“They Said it Would be Fun?”
I’ve wanted to tackle this subject for a while now, but have been torn as I try to reconcile my two varied “takes” of the experience, and the uncertainty about which approach to pursue? Finally, it hit me. Just write Missy; give each perspective the attention it deserves, and see where you end up. That said, I may still get a little stuck and mix things up, but please be patient, and hang in there with me…ok?
September, 2017
The majority of stories I’ve ever heard about mid-life crises involve Ferraris, Harleys, Trophy Wives, hair plugs, face lifts, boob jobs, divorces, “Cougars” sleeping with 20 year-olds, people denouncing deeply held religious beliefs and origins, or unhappy, aging women becoming obsessively addicted to working out and entering Body-Building Bikini Contests…bizarre occurrences to me, but real reactions that I have witnessed first hand.
My own experience and mid-life crisis manifested itself a bit differently… Despite the reality of an empty nest, almost two complete years filled with tremendous loss and immeasurable pain, and yet I still felt compelled to exact even more change. It wasn’t like my life hadn’t already been turned upside down and inside out by forces beyond my control for over a decade? I seemed hell-bent and determined to shake things up more dramatically…all of my own volition? I would have had options galore, had I simply chosen to stay put and make some small, yet significant alterations to Rancho Valiente? The property could have been transformed from a working, performance, and rodeo horse ranch into, say… an event venue, Bed & Breakfast destination with rustic charm, Rose or Olive Tree farm, or even a boutique wine-tasting experience? After all, I had a main house with outdoor kitchen/dining space and covered patio surround, small guest cottage, enormous rustic, but unique “man-cave/car barn combo,” Em and Alex’s darling little house, a lovingly-tended rose garden, gorgeous fenced backyard with large pool/spa, arbor, and custom stone firepit, a wonderful five stall barn with spacious tack room which could easily morph into a variety of other uses, as well as several other additional, unfinished “out buildings,” just ripe for new ideas and nine plus acres, all fenced, gated, painstakingly landscaped and impeccably maintained. Truly…there were options, plenty of options, all realistic and within reach, if I would just “slow my roll” and think long and hard before jumping into the next adventure?
“IF YOU DON’T LIKE WHERE YOU ARE, MOVE. YOU ARE NOT A TREE.”
(MY FENCING WAS IN NEED OF A FRESH COAT OF PAINT, TOO!)
All said, I totally disregarded the known caveats that should have guided my steps. Why go and do something stupid like that? The answer is pretty simple, even if not terribly sensical… I am not a patient person, and have been filling voids my entire life. The emptiness I felt in my soul following the passing of my Mother, Stepdad and Sister, all within the first 8 months of 2016, was a constant ache. Plus, I had been reserving hope that AJ would return after college, wanting to resume the ranching and cowboy lifestyle which came so easily to him, but was now nothing more than a notion he had recently discussed with me and rejected quite decisively. All of those factors combined with the assemblage of disjointed familial units which occupied that period of time, and my life in Santa Ynez left me feeling empty, directionless and broken. I wanted out. There had to be something or somewhere else, that might satisfy the pangs of yearning gnawing at my insides? Where would I go though…knowing that I didn’t want, nor intended, to stay put in California? Plenty of people suggested a return to Sea Island/St. Simons, but that was long before the birth of DearEasyDiaries? NOW…it’s safe to assume I’d be fearful to start my own car in that region of the country? But back then, at the time this was all going down, a number of family trips had been made to Nashville and Texas, and I found myself considering both locales as interesting prospects for resettling. Each area, and the lore surrounding them, tickled my fancy, reminding me of my familial ties to the South. I longed to revisit the reverence for tradition and civility represented in Southern culture, but without the poisonous influence that Al still commanded in Georgia. There was one last straw which occurred, further fueling my desire to leave California. The message it imparted, came disguised via surgery, which I was compelled to undergo when I could no longer walk in, or wear heals without substantial pain. A broken bone and adjacent bone spur in my right foot necessitated a two+ hour surgery, leaving a nasty scar and doctor-imposed 30-day mandate to stay off my feet with the aid of first, a wheelchair, then “scooter,” and finally crutches.
SOME FAVORITES FROM MY SHOE COLLECTION, WHILE I
WAS STILL ABLE TO WEAR THEM!
“WHAT A DISMAL EXPERIENCE TO GO FROM GUCCI PLATFORMS & STRAPPY LOUBOUTINS, TO THIS UNPLEASANT, EVEN VILE VISION? I NEVER DID UNDERSTAND THE DOC’S NEED TO DEFILE A PERFECTLY DECENT “PAINT JOB” WHEN THE INCISION SITE WAS NOT PARTICULARLY NEAR… DAMN THOSE PESKY DETAILS!
Ten days after the surgery, during my follow-up appointment with the Orthopedic Foot Surgeon who performed the procedure, I did not receive the assessment I was expecting? Dr. Parson had come highly recommended, but his prognosis on the occasion of that check-up was nothing if not utterly disappointing. He disclosed in his gratingly, condescending tone that in the midst of the surgery he discovered that the extent of damage to my foot was far worse than anticipated or what was revealed in the pre-surgery x-rays. Parson relayed that my right “tootsie” was actually in need of a complete joint replacement along the inner and upper portion of my foot. He continued on, saying that “even though the work he had managed to accomplish during the surgery might ease the pain and discomfort for a while, it was not a permanent fix. He suggested that an open mind and more reasonable choice of “orthopedic footwear” on my part, was his professional assessment moving forward. In his opinion, my wearing of high heels ought be considered permanently off limits.” “What,” I asked, completely horrified? F*** no… that’s a hard pass! I didn’t say those exact words in the moment, but they were precisely what I was thinking. “Why,” I asked, “did you not do what was required while I was out cold on the table, and you already had my foot cut open?” My “tone” had mellowed slightly by then, but my feelings on the subject couldn’t have been any clearer! He droned on, saying “I couldn’t perform any additional work which you hadn’t previously consented to and signed off on prior to the procedure.” “Oh, for Pete’s sake, how ridiculous.” My exasperation didn’t stop there; I continued on, asking, “why didn’t you just step out of the “O.R.” to ask, or even place a call to, my adult daughter who was waiting outside in the lobby? You knew from the stacks of consent forms and other documents I had signed and provided prior to the surgery, that my daughter was in possession of my Advanced Health Care Directive, as well as my POA?” I was getting pretty wound up again and doubt I was as polite as I could have been, but I was also utterly disgusted and beyond ticked off. Regardless of my obvious irritation, Dr. Parson remained unfazed and simply offered that, “a more realistic approach to footwear would be the logical place for me to begin!” With the stitches then removed, I left the so-called “specialist’s” office, and never went back. I’ve also never been able to wear any of those great heels again, which is tantamount to criminal negligence! Hence…the final straw in my mid-life dilemma/crisis. If my fairly vast selection of “bomb” footwear was off limits and unwearable, I believed there were only two options remaining: 1.) Undergo a subsequent surgery with another two to three months of recovery and rehab…or, 2.) Be appreciative of the great collection of cowboy boots I had been amassing, and choose a location and lifestyle where I could “rock” that look all year round? Which action do you guess I pursued? Yup, you got it, winner, winner… “Door #2.”
That single decision was triggered by a long line of “dominoes” which had previously collapsed, and set into motion a process that I was determined to see through! I listed Rancho Valiente and began planning my next steps. The setting up and arranging for “showings” at the ranch was no picnic, and required considerable effort. Here’s the thing… I am, or was, very precise, and detail-oriented, maybe almost obsessive about the way I chose for every square inch of Rancho Valiente to be cared for and presented. I had put the entirety of my heart and soul into reimagining that property; transforming what started out as a pretty basic ranch, into an understated but thoughtfully appointed, comfortable home, family compound, extensive horse facility, as well as a welcome refuge where friends and relatives could gather and share memorable occasions. Well, at least that was my original vision when the ranch was purchased just seven years earlier.
I SUPPOSE THIS BRIEF ENDORSEMENT MIGHT BE CONSIDERED SOMETHING OF A TESTAMENT TO MY VISION, AS WELL AS A MESSAGE THAT MY END GOAL WAS ACHIEVED?
It was with that level of care in mind that I directed the parameters which were to be followed for the duration of the listing period…all showings would be cleared only with 24-hour notice, and NOT a one was to be scheduled before 10:00 a.m.! My morning routine was a carefully executed process, with many moving parts involved, and was not open, nor easily subject to change. I, personally, tidied the main house, staged all the lighting and music before “loading” our collection of canines onto the cammo “Gator” parked in the huge hay barn (at least the ones who preferred to ride, not run) opened the barn doors, ensured each horse’s stall had a halter hanging neatly outside, and any miscellaneous ropes or misplaced items were gathered, put away or hung; the tack room door was opened, lights and fan turned on, and Pumpkin’s litter box cleaned. Only then, did I proceed to feed, grain and/or supplement the five horses in the barn, the 10 horses in the mare motel, an additional 6 horses in pastures, several goats in another pen, and the over 30 chickens and our one rooster, Benny, in the rather sizable, chicken barn. The entirety of that regime commenced anywhere between 6:30 - 7:00 a.m. and could easily take two hours, when done thoughtfully and thoroughly. Gates and fencing were checked, waterers cleaned and filled, in addition to all dog messes being picked up…by me. Real estate showings demanded that all the normal routine continue, with the addition of guest cottage and man-cave lighting being appropriately set; Roses were picked and placed in appropriate locations, not just in the main house, but other spaces too; patio furniture cleaned; pool cover opened, and any errant leaf, or other need tended to, as well. That’s just how I roll. (*Surely, that’s food for some future post about the source of my control issues, but not for now.) Em, Alex, and Bam took charge of their cottage’s keep and presentation, and we all conveniently disappeared with canines in tow for the duration of any showings. My agent was amazing and understood that all she had to do was “market” the property, open the front gate, followed by front door and let the rest speak for itself. The ranch was listed in late April, and by the grace of God was in escrow by the end of August; good thing too because by that time, my Nephew, his wife (BAM’s parents) and their two dogs had moved into our guest cottage. Regardless of his parent’s presence, BAM by his own choice, remained with Em and Alex in their house and continued to be an integral part of our daily routine and lives that the events of the past year had set in motion. BAM was the heart and motivation that propelled us all…pretty simple!
With the ranch in escrow, contingencies released and the closing imminent, it was time for another trip to be made. My nephew and his wife stayed behind at the ranch with our caretaker tending all the animals and overseeing the house’s care. Accompanied by Em, Alex and BAM, my Great-Nephew, and the same precious tiny human who had been living, primarily, with the three of us at Rancho Valiente for well over a year, our little foursome flew to Tennessee. We rented an SUV, and then…beginning in Nashville, together with the surrounding areas of Franklin, Brentwood, and another few neighboring towns in Williamson County, proceeded to scour all the properties listed for sale that fit our criteria. We needed a property large enough to accommodate all of us, any guests, as well as our family of animals which included horses, dogs, and a cat or two. Plus, in keeping with the lifestyle we were accustomed to enjoying and sought to replace, our list of requirements went something like this…open spaces, gardens, a great kitchen, entertaining areas, pool, cool town and good schools. Five days and 23 properties later, relocation to that part of the world wasn’t looking too promising. So, to compensate for the wasted time and dismal real estate search, we spent an additional two days just soaking up the “Nashville vibe!” Lots of great music, delicious food, ONE drop-dead amazing Bloody Mary at a cute corner café in Franklin, super fun shopping finds, a “few” additions to my Lucchese and Double D Ranch boot collection, as well as The Omni Hotel’s rooftop pool were big favorites. One evening, while Em and I revisited a past Nashville fave, “Bourbon Street Boogie and Blues Club,” (hoping for a sighting of the “oh so cute” musical talent, “Clay Evans”) Alex and BAM took in a “Predators” Hockey game from front row seats, an event which left BAM absolutely unimpressed by anything else for the rest of our visit. So, what next? How about a road trip and brief, overnight stay in Little Rock, Arkansas on our way to Fort Worth, Texas, my proposed, next property shopping stop. We stayed overnight at the Capital Hotel, and after a very decent dinner, apart from miserable service in the hotel’s restaurant, I suggested Em and Alex take a break and go enjoy a bit of time on their own. BAM and I stayed back at the hotel, and remembering the comfort of my youth, as well as a saving grace from my kid’s childhoods, I ran a huge bubble bath for Bam, with all of his “Paw Patrol” characters in tow, and sat down on the marbled floor of the large bathroom, allowing BAM an opportunity to relax, play and just be the adorable little being he was.
BAM LOVED ‘ALL THE THINGS!”
Both Alex and “BAM” were getting a big kick out of making additions to the list of States we visited and were “racking up.” One quick potty-pitstop and brief lunch in Texarkana, supplied another huge hit. We formed a single-file line, formally documenting the occasion and fact that each of us held the distinction of straddling the adjacent states, all together…the “Four Musketeers,” as we had recently nicknamed ourselves.
SO LONG NASHVILLE ~ YOU WERE FUN! ONWARD....
It must run in my bloodline with the decades of road trips, dog shows, puppy excursions, horseshows, and rodeos an everyday, weekly, commonplace occurrence being the norm, that I thought nothing about jumping in a car and starting off for territories unknown. So too, Em obviously found herself a “keeper” in Alex, maybe the most agreeable human, and male traveler ever. Alex even managed to match “MM,” a staple from A.J.’s rodeo days and my first introduction to the concept of an amiable man/travel companion; happy to stop for a “Starbucks” anytime, anywhere, but still capable of changing a flat tire on a four horse, living-quarters trailer inside of 7 minutes, and all done with a cheerful attitude to boot…go figure? I can now testify that I know of two human males in existence that just might make traveling easier, not more difficult or remotely unpleasant? Finally, there was“BAM,” who at four years old was already the best little, bad-ass, super-trooper, road warrior any human could ever hope to call family, second only to Em, who still wears the crown and title…hard fought, and rightfully earned. The four of us had been travelling for nine days thus far, via car, plane, back to car, by foot, back to car with more miles ticked off than any of us could count, and still not one “grumble,” scowl, tears or unkind word exchanged? That’s some kind of crazy good chemistry, am I right? By that point, we were tightly packed into our rented Tahoe, complete with carseat, four human bodies, baggage (and to be perfectly transparent, I DO NOT travel lightly) together with the fun additions from a week in Nashville and those same “goodies” tucked into the Tahoe’s back cargo area. We made for one maxed-out, loaded car full… kind of like the proverbial “barrel of monkeys.” No worries though; between the two of them, Em and Alex, had perfected the technique of packing a vehicle into nothing short of an art form. Best of all, this was not an activity in which I was required, nor requested to participate… thankfully.
The list of possible relocation “destinations” started off being three to four deep, but the scheduling of this particular trip was very time specific and only afforded a wee bit over two-weeks in which to do our investigating, as Rancho Valiente’s escrow had officially closed, and my “rent back window” came with a very defined time limit. So, we narrowed our scope and started off again…this time headed to Fort Worth, Texas. I won’t attempt to deny my proclivity for romanticizing certain ideals, and the allure Texas held in my imagination always intrigued me. It made me think of John Wayne, the western movies of my youth, hunky-dunk cowboys, beautiful horses, all of which were very appealing and curiously enough, a viable option for the future, particularly considering my newly mandated, footwear and cowboy boot requirement. I had recently spent a week there in “Cowtown” watching my Cutting Horse, Whiskey Cat, being shown in the big Ft. Worth “Summer Spectacular” by a horse trainer, who had relocated from California to Texas with his family, a good group of clients and many horses. I knew and felt comfortable spending time with them, and they couldn’t be more enthusiastic or encouraging about my new pursuit. They loved their new hometown, and recited a ready, convincing list of reasons why Texas was such a desirable area to consider. All the talk and touring that occurred on that one lovely, not too hot, Saturday afternoon in July, ended with a tour of a beautiful area 35 miles or so outside of Fort Worth called, “Silverado On The Brazos.” We drove through the gated entrance, with a charming lake in the forefront, grand-looking horse properties beyond, and loads of rich, native landscaping throughout. In a familiar, but indescribable way, Silverado reminded me of Rancho Santa Fe where my family lived throughout a part of my childhood. I was smitten. And that was before reaching the “grand finale!” It wasn’t until we were headed out of the large development when we drove by a truly special and unique spot, home to a structure and property which completely captured my fancy. The accompanying story went something like this… the unique estate was locally known as “The Cantina” and was a Mexican/Southwest style, stucco building, with several outbuildings surrounding it, and sited on a promontory overlooking acres and acres of land. It had been built and designed to serve as the “watering hole” and gathering place for the pair of old-school, wheeler-dealer type, developers of the entirety of “Silverado.” It was neither a personal home, nor even a guest facility…just their clubhouse, but what a clubhouse it was!
The Cantina… this is the kind of stuff my dreams are made of!
My tour guides were enthusiastically thorough in their description and detailed the various “ins & outs” of the charming spot extensively. The main building possessed a kitchen, enormous stone fireplace, “grand salon” or great room boasting an authentic wooden bar, originally belonging to Pancho Villa, complete with bullet holes, as well as both a ladies and a gent’s water closet. The exterior of the structure was detailed with a custom designed and hand-painted mural scene, original “tin” wall lanterns, heavy Iron and glass encased doors, a stone patio surround, with outdoor kitchen, firepit, and a somewhat primitive staircase leading upstairs to a two-room apartment, with tiny kitchenette, bathroom and small closet. There was also an old, wooden water tower, finished cistern space rigged with an elaborate trap door operated by a worn, thick rope pulley, an outdoor entertainment pavilion decked out with extensive string lighting, a raised stage, eclectic and crazy cool décor, centrally hung disco-ball/mirrored saddle fixture, barns, pastures, round pen, hot-walker, even a stocked lake and duck blind. The story was embellished further with tales of raucous parties, tawdry affairs and plenty of naughty behavior…hence the need for the separate, upstairs apartment. It all fascinated me…the architecture of it, the history, the stories, and I wished desperately that I could get a closer look behind the tall stucco wall which enveloped the fabled “Cantina!”
I SINCERELY BELIEVE HAD THIS MAGICAL PLACE BEEN FOR SALE, I’D HAVE PURCHASED IT ON THE SPOT. SADLY, HOWEVER…IT WAS NOT AVAILABLE AT THE TIME AND WOULD REMAIN MERELY A DREAM?
Back to reality, (at the time)…
Fort Worth, Texas - October, 2017
The Four Musketeer’s first appointment in Texas was with Ft. Worth real estate agents, a husband and wife duo who had been referred to us by a networking “ap-pa-rat-us.” What’s up; why did I just do that thingie with the “letter division?” Stay with me? We met the real estate couple at a specific property whose address was among a list we had sent earlier suggesting a number of properties that piqued our interest. We all met, introduced ourselves and toured the first address. The couple were nice enough, and we made light conversation while walking through the house and then the grounds. After that first property however, the husband part of the equation, haltingly and awkwardly explained that they were unsuccessful in scheduling any additional appointments for the remainder of the day. He communicated how “hot” the real estate market in the area was and that there were very few properties which “fit” our requirements and that we’d need to expand our search criteria, along with being prepared to “pull the trigger quickly” if we found something we liked. I replied to his statements saying we’d take the rest of the day to search more properties online and get another list to them before the end of the day when we could reset our schedule for the next two days. His approach to showing property was DECIDEDLY not the way I had handled my own real estate clients years ago, but then…times change. We only had four days left in which to locate potential prospects, make a decision, and commence negotiations. I was feeling huge pressure. It was a scenario of my own creation, but I had never contemplated that finding a comfortable and suitable property to replace Rancho Valiente would be so difficult. If I haven’t yet explained adequately, Rancho Valiente was not just in escrow, but once we returned from this hunting expedition, the deal would have “closed” and our “rent back period” only provided three additional weeks before HAVING to physically vacate the ranch. Time was ticking wildly fast. We ended that day, the second of five, with not even a hint of success, and I asked Dan and Myra, when we could finally go see the “Silverado” area I had been requesting since we first contacted them and set up the trip. Dan replied, “yes, I’ve just found an agent in our company network who knows that area well, is a resident of Silverado himself, and has agreed to work with us to show you what’s available out there.” Finally! That one sentence symbolized and carried the weight of frustration I had been feeling. We had already spent and wasted two entire days of far too precious time because Dan and Myra did not know the area I wanted to see, (thus, the “rat” in ap-pa-RAT-us”) but they weren’t prepared to admit that reality nor potentially lose a prospective deal or client. The next day Alex and Bam stayed back in Fort Worth, at our third hotel of the trip… not coincidentally another Omni, while Em and I drove out to Silverado. The “new agent” we met, with Dan and Myra trailing behind, was a solid, serious, old-school cowboy/real estate agent, who knew every square inch and person within the gates of Silverado. He reminded me vaguely of some members of my own family. Extensive horse and area knowledge coupled with an authentic, if slightly eccentric persona. I’d take that any and every day over Dan and Myra, obvious city slickers, who knew zilch about horses, horse properties, or that lifestyle, but who had both donned caricature-like costumes to accompany their visit to Silverado. Dan was sporting a horrible, poorly “blocked,” straw cowboy hat and “Bolo Tie” to go along with his wrinkled shirt, sport coat and khakis, while Myra was decked out in a sleeveless, cocktail-type dress, with a bandana tied around her neck (she might have done a little IG scouting to find @fringescarves, which offers a fabulous collection of authentic “wild-rags” and even offers tutorials on effective tie styles) to accompany her off brand selection of “wanna-be” cowboy boots… and driving their Prius. Enough said.
Woody, our new real estate agent, was a no BS, straight shooter, kind of guy, and we got along famously. Em and I gladly hopped into his enormous black, slightly dusty, Chevy Silverado truck to see the properties he had assembled. We had yet to venture even a short ride in Dan and Myra’s car, but “trust your instincts, Missy,” said the voice in my head, and so I did. By the time Sunday arrived, with our return flight home scheduled for Monday, we had located a property, Woody had structured an offer and we were Silverado bound again, this time with Alex and BAM. Thankfully, by this juncture, I had notified the appropriate manager at “Briggson Freedman” that we were only willing to work with Woody. The husband/wife duo of Dan and Myra were not just unprepared and unqualified, but ended up being extremely rude as well. Following Dan’s refusal to write and present an “all-cash, 2 week close, purchase contract” on my behalf, merely because it was below asking price, “declining to embarrass himself with the property’s listing agent,” it became quickly apparent that he and his wife were no longer acting in his (me) client’s best interests, and they were neither needed nor wanted in any real estate equation to which I was a party. Thankfully, we proceeded forward with Woody, working on our behalf, in his role as our new real estate agent. The fact that he had a healthy sense of humor was a bonus. When Woody met Alex and BAM on Sunday, our third visit to Silverado, and asked BAM where he was from, Woody genuinely smiled and responded sincerely to BAM’s quick reply, “ummm…The Omni, duh,” spoken with innocence, but also a healthy dose of attitude and then some! Woody responded simply, by stating “ok then, young man…jump on in this truck and let’s go see if you approve of the property that’s fixin’ to replace The Omni?
After a great success on Sunday, with replacement property secured, by noon on Monday, our “sweet,” unique foursome found ourselves at the Dallas airport, ready to return to Cali, finish the packing of Rancho Valiente, and get on with it… new adventure awaiting. Admittedly, I don’t care to fly, and because I did so much of it for so many years; first with one child, then two, and 90% of the time flying solo in “coach” with the kids, while Al travelled separately ahead of us in 1st Class, (prior to Al’s purchase of the Lear) I resolved to do things differently if I ever had an occasion to do so. With that in mind, when it was finally financially possible following the divorce and Al’s B/K case, I reprioritized the way my kids and I travelled. That said, we flew first class from LAX to Nashville for what I believe, marked the milestone of BAM’s first airplane ride. That first flight was aboard an updated, large jet and the first-class cabin was very well-appointed. The wonder and “spark” which lit up BAM’s face as that jet took off was priceless, as were his reactions to so many other moments and events which occurred during our trip, or any other day for that matter. The trip from Texas back to LAX and California provided another such moment. Albeit a bit crass, the pure honesty and sincerity that BAM expressed when we boarded the jet for our return flight and settled into our seats on the second plane was classic. In order to understand the dynamic that existed between the four of us…Em, BAM, Alex and myself, it’s helpful to share that Em was usually identified, and referred to as “Olivia Pope” or “the fixer” in many situations over the past several years, and not just for BAM. There were numerous instances throughout the years when Em found herself running interference on AJ’s behalf, and likewise, I relied heavily on Em for any number of items. Regardless of the reason though, like a puppy or horse getting loose on the ranch, glow-sticks exploding in the freezer, poor results on a mid-term paper, late-night phone calls begging to be rescued from a high-school party gone awry, arranging for the floral, rentals and catering of any given event or party, be it for 24 or 150 guests, or any assortment of other requests and/or “disasters,” Em was the go-to at Rancho Valiente…truly our own “Olivia Pope.” The plane ride home from Texas was just one teeny tiny example of that role. BAM and Alex sat side by side in the row of seats directly in front of Em and me in the plane’s first-class cabin. That specific plane was an obviously older model than the one we travelled on for our initial leg of the trip to Nashville, and as we settled in to our seats for the return trip, BAM turned around in his seat, and in obvious dismay, asked Em…“Emmé, are we safe; this is such a shitty plane?” None of the three of us had a perfect, or immediate, response. We could feel a wide variety of prying eyes, staring our way, noting the wildly young age of the little human who had just accurately sussed out a very apt observation. All we could do was stifle our surprised smirks and remind BAM to lower his voice while simultaneously explaining, we were indeed safe; it was just an older aircraft.
THE STATEMENT ON THIS BRILLIANT, “GATHERED THOUGHTS” CARD FROM SUGARBOO, ALWAYS REMINDS ME OF MY GRANDFATHER AND THE WONDROUS EXPERIENCES HE TREATED MY SIBLINGS AND ME TO DURING OUR UPBRINGING, AND WAS ALSO WHAT I TRIED TO PROVIDE FOR MY OWN FAMILY, ONCE I WAS ABLE. BUT, AS BAM’S INNOCENT YET ACCURATE PERCEPTION PROVED ON THAT RETURN AIRPLANE FLIGHT, MY EFFORTS MAY HAVE BACKFIRED A BIT?
October 30, 2017… 5:27 p.m.
The last of our belongings were loaded onto the third enormous moving van, and with the caravan of massive trucks leading the way, we exited Rancho Valiente’s driveway one final time. We had a hell of a road trip in front of us, but we were on our way. BAM and Alex rode together in Alex’s truck with the two big dogs, Ruger and Scarlet, while Em and I settled into her Land Rover, packed to the brim, and also carrying the remaining members of our canine family, Stella, Macy Grey, Coralie and Bella. Our route was mapped, the overnight stops planned, and 145 Ridgeoak was on the horizon. Look out Texas, we’re a comin’… (Part 1 of 2)