computer that made it look like it was open to the public and the Teachers’ Union office was closed for Spring Break.  I called several clients who were Broward County Teachers.  They said they thought we could get in.  I decided I had to try, even if I had to talk my way in. 

            The Education Summit was at a Marriott Hotel beginning at 8:00 AM.  I decided we should sleep there.  That way we would wake up and be there.  I also started thinking, “If Frank McCourt is speaking at a Marriott at 8:00 AM where do you think he is sleeping?” 

            I went to Marriott’s website and checked to see if there were any rooms available.  There were.  The Hotel gave me choices as to what I wanted in a room.  Did I want a Queen or King?  Did I want a City view?  Did I want to be on the Concierge Floor?  That was it.  I wanted to be on the Concierge Floor because if Frank McCourt was sleeping at the Marriott he would be on the Concierge Floor.  I happily booked the most expensive room in which I have ever slept.

            For the five days leading up to the Education Summit Lily and I were giddy with excitement.  We could not wait to see Frank McCourt.  Just the mention of the name “Frank McCourt” set our hearts racing and made us skip breaths.  Yet all the while I was concerned, were we really going to get to see Frank McCourt?  What if we couldn’t get in to this event?

            Lily told me we must get hard cover copies of Angela’s Ashes and ‘Tis for Frank McCourt to sign.  I went to three bookstores before I found one hard cover copy of Angela’s Ashes.  Lily’s art teacher suggested Lily hand write McCourt a note and I slip the concierge a $20 to deliver it. 

            Friday after school we headed from Fort Lauderdale to Miami where the traffic was bumper-to-bumper, like inching your way out of a stadium after a football game, for miles.  Lily, the ever-vigilant, spied a bookstore on the other side of the street where she tells me we may be able to purchase another hard-cover copy of a McCourt book, preferably ‘Tis.  I curse figuring how to turn the car around in the middle of the traffic.  The angels were with Lily that day because that store did have a hard-cover copy of ‘Tis. 

            Upon arrival at the Marriott Castle of Frank McCourt, we immediately began scanning every face we saw for resemblance to him.  I tucked Lily’s note in an envelope along with a biography of me that was published in a Florida Bar publication when I received an award for pro bono service.  The bio spoke of my service to children and the poor and the fact that I was a high school drop out.  I have copies of this bio in my office to pass out to new clients.  I enclosed it with Lily’s letter hoping Mr. McCourt would find us worthy of reply. 

            Lily and I toured the hotel, familiarizing ourselves with it.  We enjoyed happy hour in the bar, with Lily drinking Shirley Temples.  We checked out the pool and the exercise room.  We ate dinner in the restaurant.  We never saw Frank McCourt.  I also didn’t like the idea of parting with the letter and giving it to the concierge.  What was she supposed to do, shove it under his door?  Would she really do it?  She didn’t look friendly.

The excitement was growing unbelievably in Lily.  She so wanted to see Frank McCourt.  Would he read her letter?  We figured we could surely pass it to him during the book signing, so long as we were able to get in to the event.

            I awoke at 6:00 AM and went to the gym.  Afterwards I went to the Third Floor where the event was being held.  They were setting up tables selling Frank McCourt’s books.  Wish I’d known.  I asked one of the ladies what time Frank McCourt would be speaking?  9:30 AM.  I went back to my room and opened up the envelope which contained Lily’s letter and the photocopy of my bio.  I jotted a short note to Frank McCourt telling him how much he meant to us and prayed over that note.

            The breakfast room on the Concierge Floor opened at 8:00.  I went at about 8:03.  The room had a sign in sheet.  I signed my name next to a line numbered three.  I was the third guest to enter the room for breakfast.  Frank McCourt signed in at number one, where indeed he should be as he was the main event.  I glanced around the room and spotted Frank McCourt eating breakfast.  I cautiously approached him.  I told him my daughter and I were big fans and passed him the note.  Then I scampered to the room where Lily was sleeping.  All I said was, “Frank McCourt is in the breakfast room.” Lily was up like a bolt of lighting.  She bounded out of bed, used the restroom and grabbed a clip to put her hair in so no one could see it was not brushed, unless you looked closely.

            I made Lily put a plate of food in front of her, but she didn’t want to eat.  She just wanted to stare at Frank McCourt.  It was unbelievable to her that she was mere feet from the famous literary man we had grown to love. 

In the past year Lily and I took a trip beginning in Wisconsin and ending in South Dakota to see home sites of Laura Ingalls Wilder.  We saw a replica of the Little House in the Big Woods near Pepin, Wisconsin.  We drove to Walnut Grove, Minnesota where they have a lovely museum.  Then we drove a mile out of Walnut Grove to a farm where we paid $5.00 into an on-your-honor wooden box entitling you to proceed down a private road to a place On the Banks of Plum Creek where the Ingalls’ dug out sat.  The spot is marked and sunken.  You can sit in this isolated spot and it takes very little imagination to see two little girls, Mary and Laura Ingalls, playing, laughing and giggling 150 years ago.

            Laura Ingalls Wilder died before I was born, so all I could show Lily was a Creek.  This morning we were in a room with the living, breathing man who mesmerized us for weeks with the tales of his life.  Until I saw the announcement on Good Morning America I never even thought there was a place we could go to see him.  I need to expand my mind.  On his way out of the breakfast room, McCourt spoke with us for a moment.  Lily told him that her father left when she was little too, but it did not bother her as much as it bothered him.

After he left the star-struck Lily sat in his chair thrilled by its warmth. 

            We went down to the Third Floor event and were immediately met by gatekeepers who asked if we had tickets.  We did not.  They asked if I was a teacher.  I told them I was an attorney who had seen the event advertised on television.  They said it cost $25 to get in.  I joyfully gave them $50 for Lily and I.   They handed me two hard-cover signed copies of Teacher Man as this was included in the price of admission. 

            We entered a large ballroom room filled with tables of ten.  Lily was the only child in the room, but that’s normal for her considering the places I take her.  We got a lovely table near the podium dead center.  Our backs were facing the podium but you can turn chairs.  Also as part of our $25 we were presented with really huge plates of breakfast which included bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast, and sausage.  I wish we could have sent those plates back in time and place to the McCourts in Limerick because we had no interest in that food at all at all.

            Frank McCourt entered the room.  We turned our chairs to face him.  Lily snuggled against me and we listened as he kept us enchanted for about 80 minutes.  He told some stories from his book and Lily and I grinned in recognition, and he told other stories too.   This was undoubtedly, one of the happiest days of our lives.

            After he spoke Frank McCourt signed books.  Lily and I got in line with our copies of Angela’s Ashes and ‘Tis.  Lily had concern over which book he would sign to her and which he would sign to me.  I told her to have him sign both to her.  She said but then she would grow up and want to take the books out of the house and I would have no signed books.  I assured her I was fine with that.

            When Lily got to the front of the line Mr. McCourt asked if we had lots of books.  I told him we were avid library goers because there is only so much space in the house.  He shook both our hands and handed us a note that read:

                                                                        12 April 08

            Dear Marian + Lily –

            Thank you for your letters and your kind words.

            I am lost in admiration for the life you’ve led.  Marian – that you fought the good fight, that you are such a powerful figure in the community, the way you help people.

            And Lily, You are a jewel of a young lady and I hope you’ll be as determined in getting an education as your mother was.

            When I go around the country and meet people like Marian + Lily Lindquist.  I know there is hope for all of us.  Thanks again.

                                                            Sincerely,

                                                                        Frank McCourt

I made copies of that note and carried it in my brief case so I could read it frequently.  I framed the original, along with the envelope, in which it came, with a short bio and picture of Frank McCourt.    Other lawyers see that letter hanging on my wall.  They ask how I got it and I tell them about Frank McCourt and the Marriott.  They shake their heads and admonish me for bothering the man at his breakfast and tell me I’m lucky he didn’t have me arrested for stalking, that’s how lawyers think.  I assure them I never put him in fear. I knew I was interrupting his breakfast, but I was careful to be minimally intrusive.  It was the weekend and I was my nurturing mother self, not my week day aggressive, scary lawyer self.  Besides all that, Frank McCourt and I are lost in admiration for each other.