Preludes…
Dictionary: prel-ude,
(noun)1. An action or event serving as an introduction to something more important.
2. An introductory piece of music, most commonly an opening act.
(verb)1.Serve as a prelude, or introduction to
First dates are like a “prelude” for me, and definitely NOT my thing! I get anxious, my face flushes, and it’s entirely possible that the awkward state of pinkish/red, ”blotchiness” could last for almost the first half hour or so of said date; and, because I inherited my Dad’s tendency for “shaky hands” (I think there’s a medical term for it, but have no clue what it is), I’m usually a tad jittery, too. Not a terribly attractive visual that I’m painting, right??? I know, way too well! Although, I actually did have one first date that turned into a year or so of seeing one another, and he ended up, affectionately, nicknaming me “slim-shaky;” go figure? So, while my nerves manifest themselves in some obvious, and NOT the most alluring of ways, they’re not always a deal-breaker either. By the way, it wouldn’t matter if the guy was Kevin Costner, Denzel Washington, or their very anthesis, in some stereo-typical, “Ron Burgundy, slick, and slimy-esque” character (complete nightmare in my book, and of course…I’ve had my fair share of “set-ups” that have resulted in those types of dates too) but, regardless, the nerves and jitters are all me. On the plus side, once those first 20 minutes or so are gone, so are my nerves, as are the not so charming side-effects; then there’s almost no person, nor any situation that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take on and manage to make the absolute best of..…period! (Someday, I’ll tell you about Katharine Gibbs, or Pa, and his nuggets of gold; a.k.a., INVALUABLE advice, but that’s not for today). In the meantime, I’ve always, semi, (kind of) joked that “I’m Sensational,” (reference and homage to my all-time favorite movie, High Society, with Grace Kelly…you MUST watch) but never, never, never have I claimed to be perfect. Hence, blotchy face and shaky hands accompany most first dates! God willing, there won’t be many of those in the future.
Oh my, no blotchiness; surely a sign…but, of what?
Because my first meeting with Al wasn’t actually a first date, but rather a nuisance-obligation that coincided with my regular, weekly “lunch bunch” with dear friend Bill, I don’t recall that the “real” first date with Al hit me with my usual case of first-date jitters. I do recall was being mortified that he went and ruined a perfectly charming ensemble of khaki shorts, and ivory linen shirt (what I would soon learn was one his two signature Lina Lee “uniform” selections) with sleeves jauntily rolled up a couple turns, by wearing…wait for it, (oh the horror) Birkenstocks; my face is cringing, still, as I write this? I’m, admittedly, super old-school, to say the least, but in my not-so-humble opinion, which I come by honestly, NO MAN SHOULD EVER, wear sandals of any description…period! That said, we stopped by my house after lunch to pick up something, because Al had asked me to accompany him shopping for some essentials for his new house; as my Mom just happened to be outside watering plants, I obviously introduced them. We have a saying (in my own, little nuclear tribe), that goes like this…. “your Collins is showing;” which translates to… “your passive-aggressive disdain for something (whatever/whoever it is, fill in the blank) is CLEARLY evident!” We all, (actually, it’s usually just me), now know that’s code for “dial your bitchy back!” However, back in the day, when I introduced Al to my Mom, there was ABSOLUTELY ZERO CHANCE of “hiding her Collins,” not even for a mere hint of a moment! Oddly, or not, Al elicited that reaction from almost all my family; some were just far better at “dialing back!”
The signature, and original,“Your Collins is Showing” smile… that my Mother invented, perfected, and was often directed at AL! I’m still working at it; what can I say, “Momma Tried!”
Ten months later, in June of 1990, my sister, Dorothy’s, wedding was about to take place at my Mom’s new home in Montecito. I legitimately loved Eric, her fiancé, (a truly decent, good, human who also happened to be madly in love with my sister…that’s good stuff) and I was thrilled that he was, finally, going to be an official part of our family. Considering they had been living together for 5+ years, and we all, (his “ginormous” family and our somewhat smaller one), had gotten to know each other, and already spent much time and many occasions together, I thought the wedding ceremony was way over-due! Because Al was willing to join in the weekend and commit to all the family festivities, (not usually his cup of tea, to put it mildly), made me ponder whether perhaps we might have a similar future in store? Whoa, wait… did I just go there? No matter how charming or convincing Al could be at times, we had already shared a few “soap-opera” incidents, and while we’d, somehow, managed to navigate our way through them; any future plans were sure to be a crap shoot? I had not gotten even the slightest bit “blotchy” when Al and I first dated, and it was definitely not an obvious first meeting kind of attraction. That would happen soon enough, but I’m still not sure exactly why? Let’s chalk it up to a few of my own daddy-issues,” as well Al’s brilliant gift for storytelling, and my lifetime longing to create my own family. I’ll just leave it at that.
Al, myself, my sister Dorothy, and her new “about to be husband” at the Rehearsal Dinner.…
What I never considered, but most likely SHOULD have, was why Dorothy and Eric were even willing to have Al attend their big weekend? Eric had talked til he was nearly blue in the face, and done everything in his power, short of S.P.E.L.L.I.N.G. it out for me, to indicate what a poor match he thought Al was for me; add to that, the heap of cautionary signs, the negative reviews from family and a few friends, combined with (shhhh) a couple of my own misgivings, mixed together with an awfully compelling story that Dorothy relayed following a suspect encounter she had witnessed, and it was nothing short of a miracle that Al (more accurately Al and I, together) made it to the weekend of Dorothy and Eric’s wedding, or that Al and I would have any future at all?
It was a Thursday morning, in late January 1990, when I answered my cell and was caught off-guard by Dorothy’s faltering voice; absent her distinctly animated cadence, and ripe with an out-of-character, tentativeness. She went on to say “she thought she had just seen Al in Santa Monica on 17th Street, but probably not…right? That couldn’t be, because I was with him, wasn’t I?” Bless her heart; as only Dorothy could, she was usually the person stirring any pot in sight, with the big, wooden spoon, that always, so easily found its way into her eager and experienced hands. I still have memories of Stinson Beach, a joyride in my hard-earned, Mercedes that I bought from my Mom, and which Dorothy drove over beach dunes, tree-trunk bottoms, and somehow still, even though I was a hundred miles away, I was the one that took the fall, paid the damages, and was told to “get along?” Even so, and with so many other experiences and years in between, Dorothy still managed to sound utterly matter-of-fact, and believable, as she described, “what she thought she had seen?” “Was it Al, no...it couldn’t have been? The Al look-alike, just happened to be sitting at a window table of a popular Santa Monica eatery, with an attractive, but common-looking, blond… just your average thin, big-boobed bimbo in tightly-fitting exercise clothes.” That’s exactly how Dorothy described what she had seen, right before she continued explaining that she “just also happened to” follow them when they left the restaurant, and walked the 4-5 blocks, hand-in-hand, to what must have been the “bimbo’s duplex-looking home?” I was still digesting what she was saying, but hadn’t completely processed all the words, and the weighty suggestion that was (like a ton of bricks) being implied. “Missy, she said, where’s Al, or where do you think he is?” That was the end of the, not so subtle, cat and mouse exchange, and finally accounted for her 8:45 a.m. phone call to me at Al’s house, in Rancho Santa Fe, where she knew I, was now, mostly living. “I said he was in L.A; he had a dinner meeting with Bruce and some other car guys the night before, and had decided to stay overnight, rather than drive the two hours home, after the red wine that they had all consumed.” Her call, the roundabout “fishing expedition,” vivid retelling, combination of alleged concern mixed with her signature nosiness, and my own nagging doubt, that felt like a pit in my stomach, probably signaled that her information held a glimmer of truth! It never, at the time, occurred to me to question the coincidence of Dorothy just happening to run into Al, and his “side-piece,” in a city the size of Los Angeles. That coincidence didn’t carry the impact that Al’s lie and deception did. When Al called later, I was at the office, on “floor-duty” and said I couldn’t talk; but he sounded awfully upbeat, as he explained he was headed to the tennis club to get in a workout and would see me later at home. I struggled to “be cool and hold it together,” as the Willis Allen office that afternoon was brimming with activity; but Al’s words about seeing me at home, stirred an uneasy mix of emotions, and what he referred to as “home,” absolutely did not evoke the feeling of comfort that the word “home” used to convey? However, what your brain knows, versus what you WANT to believe, and what you’ve been tricked into thinking, can be very different “beasts!” That was one of the two to three experiences between December, 1989 and June,1990 that should have raised red flags, set off all kinds of alarms, and could illuminate huge, neon billboards proclaiming, “CAUTION…DANGER AHEAD” but instead, with each occasion, I would pause, retreat a bit; temporarily replaying it all in my mind, and matching the new stories alongside the stories and experiences of my youth. Al’s words were painstakingly chosen and always painted him as some kind of “Savior” in whatever equation or predicament he found himself: that my natural tendency to withdraw and retreat, in order to protect myself only seemed to fuel Al’s attention and determination to win me back. It took me a great many more, painful and deceitful experiences before I started to see a pattern. Al’s 22-year edge on me, in life, his unrivaled mastery of manipulation, versus my naiveté and desperate wish to keep my dreams alive, proved to be an ongoing, often fascinating and fun, sometimes hostile and confusing dance that we engaged in for many years to come.
I have to hand it to her… Dorothy could “rock” some Daisy Dukes; Ironically, she usually loved to stir the proverbial “pot” with a spoon about as long as her legs!
Fast forward to June 2007…
Babies, blessings, storms, buildings, breakups, beaches, drama, many moves, marriages, divorces, graduations, homes, questionable characters, bizarre behaviors and, always…family were just some of the ingredients added to the “recipe” that led to that beautiful Saturday afternoon of June 16th, 2007!
My blessings… My babies…
My youngest sister, Lilith’s third child and second son, Paddy, was born November 27, 2006; of course we were still in Georgia at the Resort, and while we were due to be home for Christmas just a couple weeks later, not only would it be tough to combine the Christmas holiday, with its myriad of activity and distractions, but Lilith had been pretty convincing in her ploy of asking me to be Paddy’s Godmother, combined with her exclamation of what a magnificent setting Freehaven would make as the setting for such a special event. She and Dick had decided, no; they “insisted” that they would wait for summer to hold the Christening, rather than stick to our family’s ritual, and the usual Catholic tradition of holding a newborn’s Christening within the first eight weeks of life. That way we’d all be together, even though the decades old Christening Gown that each of my sisters, myself, and every other child born into our family had worn at their Christening would stand NO chance of fitting a seven month old child? Another harbinger of dissent ahead.
Paddy’s invitation…always hand designed and executed; life lessons that stick!
There are two ways this next little bit can go, and I confess to being both torn and challenged as I continue my retelling. DearEasyDiaries has been my outlet, my catharsis, and my therapy; it’s also become my compass for the direction that my life is taking, and its, both, humbling and empowering on the occasions when I’ve received comments about relaying my truth and my experiences. The greatest comment I’ve heard, in response to this journey of mine is “that my AUTHENTICITY is so appreciated!” That’s always been a vital component to this “project,”but has become even more intensified, and is perhaps, the single brightest beacon of light that drives and guides my words. The fact that Al engaged an attorney to send me a “Cease and Desist” letter following just my first few blog posts, symbolizes that I’ve already approached the very heart of the truth I was trying to get to!. Similarly, my hesitation to write about and potentially expose the “pretty, but not always real picture” of my life’s history, or disclose some of the less attractive “qualities” that represent some of my family, or my family of origin is, unquestionably, a struggle. There is not a single fiber of my being that would ever desire to appear bitter, or exploitative, but the truth is that, right now, I DO have a bit of a sour taste in my mouth, as I set about approaching the next part of this post, and potentially more to come?
I see a hint of the “your Collins is showing” smile?
With that in mind, I was going to try to write this next bit in two ways. One version was to relay my authentic experience and truth; and the other, would be to write the version that I was groomed during my youth to think, and was raised to embrace, as real? But, NO damn it…I’m sorry, I can’t. I won’t sugarcoat the truth! I simply can’t risk going backwards, when I feel like I’m making such progress, so the way it comes out is just that; my truth about what happened. If I sound a bit bitter, or sometimes, a little “tongue in cheek,” it’s because I am, but I’ve already confessed to being far from perfect.
Paddy… a simple, sweet and precious baby.
I was honored and pleased to be Paddy’s Godmother, even if it was the third opportunity “at bat,” so to speak. Paddy was Lilith’s and Dick’s third child, and was professed to be their last.
After all the history we had experienced together, since the evening, and next morning when Dick “re-entered” Lilith’s life, so many Augusts ago, I initially thought things would unfold very differently. It was early one weekend morning, when Lilith exited the Roblar guest house’s, front bedroom, which was directly across the ivy-covered courtyard from the big, beautiful kitchen window, where I just happened to be standing doing dishes. As Lilith opened, and Dick followed her through, the side door entering the main house, with the screen door slamming shut behind them, I heard Dick ask Lilith, “is this what we were trying to avoid?” She answered yes, and they both sheepishly entered the kitchen. Dick, his sister, Jan, and their Aunt were part of the “O.G.” summer crew at The Alisal, way, way back before my parent’s divorce, when our family spent ten days each August, and a week at Thanksgiving, enjoying the sycamore and oak tree covered guest and dude ranch that represented a thousand, or more treasured times and memories. Alisal had re-ignited their relationship, but Roblar would be the site for Lilith and Dick’s grand wedding reception; after which, they spent many a weekend in that same guest room. Every holiday afterwards, and numerous other occasions, too, were spent at either Roblar, or, for several years, our Cambria beach house; and when Dick was off traveling for work, Lilith virtually lived at Roblar. Lilith and I had twice weekly tennis lessons at Roblar, with Al’s tennis pro, Dean, and often she’d fill in if one of my other tennis groups had a vacancy. We also initiated a monthly, little dinner group, with Mom, and an assortment of other friends. To say we spent a great deal of time together would have been a gross understatement. When Lilith and Dick’s first child was born, I truly expected them to ask me to be Belle’s Godmother. I was disappointed, but said I understood when Lilith explained she had already asked Dorothy to be the Godmother…of course she had! It was just like revisiting our childhood, when the two of them had been as thick as thieves, and I was always the “odd man out;” never quite cool enough to hang with them, or be a part of their pact. Silly me… some things never change, and this instance was no different. Nor, would the birth of their second child, and first son, when Dick’s sister, Jan and brother-in-law, were chosen to be Giancarlo’s Godparents.
Our home was always the gathering spot for family gatherings…
This time was different though… Lilith had asked way back in November, following Paddy’s birth on the 27th, if his Christening could be held in June, when we were all home for the summer? Her actual phrasing was that the Christening would be held at Mt. Carmel, but we “could” celebrate the reception at Freehaven; it would just be so perfect. Indeed…and that’s exactly how it went!
The Christening and the entire rest of that June day, seven months later was perfect; well, perfect enough. It’s instances like recalling this occasion, when I, 100% , am forced to acknowledge and own my part in the failure of my marriage. Perhaps, if I hadn’t always been so open and accommodating of my family of origin’s presence, and their “usage” of MY OWN family’s multiple homes and amenities in the assorted, beautiful settings and locales, Al would have chosen a different path? That could be true, and it’s something I must accept: but it will still never excuse Al’s distant, dismissive, deceptive, manipulative, fraudulent and just plain evil behavior that my children and I experienced.
Our Roblar pool was often the backdrop for my family’s summer activities. They look rather comfortable don’t they?
Anyways… The day of Paddy’s Christening was beautiful, and Freehaven’s gracious interiors, exquisite views, and each perfect detail of the property were elegantly complimented by the food, flowers and details that my Mom and sisters had assembled to provide a celebration and gathering beyond compare. Mom, Dorothy and Lilith had already delivered, a day or two earlier, Mom’s endless collection of silver goblets, sterling bowls, platters, serving pieces, the Limoges plates with the silver chargers that Lilith had demanded to use for the day, together with the freshly pressed, damask, French blue Cherub linens, that would envelop the sterling flatware, that was to be used.
All I had to do was make sure Freehaven was presentable (impossibly easy) and voilà…party ready! The guest count was exactly 39 (my exhaustive notes continue to come in handy), and I didn’t linger when the ceremony at Mt. Carmel was finished, so I could dash back the few miles to be certain that Freehaven’s entry gate was open, and make a final sweep through the house to make sure the bar was perfectly set, the powder rooms all had fresh linens, the sound system was on and our playlist was softly emanating throughout the first floor and wrap-around patio, just beyond the walls of glass within their custom iron casing. Most of the guests were either immediate family, extended family, close friends, and a few new friends of Lilith and Dick’s that I had yet to meet, as well as a darling cousin I hadn’t seen in ages, but was present with her Fiancé. The new “couple-friends” of Lilith and Dick’s, that I was meeting for the first time, were very pleasant and had two sweet girls that were my niece, Belle’s, friends from Marymount, but additionally, they had twin sons, who must’ve been around three, and were potentially the most poorly behaved children I’d ever known, much less that we had in our home. Those two demons raced up and down and around every single inch of Freehaven’s 7500 square feet, touching every single item, within reach? Their parents seemed to have less interest in monitoring the little hooligan’s actions, as I had in having them there at all, if that was possible (and please don’t misunderstand…I loved kids)? They climbed, hung on, and swung from any item of furniture that presented such an opportunity, but when they started climbing/attacking one of Al’s prized sculptures, I tried to quietly intervene and correct them, and not only did it cross my mind, but I was sincerely concerned that Al was about to individually, hurl each twin over the wrought-iron, patio railing and into the infinity-edged pool below. By that time, I’m not sure whether any of the other guests, would have noticed, or cared, about the sight of two, “adorable” little blond boys being catapulted through the beautiful, and impossibly blue June sky. Those two little creatures wreaked more havoc in two hours than I could ever have thought possible. Thankfully, their parents finally snapped out of whatever reverie they had been trapped in and took their leave; mercifully signaling the two little devils departure as well. A huge collective sigh of relief was breathed and felt by all, especially me. The rest of the day and gathering was a genuinely warm and happy celebration of little Paddy’s Christening, as it was meant to be!
There would be more adventures that Paddy, and his Godmother (me), would have at Freehaven; many that would include Jerrico, and trash dumpsters… I promise, they’re funny, ha-ha, not funny odd, kind of stories! But, you’re’ just going to have to wait for it… Again, I’ve rambled, and I would totally not blame you, if you’re thinking about now… good grief, this “piece-of-work” has some serious ADD going on; it’s okay, it’s true… I totally do. I sometimes wonder if it had been discovered, and diagnosed in my youth, would I have traveled the same path; would I have done anything differently; maybe I’d have gone to law school; you know the actual, real deal…not the “simulated version” I attended.
Oh well, there’s no going backwards; forward…always forward. I’ve been criticized, and it’s been suggested that I should forget all about the past; it doesn’t mean anything, and I should just worry about the future. My answer to that is, I DON’T worry about the future, because I’ve taken the time to examine, accept, and have already survived my past; there’s no way I’ll ever underestimate myself again. I’m sure that no one would have been able to foresee or predict the tone that the rest of the summer of 2007 would take, but it would be a real “doozy,” and a PRELUDE, all of its own! The rambling will continue…
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