2,600! Eyes! Miles! Lies!
What’s in a number… say 2600, for example? At first glance, and certainly six months ago, I’m not sure I’d have a ready response. I am, 100% positive, it’s NOT the number of crosses and Milagros from my collection that dressed my favorite “gallery wall.” I’ll start guessing, and encourage you to throw your thoughts in the arena as well.
I can definitely assure you it wasn’t the number of Christmas cards I found myself addressing that Monday morning back in December of 2006, while sitting in our comfy family room, sipping my third cup of coffee, and enjoying the grey veil of coastal fog that had wafted up from the California coastline which spanned the entire 180º degree view stretched out below our hilltop, Freehaven, home in Santa Barbara. We had flown home the past Friday, following Emily’s mid-year final exams, and were all enjoying the quiet, weekend break before our Christmas “hoopla” would begin. We landed late in the evening on Friday, and Greg, our pilot and his second chair, had stayed in the upstairs guest wing, before rising for an early start the next day to return to their respective homes. The kids slept in Saturday morning, and Al had risen early to drive the guys back to Skyward Aviation before starting his short drive over the Pass, to get in a couple hours of tennis with Dean, before the weekend’s finale. Sunday brought Mass at Mt. Carmel, lunch afterwards at Via Vai, and then a trip to the Christmas tree lot near the Santa Barbara Bowl to choose our trees to be decorated and celebrate around, for the three weeks that we would be home. An enormous Noble Fir was chosen for the living room at Roblar, as well as a medium Noble for the Roblar guest house, and a second medium Noble for Freehaven; the kids so loved every single detail that accompanied our Christmas holiday, that trees and evergreen wreaths were essential parts of the Christmas decorating that would adorn each home.
With that first weekend behind us, AL left Freehaven early Monday morning to start over the hill for what he had said would be more tennis and then a few business meetings. I was determined to personalize every Christmas card, address each envelope, and get a start on some gift wrapping before heading to Roblar with the kids on Wednesday, to ready our Roblar home for what might be our last holiday there!
Each card personalized.. it was one of my “musts!”
The past summer, Al, and his buddy Geno, (way too long a story, history, and distraction to include here, but just one on a lengthy list of Al’s “groupies and entourage of followers”) had “gone on a tear” and were determined to find a larger, yet equally special property that would replace our beloved Roblar. I have to confess, even now, that the property they found, Rancho Encantado was pretty spectacular; it commanded a 300+ acre promontory overlooking the entire Santa Ynez valley, and offered so many attractive features, I was actually beginning to warm up to the idea of making that place our new home base. Roblar, was almost human-like to me, and I can feel my eyes welling up now, as I write about “her;” it had always been so undeniably special; it held the unique distinction of being the longest period of time I’d ever called a place “home!” Nevertheless, the offer we made on Rancho Encantado was accepted; it provided for a fairly lengthy escrow period, in order for Al, and accountant, K Ass, to figure out the “ins and outs” and tax advantages of creating a new business entity, that would serve to maximize all the advantages related to the substantial grove of Walnut trees that were, actively, being farmed, and which held so much intrigue to Al. He had done the same thing with Freehaven too, as it sat atop 23 acres of an Avocado-clad hillside, and Al was quick to brag that the avocado production basically paid the entirety of Freehaven’s monthly expenses.
The 355 acres that was home to “Rancho Encantado”
I was NEVER included in discussions or plans regarding money and/or business matters, but recently Al had loosened up a little bit, and was at least giving me a minor role in deciding on some of the interiors of our homes. He even suggested that we make an additional Fall trip from Georgia to California, and bring Katie Guyer, along, to get a head-start planning the interior changes, updates and additions that would be required. Katie had basically done all the interiors of Freehaven, and aside from the few buying trips for the furniture, some special antiques, wrought-iron light sconces, details of bedding, bath fixtures, kitchenware, and miscellaneous pieces of art and extras, that Emily and I were allowed to join in on choosing, Katie knew our taste and was sure to do a great job! The acquisition of Rancho Encantado could mean that Al might finally be serious about us moving back home to California permanently? I knew my children, Al’s oldest daughter, and the rest of my family would be ecstatic, but I was a bit reticent about the impact that would have on our marriage; I also wasn’t sure how Katie would handle knowing, or accepting that the addition of Rancho Encantado, also meant there would be no more Tabby Lane in my family’s life. Tabby Lane had been Katie’s family’s oceanfront sanctuary, when away from their main home in Atlanta, Georgia, and we had bought Tabby Lane in 2004 to make our own “stronghold” while in the South. It had been a painful, but necessary, financial reality for Katie and her husband, and I knew it would be a difficult discussion, never mind the actual occurrence. Somehow, I always believed that Katie felt like our little family would treasure her Tabby gem, as she did, and we would honor and keep the integrity of the home’s design and character that Francis Abreu designed back in the 1920’s. While I truly did love our one-of-a-kind, Tabby Lane “cottage” on 12th Street nestled between the drive and the shore, which I adored and walked daily, I was still sensitive to both my children’s desire to live exclusively in California, have their family nearby, eliminate the constant back and forth between coasts, and the instability they felt a majority of the time. Al too, had begun to resent and complain about Bubba III’s, lack of appropriate recognition for Al’s contributions to the Resort’s big picture and dramatic transformation. Bubba’s irrational demands, incessant spending, the ever-increasing and revolving door of new “experts;” the young and upcoming team of females on the landscape, or design team (who were unabashedly shameless about doing whatever, or WHOEVER, to achieve their personal goals); the train of consultants; or the ego-stroking, and “ass-kissers,” who so enjoyed riding on Bubba’s coattails, seemed to overshadow the historical picture and spirit, and it was pretty apparent that no-one, other than Mac, and maybe Al, was concerned about the very dismal, downward spiral that Bubba’s family legacy was facing. I happened to be present at a lunch with Mac, Al, and Billy Ray one day during that same time frame, when Mac said, laced with a tinge of both sadness and disappointment, that the Resort’s once effective, and character-heavy, board of directors was now reduced to nothing but a “group of rubber-stamping bankers and snake oil salesman.” I’m pretty sure I felt as saddened by that reality as Mac did, and it made the prospect of moving home for good, much easier; even while it was also accompanied by thoughts of my own marital strife and family uncertainty as well.
Francis Abreu’s Oceanside “Cottage 64” (our Georgia seaside home)
As I sat there, with Christmas music radiating from Freehaven’s interior and exterior sound system, hand addressing the beautifully lined ecru-colored envelopes, with dogs laying at my feet, and Emily applying the requisite, Nativity postage stamps to each envelope’s exterior, while PJ built some insanely-elaborate Lego creation on the wrap-around exterior patio, just outside the heavy, custom Iron and glass sliding doors, next to where we were working inside; I remember taking a deep breath, soaking in the blessings that surrounded me, and thought what a truly peaceful moment that was!
Our Hillside, Freehaven Drive Home.
NOT SO FAST, Missy…that was one of the many, many times, when a lovely moment like that, was about to be abruptly and sadly interrupted. It was just after noon when my cell rang; Al was calling to say he had finished with tennis, and was headed to lunch with Morty P. (a truly slimy, albeit recent addition to Al’s squad of groupies) and was then off to meet an inspector at Rancho Encantado, and do another last walk-thru of the property. The escrow had already been extended once, and we were suppose to sign off by Wednesday, which had prompted my urgency to get Christmas cards done and on their way, so when Wednesday arrived, I’d be, both, calm and have the time and peace of mind to help the kids adjust, soak in the new property, answer their questions, talk about the potential excitement ahead, and give them some real quality time to acclimate to the idea of a new home base, let them choose their rooms, and explore the vast property.
Family Christmas Celebrations… anywhere from 10-18 people for as few as four, to six or seven days…at our original Santa Ynez home, Roblar!
I said that sounded good, asked how everything at Roblar looked; how was “LaLa” (the nickname PJ had bestowed on the lovely woman who helped take care of us and Roblar for the past nine years); and what time did he think he might head back over the hill and to Freehaven, so I’d have an idea of timing for dinner? Al said quickly, he didn’t know about dinner, but would call back later; he wasn’t notoriously chatty on the phone during the day, so I didn’t think much of his curtness initially. I kept addressing envelopes, the kids made snacks and outside went to pick avocados; maybe another three hours later, my phone rang again. It was Al’s voice once again, on the other end; he wasn’t as short as he had been earlier, but now his tone was sharp and intentional. I knew that tone…it meant a fight was probably about to follow. Trying to maintain the easy feeling I had felt all day, I just asked, what was up? He explained that he and Morty were back at Roblar, having a glass of wine on the patio, and he didn’t think he’d actually get back to Freehaven that evening. Again, I tried to remain calm, and simply repeated “what’s up?” I could tell, probably by osmosis, or from years of experience, that by now, he was pacing the length of Roblar’s exterior loggia, when he finally blurted out the news. He had taken Morty to Encantado, they had met the inspector, taken possession of his detailed report, and walked the entire property. I was still waiting…what bomb was about to drop? All he said was, “I’ve decided NOT to go through with the deal; we aren’t going to buy Rancho Encantado.” He continued… “I also don’t need to hear anything from you; this is a business decision, and I don’t need your input!” “All I could say was, “what… what are you talking about? What happened? I kept on, asking how he could do that; we were only a day or so away from closing, had purchased furniture, had new flooring and paint scheduled, and why wasn’t it any of my business? Wasn’t it going to be our home; our family’s home?” Al was angry now, and simply said, “enough, no more…you’re being unreasonable; I’ll discuss this with you tomorrow.” The number of times, and interactions like that one, that, actually, and sadly, transpired were far more often than I’d care to remember; in fact, I’m now actually ashamed of myself for how many times situations like that occurred. How was it that I was so weak and spineless? I’ve gone to years of therapy, and I’m still not sure if I could give you one specific explanation? I know I allowed my children to watch me be a doormat one (or a hundred) too many times, and I know that I couldn’t possibly enumerate the amount of times I felt like the floor was falling out from under me.
The good news (and there is much new good news these days), I also know that when I was emailing with a friend last evening, I found myself writing that “I’d never regret getting divorced…for so many reasons (something that I never imagined myself saying…go figure?)” That’s my direct quote, and its something that I’ve grown to learn is an evolutionary process; you don’t just recover, feel better, or let it all go overnight. I’m horrible at Math, but maybe, I’ll sit down later, or right now, as soon as I finish writing this, with a glass of wine, and calculate if the number 2600 has any tie to the time it’s taken me to “shake that shame” that I used to feel? Whether the 2600 does, or does not, factor into that part of the equation, doesn’t feel as important to know any more. What does matter is that I have an outlet, a cathartic release, and just maybe… I have a platform to inspire someone else, so that they, too, know it’s possible to “shake the shame” (or whatever other word works for you), and embrace who you are now, and the life you have, or are still creating for yourself.
Still pinching myself…. Something that started as a therapeutic release has grown to 2600 people reading a single post…WOW? Thankful, Grateful, Blessed!
That’s where the 2600 comes into play. I know that there are 2,615 miles from the door step of our California home, to that ivy covered entrance of Tabby Lane. I am certain I have been told well over 2,600 lies… But perhaps this 2,600 changes the tide. I could simply explain that it’s an indication, sign and symbol of the ways I’ve been blessed over the past many months since I began writing this DearEasy Blog. As ordinary as it may be, or seem to some; to say that I am humbled is a profound understatement. Nonetheless, it’s true, and I know that Easy would be both proud and appreciative, too! 2600…that’s how many of you amazing, patient, encouraging and beautiful humans read my last blog post. I’m honored, I’m humbled, and I’ll be here! I’ll keep sharing, purging or whatever you choose to call it; and, please also know… I’m so very grateful! Thank you, from one healing heart to another; off we go!
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