My Brand is 10 Minutes Late.
There was a keychain I used for years that bore the expression, “My Brand Is Ten Minutes Late.” I’m not sure if I bought it myself, or was gifted it, but either way, I’m (kind of/not really) embarrassed to admit the saying “fits,” and is most often true. I’m sorry that I can’t find it and show you the real thing, so I suppose you’ll just have to take my word that it existed! Clearly, today is far beyond the appropriate time frame for me to be “waxing poetic” about Valentine’s Day, which makes that particular sentiment about being late even more fitting for this story I’m about to share. I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day even before this blog existed? That particular holiday, for obvious reasons, many of which I’ve been chronicling in DearEasyDiaries is incredibly troublesome…
Many, many years ago, I had what I thought was a totally brilliant idea as a Valentine gift for Al, and I guess at the time I was still a bit of a romantic? Valentine’s Day that year was due to fall on a Monday, and we had planned to spend the weekend at the Cambria beach house, so I needed to consider, plan for and purchase my gift before we left on Friday afternoon for the quick weekend trip north. My idyllic bit of whimsy was to purchase two Lovebirds and gift them to Al on Monday as a symbol of the love I longed to share. That’s a sweet notion, right? I found two beautiful, young, hand-fed, relatively tame, Lovebirds, and an antique iron birdcage that would become their home and blend well into Roblar’s “vibe.” I snuck the birds, their accessories, and the cage all into the guest house the Thursday prior to Valentine’s Day while Al was on the tennis court. The kids, well actually just Emily, were in school, and “LaLa,” our wonderful Roblar housekeeper kept A.J. entertained so he wouldn’t catch a peak prior to my surprising Al with the gift on Monday.
“LaLa” with the kids at Al’s 60th…March, 2000.
I didn’t want the Lovebird’s cage to be dirty for the actual gifting moment, so I followed the directions given to me by the somewhat nutty woman who ran the Bird Sanctuary where I purchased the two little darlings, and set them up in the shower of the back, guest suite’s bathroom. I made sure to leave plenty of food and water so they’d be in good shape while unsupervised for the two days we were away. I was feeling very proud of myself for executing such a clever idea so thoughtfully, AND in plenty of time too! We ended up leaving Cambria later than expected on Sunday evening and stopped in San Luis Obispo for a bite of dinner on the way home. By the time we pulled into the Roblar driveway, A.J. was asleep in his carseat, and Emily was dozing as well. I got them inside, put A.J. in pajamas, while Emily went to get her own nightgown on, and I tucked them both in bed. Mondays were one of the three nursery school days for A.J., and those mornings were usually painful, but never easy, so a good night’s sleep was essential. By the time, they were taken care of and I had the rest of the Suburban unloaded, I too was a bit tired, so I ran a hot bubble bath, and soaked awhile before getting into bed myself. Somewhere in my mind, I remember thinking those sweet little Lovebirds would be fine until morning, and the eaves of the exterior walkway to the guest suite was a favorite nesting spot for the “Mexican Brown Bats” (yes they’re actually a thing) that liked to call Roblar home too creeped me out to no end, and I really didn’t relish seeing one that particular evening. Bright and early the next morning, right after taking Al’s first cup of coffee to him, while he watched Imus in the Morning, and before the kids had awakened, I crept out to the guest house to check on the two darling Lovebirds. My lovely romantic gesture had become nothing more than a bloodied, tiled bathroom covered in feathers; it looked like there had been an explosion of green, soft coral and yellow… I was absolutely devastated. I felt like a murder had occurred, and it was all my fault. Were they alive until last night, and my reluctance to encounter a bat while on the way to check their security had done them in? Whatever the cause, I’ve never felt more guilty or remiss in my duties as a caretaker. Worse still, I had to somehow put on a “good face,” get my children breakfast and off to school without letting anyone know…or see what that back bathroom contained. Somehow, I managed to pull it all off that morning (only God knows how) and when I got back home after dropping both children at their respective schools, I faced the dirty deed and went to the guest house armed with vacuum, rags, 409, a large black Hefty bag and more than a little grief. “LaLa” offered to help when she saw all the cleaning equipment in tow, but I couldn’t let her see what had happened, so I went and cleaned up “my not, so thoughtful mess” on my own. Thankfully, Al was already in the office/studio across the courtyard from the house when I returned inside. I immediately picked up the phone and called the woman from the Bird Sanctuary (I couldn’t even refer to her as nutty any longer; at least she managed to keep all 150+ birds that were in her care, alive?) It must have taken 9-10 rings, but she answered and was surprisingly understanding as I relayed my gruesome tale. Apparently, Lovebirds are not animals you can let “free-feed,” as they will eat until they, literally, EXPLODE! She was truly gracious, however and even offered to help me choose two more and would discount their price as well? I told her thank you, apologized again, but said perhaps birds weren’t the best choice for our household, and declined her offer! Maybe it was a harbinger of things to come, but that experience definitely solidified my feelings about Valentine’s Day!
GO FIGURE… LOVEBIRDS DO EXIST?
It was just a year or two later when I learned of another death that I would grieve; this passing was FAR DIFFERENT than the two little Lovebirds. I mourned the loss this news brought more deeply than I ever thought possible, and most, or all until now of my grieving was done in silence. I’ve always had a thing for older men, and this example may be one of the most distinctive examples, certainly the earliest indication of that propensity. I met “REFco” (hereafter, just “R”) when I was 19 years old; he was 34. Our’s was what anyone who was ever a repeat summer visitor (our family had logged in about 30+ years by that time) to a certain central California dude ranch, would have called a “Ranch Romance!” The particular evening we met was a lovely Saturday, starry night and there was to be an extra “treat” at the resort that evening, following the much-loved, traditional Square Dancing. A group of “regulars” were standing outside the large “rec” room where Friday night Bingo and Saturday Square Dances were held, and sipping from the cocktails in their hands while mingling around the deck between the large party room and pool area beyond while waiting for the special event. My eye caught a man glancing my way, and when he saw that I had seen him, he smiled and started walking in my direction. I had seen him earlier in the day too, watching the usual afternoon shuffleboard tournament and knew which family he belonged to, but didn’t know his name, and hadn’t seen him often, or maybe ever before, during our annual, glorious, traditional ten days of resort life that occurred each August. From the moment he spoke…boom! The deepest, sexiest voice I’d ever heard escaped from those lips. I was more than slightly captivated, and we began a little back and forth exchange of flirting. The extra “surprise” that evening was the addition of Hot Air Balloon rides on the large expansive lawn area, located between the last “L” shaped grouping of guest cabins, which separated the resort grounds, from the residential section of the ranch. When the triangle-shaped, iron dinner bell was rung, symbolizing the next activity was ready to commence, the large group of people still milling around and waiting, slowly made their way towards the lawn. By that time, “R” had formally introduced himself, and asked if he could “escort” me towards the balloon rides? I knew I was blushing and thanked the heavens that the lighting on the patio was dim….maybe my rosy face had not betrayed me? I accepted his invitation and we walked to the balloon site arm in arm. We rode up in the dark, but star-studded sky together, after waiting and watching probably four or five other basketfuls of friends, family and couples go before us. I remember him literally scooping me up and setting me gently inside the roomy basket awaiting our turn to take off; he was strong, sure of himself, and charming, but in a humble, unassuming kind of way, and it made for an intriguing and powerful combination. While we made small talk, he told me, he didn’t often join his family for the week of resort revelry, but that I might have just changed his mind about that prospect in the future. He went on to explain, he had work commitments the next four days in Northern California where he was from and managed a popular San Francisco “hot spot,” but that he’d be back on Thursday, and hoped he could see me again. The “group” had finished with the Balloon rides, and we were now assembled in the woodsy, dim Oak Room bar, as “R” explained his plan, all the while Bill Powell tickled the keys to the piano that was a late evening staple at the ranch. We danced a few dances, and I was, dreamily somewhere in Neverland, looking forward to seeing him again, by the time he walked me to my car at the evening’s end. He was a complete gentleman, not clumsy or awkward as many of the guys I dated that were closer in age to me always turned out to be, and we said goodbye, with nothing more than a kiss on my hand as he opened my car door. True to his word, he returned that Thursday, and we once again found ourselves dancing in the Oak Room bar late into the evening. The next day we played tennis together, swam, and were “dates” for Friday night Bingo. The weekend went by far too quickly, and I wasn’t thrilled to exchange goodbyes on Sunday afternoon. He was leaning down to kiss me when he stopped momentarily, and said he “confessed to be totally taken with me and he hoped his crush didn’t have to end there?” He continued on saying, “last Saturday had been a complete surprise. One of the waitresses from the Sycamore room that evening had been fairly direct in an invitation to him for later on in the evening, and he most certainly knew what he would have been doing had our eyes not met when they did.” Guessing what he was referring to, having also noticed the waitress in question, and knowing too her reputation, I smiled and apologized for my interruption. After a long, lingering kiss, he looked down at me gently wrapped in his arms, and said….”don’t ever apologize for capturing my heart!”
Our romance didn’t end there, and even though the gap in our ages was significant (me at 19, and “R” at 34), we would see each other on and off again for NINE years. George, my very cautious and protective Stepfather strongly objected to the idea of me dating such an older man, but my Mom was less concerned, and because she and George had already started a rough patch that would ultimately end their marriage, she was fairly caught up in the details of her own heartbreak, sense of self-preservation, and extricating herself from a marriage to the love of her life. Neither me, nor my love life were her priorities at the time. Meanwhile, “R” and I had fun together; he was wildly romantic, a true gentleman with exquisite manners, but a man’s man at the same time. He loved to take me dancing; we played tennis together; and “R” was never shy to profess his feelings nor admit he was completely in love with me. He was capable of being emotionally open and able to share his thoughts, the details of his life, his family history, as well as knowing and communicating his future goals, too! Those were qualities in a “suitor” that I had NOT encountered often in my life, and apart from the great romance that Mom and George knew, (for far too brief a period) “R” shared with me a brand new meaning to the word L.O.V.E.
There was much that filled the space of those nine years, but when Valentine’s Day of 1989 came to pass, “R” and I found ourselves seeing each other again. We spent that holiday together and discussed how we might finally move on from our long-distance, on again, off again, romance. We also talked about the obstacles we faced; it hadn’t all been rosy during those nine years, and the part of “R” that kept me from going “all in,” and not accepting the three wedding proposals that he had made during those same nine years was two-fold. The first, and surely the greatest issue was his drinking. That habit and the few times it created real havoc between us, terrified me. It was reminiscent of my Father, the alcoholism he battled, the hurt, hardships and broken relationships that were part and parcel of what alcohol had brought to his life, and by extension all those around him. “R” seemed to think, or tried to convince both himself and me, that if we were finally together and could plan a life and future with each other, his drinking would become unnecessary, and he’d be able to leave it behind. I wasn’t so sure? The other large stumbling block was one of geography. We had never lived in the same town at the same time, but rather spent “fairytale” type of interludes with one another, and I felt strongly that, that… had to end. We made a plan during that last holiday spent together. It was a six month plan, but we committed to making it happen. He was still living in Northern California, and I was living in Rancho Santa Fe. We were both in real estate, but different aspects of the profession. “R” was a broker, so he used his own license and the knowledge it afforded him to find and buy properties, that he would either purchase to remodel, or build new, and “flip!” His interest was in the contracting aspect of real estate, not the buying/selling part of representing others, which was what I enjoyed, and it followed that we would have made a great team, both professionally and romantically. In order to solve the “geography issue” we agreed that we would each relocate somewhere in the middle…Santa Barbara; it was a place we both loved and had already spent much time visiting together. Six months later, a few heated arguments over the lingering drinking issue, and “R” was indeed living in Santa Barbara; he had hung his license with a “hot”new, local brokerage firm at the time and was holding steady to our plan. I, on the other hand, wasn’t adhering to our plan quite as closely or carefully. My business was soaring and I had probably five big escrows open and close, during that same six months; it was exhilarating to finally know that kind of success, after working for others in real estate over the past few years. All of a sudden, I found myself feeling reluctant to walk away from that independence and accomplishment. “R” could sense my pulling back and hesitation, and made his feelings abundantly clear. He hadn’t balked once while he walked away from his life in Northern California to pursue OUR plan, and he was none too pleased that I was stalling, and kept pushing off my own moving date. One evening early in August of ’89, we were on the phone, and I could hear the alcohol, hurt and disappointment in his deep, throaty, almost intoxicating voice. “He said he thought he should let me go my own way…..whatever way that was? If I found myself wanting to go through with our plan, he would be there waiting, but he just couldn’t endure the interim and carrying on as though everything was fine, when we weren’t together and he knew I was no longer sure.” It was a move and declaration I hadn’t expected, and I confess to feeling sad, as well as somewhat relieved. He had given me an “out,” if even only temporarily, until I figured what my own motivation was? The pressure I had felt over the past few months was lifted, and the freedom I felt was confusing, yet welcome.
Six weeks later I met Al, and was completely swept away. Al was charming, wildly successful, had fascinating tales of worldly experiences, and wild adventures which he knew intimately, but were completely foreign to me. All of those factors when combined seemingly made him, all the more attractive? Slowly Al was weaving a web of excitement, glamour and intrigue that I could feel myself getting sucked into. Al and “R” were nothing alike, and the advantage that Al had over “R” was that Al hardly drank….maybe a glass of red wine with dinner. That one factor, however, seemed to outweigh the other hesitations and questions I might have had. It certainly served to diminish the sense of elusiveness that I sensed coming from Al, but was desperate to ignore. Fast forward to the following June; my Mom, as well as my Grandmother, were both living in Santa Barbara…..separately, but maybe only a mile from one another in Montecito, and my younger sister, Dorothy, was getting married to her boyfriend/fiancé of five years at my Mom’s home this one particular weekend. I had only spoken to “R” once over the past many months, but I felt the weight of his bitter disappointment in my choices, and it was an uncomfortable burden to bear. I knew I had acted rashly, poorly and unfairly; I was surprised he would still speak to me at all. Al and I had been living together for just about four to five months then, and he was in Santa Barbara with me for the wedding and the weekend. The rehearsal dinner, wedding, and festivities went off beautifully; it had truly been a lovely and loving weekend, marked by the joining of two people and two families that all blended so easily together. I adored my new brother-in-law, Eric, and was so grateful for his presence in Dorothy’s and all of our lives. Dorothy had gone through quite a wild streak for awhile, and Eric’s demeanor and obvious adoration of her seemed to tame her a little. His family also loved Dorothy; all of us, both Eric’s side and ours, enjoyed the camaraderie that the one big combination of characters represented.
Eric’s dad and I helping to get ready for the big day.
The Monday morning after the wedding, Al and I were sitting outside on the patio of a local, Montecito, coffee shop, before Al was set to head out of town, and I planned to stay behind for a couple days longer to help my Mom put her house and yard back in order following the weekend celebration. We were sitting there sipping our coffee’s, when Al looked at me and said he was leaving for New York the next day and wasn’t sure how long he would be gone. He was uncomfortable with how quickly our relationship was moving and didn’t know if he could handle it? Apparently, the wedding had really “gotten under his skin” and he was in a panic. I remember just sitting there, absolutely crestfallen, and feeling like I had just been served the same plate of “garbage excuses” I, only a few months earlier served to “R?” The world has a way of putting signs along the journey and paths you travel, as little “wake-up calls;” I had just run straight into one! Not even five minutes later, Al drove off. It was a silent awkward five minutes though, and I couldn’t seem to get back to my Mom’s fast enough; get away from the reality of what I just heard, and try to figure out what it all meant? I was 28 years old, Al was 50; that was an even greater age difference than “R” and I had had, and it didn’t seem to be boding so well for my choices or relationships. What was next? Al and I had been living together since mid to late January, and he was already spooked enough to leave town, while just having spent a wonderful weekend together…..I thought? Where did that leave me? Was I suppose to just return to Rancho Cielo and wait for him; was I suppose to immerse myself in work, and hope he’d come around; maybe I was suppose to pack my things from Rancho Cielo, and RUN? Again, I asked myself…..what next? While ”R” had always been very honest and open with me, Al was anything but. Al became more guarded, privately, as time went on, all the while displaying something entirely different in public; I’m, frighteningly aware now how well the expression, “my brand is ten minutes late” fit me at the time. I was waaaay too late to recognize that specific “wake-up call” and afraid to say it only got worse!
August, 2003…….13 years later, there I was sitting at my built-in desk in the kitchen of Roblar, when I got a call from my then sister-in-law who lived in Northern California and had also been from one of the original Dude Ranch, annual guest families. She was calling to tell me the news of “R’s” passing. She didn’t know many of the specifics at the time, nor did she know the exact way that “R” and I had left things, but she thought that this was news I would want shared with me. She was right! I sat there that day, as I’m sitting here now, writing this and I can feel the same overwhelming flood of emotion now that I did then. My eyes water, my heart feels heavy, and I pause while I digest the words that immediately come to mind…..LOVE, and LATE! The last time I saw, or spoke to “R” was in October of 1990, only a few months after Dorothy’s wedding. Al had not only disappeared following that one wedding weekend, but when I learned another two weeks later that I was pregnant, and finally found a way to reach him through his office, and the wall of secretaries and associates who guarded his whereabouts, he really went whacko! He alternated between being furious at me and demanding that I get an abortion, or giving me the silent treatment and simply refusing to talk, call or even accept that this was real, and was happening.
At that point, I was an emotional wreck, and only knew one thing with ABSOLUTE certainty; I was keeping my baby. It took several weeks to process all that was happening, and I finally understood I needed some serious support as well as a “cushion,” and some time to decide what to do next. My Mom offered to be my cushion; she suggested that I leave Rancho Santa Fe, move in with her at her home in Montecito and give myself the time and space I needed to decide the details of moving forward. She was absolutely resolute that she would support me if I wanted to keep my baby. She was NOT so thrilled with one of her dear friends whose husband offered to send me to France where I could have the baby in anonymity and put it up for adoption; Mom was clear…I could live with her, and she would help raise and watch the baby while I built a new real estate career in Santa Barbara and Montecito. My older Sister and her family were also a great source of support and strength, but they lived in a fairly modest Rancho Santa Fe home, had three young sons of their own, both worked, and really didn’t have any extra space to offer me, much less two of me! Additionally, the thought of potentially “bumping into” Al in town during what was certain to be an emotional time ahead was not a welcome circumstance to contemplate. So, with the help of my brother-in-law and older sister, I packed my belongings from Al’s Rancho Cielo home, and moved north. I probably stayed in bed for close to two weeks, just trying to wrap my mind around all that seemed to have happened so quickly. Finally, I pulled myself somewhat together; went and bought some clothes that could accommodate my still slight (at the time) but growing frame, and marched myself into the manager’s office of a well-known real estate company. I had some recent big real estate success to talk myself up with, I was steadfast in my determination, plus I knew the area and wasn’t exactly starting “cold.” I left Mr. Pitt’s office with the promise of a new job, and a desk awaiting me as soon as I was ready to start. From there I drove to Coast Village Road to visit my Grandmother and share the news of what was happening. Ma had always been one of my biggest supporters, and if she was disappointed with, or angry at, me, she didn’t show it; she just said welcome home, and told me how happy she was to have me nearby again. Feeling relieved and a bit more settled, I left her Penthouse apartment, and took the elevator down to where I had left my car in the parking garage. I had just reached my car when a Porsche came racing in and stopped directly behind my car; I couldn’t have been more taken aback or self-conscious, when I saw “R” emerge from the car. It wasn’t a vehicle I had seen him drive before, so I was totally unsuspecting, and not at all sure of the greeting I might receive, or what I was going to say? I knew from the expression on his face he was upset, but I also knew when he stepped forward to say hello and hugged me, he could feel me trembling and his touch softened immediately as he looked down at my face. “Sweetheart (ALWAYS what he called me), what’s wrong? I took a step back, and slowly said, “it’s a long story, and not one I think you’re going to want to hear?” He just looked more intently, and said “try me!” First, though he suggested we go sit somewhere more private, where we could really talk. We did; the patio of Café Del Sol, a mile or so away in Montecito’s upper village was almost empty, so we took a table towards the back and I proceeded to tell him everything. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat several times, his blue eyes turned to steel and he appeared gravely serious a few times, as well. When I finally came up for air, and stopped talking, he had my hand in his and simply said it was all going to work out, but he was having a hard time understanding how I had gotten myself involved with someone who was so quick to throw me away. I wasn’t sure of the significance of that statement, and I’m not convinced he knew at that precise moment what he meant by it either? I was torn between knowing the pain I had already caused him, and also the fresh sting of pain I was feeling after Al’s rejection. How would I reconcile those two very different, yet strangely similar heartbreaks? Thankfully, it wasn’t something I was being asked to do right that very moment. I told him I needed to go, and he walked me to the car, as he had done so many times over the past nine years. The next day he called me mid-morning and asked if I’d go with him to Mass and brunch on Sunday? It was a familiar invitation and took me back to many times from our past. I said yes, and that I would meet him at Mt. Carmel on Sunday. He offered to pick me up, but not wanting to behave rashly again, I explained that I thought meeting him was the better choice for the time being. Sunday arrived, and it felt so nice to have someone, obviously, proud to stand alongside you in church and eager to share your company. That had always been a goal I envisioned for myself, someday in the future when I might have a family of my own. We left Mass and went together in his car to brunch at The Montecito Inn. I wasn’t showing much yet, but there was still a little bump to be seen, and while waiting for our table, I caught him looking at my stomach at least three times. We spoke in a low tone, and I was careful to notice who might be in the restaurant, or listening. I needn’t have worried though; “R” was as respectful and chivalrous as always…..apart from the few unpleasant incidents when he had clearly let alcohol get the better of him. We finished the meal, and were sitting, enjoying the moment when he started to speak. I’ll never forget the mist in his eyes, as he slowly started the conversation and told me, he wasn’t sure how or what everything in the future would look like, but that he had always loved me, and he would spend every day from then on, showing me that he’d love both me and the baby… if I’d just give him the chance?
My Mom and my precious first born.
That memory must have replayed in my mind a hundred times that day, after I hung up the phone from hearing of “R’s” passing. Obviously, the chance he spoke of didn’t happen, as I was sitting in the house I shared with Al and our two children on Roblar in Santa Ynez. “R” and I reconciled, but timing and fate were not on our side; within the next two and a half weeks, Al reappeared in my life with an enormous apology, large diamond and begging for an opportunity to be the man and father, he had originally promised that he wanted to be? That visit from Al occurred while “R” was on a trip north to attend the funeral of a cousin. I had told him, immediately, on the phone of Al’s “request to meet,” which was exactly how Al first phrased it, when he asked me to see him. “R” wasn’t pleased, but said he understood, and that it was a situation we would have to deal with, if we were going to be together. I cried in his arms later that same week when I told him I was going back to Al. He was angry, and understandably so; this was not the first time I was letting him down. He didn’t say much; he just took his arms away, said he could never see or speak to me again, and turned to walk away. We never did see or speak to one another again, and instead I found myself sitting in a house wondering still about the future that was in store, with the man I had chosen. That man was the same one who just a day earlier told me, via the telephone, that if I didn’t get myself and our two kids packed and back to Georgia in time for the start of the school year, there was going to be trouble, and I wasn’t likely to be happy with the outcome. Emily had endured a horrible and cruel experience at the end of her 6th grade school year at Franklin Academy, and now just two and a half months later, I was going to once again “fold” and go against what my instinct told me was the right thing to do. My instinct told me to stay in California, and protect my children; my instinct was correct, but yet again…..I was “late to the table!” In some ways, I felt exactly the way I had 13 years earlier, but this time I had the gift of two children, rather than the one on the way I had back then. Regardless of the gift and blessings my children have always been, there have also been a thousand plus times I’ve wondered what would have happened, if my answer to both “R” and Al had been different all those years ago.
Life has its signs, and we either tune in to them or we don’t. When I finally did “get to the table on time,” I’ve never looked back regarding Al and my decision to end it once and for all with the service of our California Divorce Action. Al is now, thankfully, someone else’s cross to bear. I genuinely hope he’s not still hurting people the way I know he has done the majority of his life, but I also don’t expect much has changed?
Whether you’re late to the table or not, I hope it ends up being beautiful. Hurricanes and orchid planter by the incomparable @janbarboglio; Silver candlesticks, flatware, tableware and Pewter goblets, all family heirlooms; linens @sferra, and hide table runner a gift.
Now, when I sit at a table, I know what I bring, and I’m not afraid to sit alone. It’s so much easier to be happily alone, than lonely next to someone…..and that’s not a mistake I’ll ever make again!