Fire and Ice…
“They Said it Would Be Fun” ~ Part Three…
“IN EACH MOMENT THE FIRE RAGES, IT WILL BURN AWAY A HUNDRED VEILS. AND CARRY YOU A THOUSAND STEPS TOWARD YOUR GOAL.” ~ RUMI
The picture above is my own, and while I’m usually not very “wowed” by my photographic skills, this particular shot captured the intensity that the specific time, Texas, The Cantina and the marked significance that extremes of any kind can bring to our lives. Not every, or any, decision we make in our lives is an easy one, and some are even super tortured…at least to us, the people making and experiencing them? This particular post covers a heap of “tortured” thought processes, memories and realities which I’ve worked to resolve. Some details may involve other generations and outliers too, but nonetheless the outcome still ends up on me, and how I tell it. If I stray or lapse into “ADD” land, I apologize, but please know that eventually it will all come together!
There’ll never be an occasion when I’m, either, not grateful for the collection of IG inspirational “screenshots” I saved before being banned from social media, nor an instance when I can’t find a relatable image for the thoughts that provoke my writing? Even though there’s no real visual image or a photo which accompanies the meme below, it’s just so spot on for the heat, The Cantina, and Texas theme I’ve got going, it had to be included. I’m sorry that I don’t have all the particular details of who created or posted it originally; it’s absolutely not my intention to withhold credit when credit is due? That said, please reach out to me if I can extend my thanks via email and insert the correction, but here goes…
HOW TO HAVE A SMOKING HOT BODY?
1. HAVE A BODY
2. GO TO TEXAS
3. WALK FROM ANY TARGET, HOME DEPOT OR LOWES TO YOUR CAR IN THE PARKING LOT
It’s just that easy. You can go ahead and take my word for it; I’ve been there. A little “tongue in cheek” humor perhaps, but sometimes a sense of humor is the only thing that lends perspective to this life and helps to keep us moving forward? A lighthearted spirit can somehow empower you to believe anything is possible, right? I’ve always thought that was the case, but it’s a philosophy that’s been tested recently a bit more than I’d care to admit.
“They said it would be fun,” but no-one said it would be easy, and no truer words could be spoken. Let’s back up for a minute… to days of ticking off pro’s & cons, as well as the pages of a calendar. Understanding that every item in either the “pro or con column” of our many lists have accompanying consequences to go along with them works for me, because it indicates forward motion. I like that. So ok, here we go…back to the pro’s and con’s of extreme measures, to Texas, to The Cantina, and to…there’s no such thing as can’t.
Can’t - Can’t what? Can’t lose those 10 pounds? Can’t have balloons at a grown-up party? Can’t give up Pinot Grigio, or coffee and the Keurig? Can’t decide what to wear? Can’t believe I have 4 dogs, but still contemplate adding another? Can’t believe I left the house last week for a business lunch and forgot to wear earrings? Can’t believe that I detest vacuuming but am quite handy with a “boom-shaker?” Can’t “buy” the notion that “the entire civilized world should eat dinner by 7:00 p.m?” (or so I was told?) Can’t believe I’m terrified but also fascinated by snakes, and actually cut the rattles off a Snake in my driveway yesterday, kind of like the days of my childhood spent at Big Rock Lemon Ranch? Can’t imagine that I have both…a Glock atop and a shotgun beside my nightstand? Can’t fathom how grateful I am for the blessings in my life? Where does it end? There seem to be any number of “can’ts,” I’m able to rattle off, but out of the entire list I just noted, there’s only 1 of those statements that I “can’t” stand by! Which one do you suppose it is?
ANOTHER GEM FROM MY ASSORTMENT OF INSTAGRAM CAPTURES; SHOWN AGAIN HERE WITH SINCERE GRATITUDE TO @momentaryhappiness FOR THE TREMENDOUS REMINDER & INSPIRATION.
As much as I’d prefer not to confess it, I guess there actually is a place for the concept of can’t in my life, after all? Darn, that reminds me…I forgot to include that particular word (can’t) in my last blog post all about the letter “C.” Oh sh**, well let’s keep going anyways? So…“Can’t,” what’s that about? I’ve heard that word said so bloody much throughout my life, it’s any wonder that I’m still willing to even utter it? Regardless, “can’t” was definitely not part of my mindset when I finally got my chance to build a home for the kids and myself at Rancho Valiente. It was also not part of the conceptual dilemma that haunted my life before I up and moved to Texas. Regardless of how that whole deal or the future for that matter, shakes out, I still choose to believe that anything and everything is possible. So how about we wrap up this odd little detour circling the topic of “can’t” and head on back to Texas? I’ll try to leave you with this takeaway…“it might not always be easy, but there’s nothing you CAN’T do!”
Some of what you may have read throughout this, my DearEasyDiaries, blog thread may sound repetitive, and you’d be right. Life can be that way. Often stories and their retelling are reminiscent of our own lives, prompting memories and reflections of times we’ve experienced. Life can be that way, and mine is no different. It’s what we do with all that information…the recurring messages, experience, love, history, education, disappointment, nurture, history, betrayal, friendship, loyalty, effort, and good ol’ try, that ends up really mattering.
As I was growing up, it wasn’t that I wasn’t given any inspirational tidbits about all the things I could do in the future? No…surely, probably, maybe, there had to be a few of those? But, boy oh boy was there an awful big heap of can’ts. Those can’ts were coupled with tricky agendas, plenty of drama, assumptions, a long list of characters and me, trying my best to adhere to what was expected, even if I was left to guess what that was most of the time? Pretty sure, it was “understood” (at least I believed it to be) that I was supposed to obey my parents, soak up the “proper manners” which my siblings and I were taught, present myself well…preferably on the thinner side, go to school, be agreeable, not cause trouble, help with chores, take care of our animals, and show the horses which consumed the majority of my upbringing? I did all those things, and some of them better than others, but I sincerely tried to be the best version of what I thought was expected of me. By my late teens/early twenties, none of those efforts were particularly lauded, or even noticed, but by then I was far more comfortable staying off the radar. I paid close attention to the long list of “can’ts” and was anything but a risk taker. That propensity of mine provided that I was not singled out or noticed in any significant way, which was just fine with me. I didn’t seem to possess the same “chip,” presumably hard-wired in my other siblings, all of whom appeared to crave attention, be it good…or bad? Not me. I definitely didn’t own the self-assuredness they did. My lack of confidence would seem in conflict with the adventure I found when I fled home for a year following college to attend a technical study program in Boston. The time away allowed me an escape from life right in the midst of my Mom and Stepfather’s very sad, collapsed love affair and subsequent divorce? My little “hiatus” provided a brief, possibly selfish but desperate break from reality. If for no other reason than the vast physical distance between Santa Ynez, California and Boston, Massachusetts, I was afforded a secure and cushioning shelter, no matter how fleeting, from the upheaval that was taking place at home. It was an odd gift, but also a much needed one. The year in Boston marked not just the inevitable and desired passage of time, but provided solace from the pain and upheaval that staying home would have certainly meant. The anonymity which the huge city of Boston provided, also pushed me to create or at least try to reimagine, a new more confidant and outgoing persona. For once, there were no “cant’s” guiding my steps. There was no expectation of who I was, who I wanted to be, or perhaps most importantly, what or who I could be? That sudden freedom was frightening but invigorating too. It was my chance to be whoever and whatever I chose. The abrupt autonomy probably equipped me far better than I would have otherwise been, to deal with the massive changes which occurred in my absence. When the end of that year arrived and I returned to California, there was no more “home,” no more George, no more semblance of a family unit, none of the personal belongings from my youth and no more animals…at least not the ones that meant anything to me.
THE ARRAY OF AWARDS I WON ABOARD TOPPY FOR OVER A DECADE WEREN’T WHAT MATTERED MOST. OUR’S WAS MORE THAN A RELATIONSHIP BASED ON EQUINE COMPETITIONS…AS STATED IN THE ARTICLE ABOVE, WE WERE INDEED, “PALS.”
My horse, Toppy, a.k.a. best friend, confidant, and study buddy/reading companion through all the times I sat below her watchful presence under the strong branches of the enormous Oak tree in the front corner of her pasture at 1988 North Refugio, was gone. So too were any personal items or reminders from 6 years of our life. My Mom’s second marriage and our years spent in Santa Ynez were unceremoniously erased. George and Toppy weren’t the only victims. My dog and our cat of 7 years, both of whom had made the move from Rancho Santa Fe to Santa Ynez so many years earlier, and had happily adopted, even set up residence among the sprawling branches in the tree immediately outside our front door which covered and scratched the rooftop of our modest red ranch house on the mostly flat ten-acre site, and never wavered in their commitment to the family they knew…disappeared too? Despite the odd relationship terms and “dance” those two devoted animals endured for 6 years… my rollicking, loving sheepdog mix, Fitz, and the supremely clever orange feline, always just out of his reach, those two beings had been fixtures in my/our life. Their fate and banishment from our family was and remains a mystery? Those losses, juxtaposed with the glimmer of independence gained from my year in Boston, versus the life which awaited my return were surely elements which drove my increased motivation and desire to do something different…anything, other than what was expected of me. That said, I had absolutely no clue what that might be? I wanted something else, but wasn’t entirely brave enough to decisively choose which direction my life would take? It’s odd too, but I don’t remember any plans, grand or otherwise, that my parents might have had for their four daughters? There was never a mention of potential colleges or what interested us, no discussion of career options or life paths…nothing like that. Beyond the list of directives to get decent grades, demonstrate “perfect” manners, behave appropriately in public, “present” well aesthetically (items which reflected on our collective family image) there were few further conversations of substance in our home? Well, not completely; there also existed an obligatory, and “mysteriously” transmitted message that we weren’t to think about, much less discuss the constant drama and secrecy that lived within our household. Some tacit understanding existed regarding the subject of alcoholism and the “fear” which my Dad’s angry outbursts could stir, coupled with my Mom’s unhappiness, masked by shopping and the appearance of perfection illustrated in Mom’s presentation of home and children? We could all feel the tension and understood those subjects were verboten, but there was no solution or option. The “distasteful” parts of our family were set aside in favor of a facade that we “got to” practice with every passing day. Those early habits and learned behaviors were difficult to shed, and were both repeated and reinforced again with Mom and George’s divorce. Did I have any clue back then that I might go on to repeat and/or perpetuate the same pattern? Good Lord, I sure hope not, and do I dare confess that a vaguely similar, such charade existed between myself and Al for many years? The differences were stark in that Al wasn’t an alcoholic, and I wasn’t masking unhappiness. I genuinely loved my role as an involved Mom and homemaker, but to say that our family’s life was always secure, eggshell free or anywhere close to ideal would be a gross misrepresentation. As my family of origin was masterful at covering up unpleasantries, so too I became quite adept at presenting a carefully measured, outward appearance of the Capone family and our numerous households.
Following Al’s and my divorce, and as the years passed by, I felt a deep compulsion to create a more “real” and meaningful life than the one I knew before? I was proud of the contribution that raising my children symbolized, but what about later, when they were older, beyond college and whatever happened next…what then? That is a theme and a question I seem to come back to often? Unlike the illusions held over from my youth, I innately recognized that there was more for me to do as an adult, after the caring and raising of a family? The exact “what” however was still unknown. Did the pursuit of that elusive ideal contribute to the move to Texas? Probably. I’m struck right now, as I tap on the keys of my laptop that even with inevitable doubts and questions, at least I wasn’t compelled to adhere to the elaborate set of guidelines, rigid game plan and corresponding timelines that guided the steps of earlier generations of my family of origin? I knew unequivocally it was up to me to create whatever my life might become, and for better or worse, I’ve been committed to doing just that ever since.
My parent’s families each had expectations of their progeny, and to observe that none of those plans worked out too terribly well, is an outrageous understatement! That said, maybe it was for the better that no one had any expectations of, or set decisive goals for me? I could do that all on my own and didn’t care to repeat the depth of dysfunction which existed in the generations preceding me. Whether manifested via mental illness, alcoholism, narcissism, Oedipus complexes, nervous breakdowns, suicides, trauma, backstabbing, squandered fortunes, cheap affairs, government Ambassadorships, theft, fraud, deception or just plain evilness, the depth of darkness within my family of origin as well as that of my Ex, ran wildly rampant. Thank heavens at the time, and maybe even still, I didn’t know the half of it?
That was a dynamic which made for some tenuous and tricky life circumstances for an unsuspecting, but curious descendant. While it was clear I didn’t want to pass the destructive cycle from one generation to the next, did those messy entanglements, unresolved equations and unanswered questions, which couldn’t help but be noticed, become part of what equipped me to deal with Al’s mercurial “style” and the total enigma that was his background? It had to, right?
How is it that one person raised with all the benefits of privilege, education, and familial connections ends up graduating from USC, with academic honors, and as President of the revered “SAE” fraternity, go on to the Navy, move up in the ranks, then graduate Law School, again with honors, become District Attorney of Los Angeles only to end up committing suicide in his Hancock Park, Los Angeles home, for his two young sons (my cousins) to find when returning from school one day? Tragic yes, but just one of the many troubled scenarios which played out within my family of origin.
Alternatively, how is it that another man, raised on the other side of the country, with very little means, not to mention a very “fuzzy” background, loses his Father at 8 yrs old, then survives the passing of his older brother, but goes on to “scrap his way” through life, gain an education for himself, arrives upon a most fortuitous opportunity with the President, and Architect, of a world-renowned Architectural firm, which he proceeds to eventually take over, becomes the President and owner himself, only to “shutter” the same firm some years later in order to settle a debilitating embezzlement lawsuit, leaving the 3 remaining minority partners by the wayside, with little to no remorse? This same man perpetuated an environment which allowed for little to no contact with his family of origin some of which are in their nineties, and additionally crafted a system of very calculating and manipulative relationships with his own four children, so as to protect a veil of secrecy and lies which have overshadowed most everything else in his life? The same covert behavior covered up years-worth of corruption and fraud both patently irrefutable, which I unwittingly witnessed first hand. That is the story of the man I spent 19 years with, was married to, was the father of my children, and yet was essentially a stranger I knew almost zero about the real “him” until long after our divorce.
Both profiles of the two men described above, albeit with wildly varied backgrounds, have at least one quality in common. Clearly, they each possessed a very bright intellect, right? So what propels one to take his own life, while the other does whatever necessary to preserve his life? That’s an awfully apt example of life’s extremes, and I find myself so intrigued as to where I fell, or fall, within that pendulum of personality range. How has it affected my life choices thus far, and where will it take me moving forward.
Those two men and their examples of extreme choice making, make me not just second guess, but outright cast aside any aspirations that families have, or do not have for their offspring? It also serves to cement my belief that anything is possible in life…and our attitude is everything!
THIS HAS TO BE THE FUZZIEST, WORST POSSIBLE IMAGE OF THIS MESSAGE THAT COULD EXIST, BUT REGARDLESS OF PHOTO QUALITY, THE MESSAGE IS SPOT ON. I HOPE THAT SOMEDAY, WE ALL TURN EVERY SINGLE “CAN’T” INTO A HEALING AND RESOUNDING………“I CAN.”
The transition from late Fall to Winter and on to Spring in Texas was eye-opening and extreme. Life changed. The escape or therapy I was seeking after several sharp “cuts” in 2016 and 2017 wasn’t getting any clearer or easing with the mere location change? If you guessed that already, you are far sharper than I am. Sure, the scenery was different…but not much else? How do you fix that? I don’t know; maybe someday I will? At the time, I thought that with the distraction and intrigue of a new home, new state and finally The Cantina, which I so loved, it might help me to put my broken pieces back together, distracting from a deeper issue? It didn’t. My “fix” needed to start, or come from within…nothing on the outside could mask or fill the void I felt inside. Everything was off-kilter, and looking back I’m not certain what might have centered me, if it was even possible at the time? There were just so many unanswered questions and knots I felt inside.
The Georgia friends, who visited over A.J.’s spring break, had proposed an idea about a potential future project in California during their visit, and while I didn’t know how we’d execute the logistical parts of combining locations in Texas AND California, we were all open to the idea of working together on the suggestion they raised and my tribe of three already felt fairly certain that year-round living in Texas was NOT going to be the cakewalk we had counted on. Turns out that last Scorpion sighting I described on the Ridgeoak wood floor from a past post, was not the last visit from one of those ghastly critters by a long shot. That fact coupled with our discovery that The Cantina also housed those same barbed little monsters, made for a reality which really got under my skin…no pun intended. I started to imagine potential options; maybe there was a way to create a situation which would provide the best of both worlds…some kind of mix between California and Texas? Crazy right? I just moved half-way across the country, sold a “home” I had created and once treasured, only to buy two more properties, but was still confused, longing for answers, and without an absolute solution. What the hell? I obstinately refused to accept one more “can’t,” so instead I got to work. Actually, the three of us got going and were committed to getting Ridgeoak sold, and The Cantina revamped, all while cataloguing our notes and proposals for bringing together a reasonable timeline and an end vision for our proposed California project with our Georgia friends. We made our way through March and all of April before Ridgeoak finally went under contract. The buyers had a couple inspection contingencies but had also come in right at asking price and were set to close by the end of May. That was cutting it close in order to have The Cantina completely finished, but I wasn’t willing to risk the deal, especially as it was for the number I wanted, so the buyer’s timeline was approved. By the time, May 31st arrived, the buyers were stalling, asking for more time, raising additional issues, and I was growing more and more wary of their nonsense but also reluctant to force their hand and potentially kill the sale. Two weeks later and well into June, we were all still frustrated, and our relationship with Woody, our R.E. agent, and his associate Emma, was growing increasingly strained. They were in opposition with each other as well as their office’s management over the Ridgeoak sale, and it was taking a toll on everyone. None of them seemed to have any, or certainly not any effective answers? The buyer’s agent continued moving the goal post, and I sensed it was probably time (or past time) to get Jim, the attorney involved, as my knowledge of land and business dealings in Texas was pathetically lacking. So too, June in Texas is just flat HOT, and was only growing warmer with each day we ticked off the calendar. It wasn’t just the temperatures outside which were getting under my skin; it felt as though I was getting burned no matter where I looked. Ridgeoak’s sale had collapsed and that reality wasn’t sitting well at all. It was time to cut my losses, lower the sale price for quick movement, and be done with it. But not even that step provided the immediate response I was hoping for? Time to move on and make an even more drastic change. Lawyer Jim introduced me to a well-known, local Weatherford RE Agent, (and Cutter) who occupied an entire floor of his family-owned, legal firm’s new office building. Jim explained she was the only agent he would recommend, and by then I was savvy enough to listen to the one professional who had done right by me thus far in Texas; he even sat in on her interview and listing presentation. I felt confident moving forward that she and her assistant/daughter would be a good fit. With that task covered, we went about seeking ways to cool off in what felt like living inside an oven? No easy assignment.
The drive-thru Taco place in Granbury was seeing more than its fair share of our three vehicles crawling thru the line waiting for tacos and the most gigantic, frozen alcoholic drinks to go, while our A/C blasted on high to salve the 110+ temps that were stifling the air outside. One thing Texas has on California for sure, were those drive-thru, “to go” frozen libations. Well, that’s not entirely true… Texas has other things going for it too, things like pride in our country and our flag. Those are ideals I sorely miss.
With Tacos and that slight detour out of the way, it was sometime right about the beginning of July, when my little crew found ourselves busting our “tushes” to keep all the balls we were juggling in the air, and not doing it terribly well either. We were disheartened after a couple of big “blows,” and I’m not sure which one of us felt more frustrated or lost?
It had become abundantly clear that we could each ONLY depend on one another. Em, Alex and me…the three of us had each other’s backs, and that was about it. BAM’s parents were reducing the amount of time, and frequency of visits which they’d allow us with him as each month passed, and BAM’s absence stung, badly. We went from over a solid year’s time of raising that precious little person to not even one full weekend every couple of months…if we were lucky? BAM’s infectious personality kept “our machine” going; his mere presence buoyed all of our spirits, and his absence was very deeply felt. So too, A.J. seemed all but permanently “checked out” on our familial unit. Kristin was his priority now, which I could understand, but that our living in Texas rather than California seemed to signal a new, fast, and tight alliance with his Father, was tougher to accept. Nonetheless, I didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter, so I resigned myself to being available, and positive, on the occasions when he might happen to pick up the phone, and either initiate a call to me or potentially return or answer one of my calls?
Try as we might to put those two troubling circumstances aside and focus on the positive things which had happened, like The Cantina’s acquisition. Still, the nuanced subtleties of Texas’s challenging climate and environment were starting to weigh on us. I thought that having experienced the heat of a sultry Southern Georgia would have prepared us for the move to Texas; not so. Regardless of my preconceived ideas, a new and unpleasant reality was that every time I spent more than ten to fifteen minutes outside of either 145 Ridgeoak or 700 Cutters Trail, my nose would start bleeding, and I was getting sinus headaches that were all but completely paralyzing. To make matters worse, Macy Grey wasn’t the only one to fall victim to Texas “black ice.” I had taken a tumble on the very same set of stairs. Thankfully, I was more fortunate than Macy and all my “digits” remained intact. Instead, I landed smack dab on my lower back, and several months later I still couldn’t seem to shake the chronic pain. All of those factors combined did not make for a winning formula and with outside temperatures in the high 90’s by 6:30 a.m., the likelihood of me getting much exterior work or chores done, was far, far, less than slim to none. I tried as often as possible to get to the Cantina super early in order to load the “Gator” with hay, grain and appropriate supplements to feed our four-legged crew, but truth be told, Em and Alex carried the majority of the load, and it was definitely not an easy one. Eight horses, one donkey, six dogs, and three cats don’t feed, nor clean up after, themselves. Neither are they able to take care of two separate properties…21 acres in all and maintain everything in the manner to which was originally set as the precedent at Rancho Valiente. That example was what we were all accustomed to, but felt very out of reach?
If the outside work was challenging, even intolerable at times, the upside and our saving grace was the potential held within the Cantina’s interior. It was like having an incredible but incomplete canvas put in front of you, begging to be finished. Once the first step of The Cantina’s intense, heavy duty, clean-up was finished, with an enormous array of odds and ends either discarded or set aside for later, it was easier to know where to start with the balance of our new project. Rancho Valiente was my first foray into the redesign of a property and the finished product became everything I hoped it would be and then some. Albeit a night and day difference in architectural styles, The Cantina was a second bite at the “apple of creation,” and the very prospect of it was thrilling, if a teensy bit overwhelming too. When we started the redo at 700 Cutters Trail, Ridgeoak was under contract and the optimism that little reality brought to my tribe was pretty damn energizing. We were in full “go” mode on the Cantina remodel. It was a strange complexity, or as Steve the shrink would have said, an anomaly of my life, that every time we got a piece of good news, some oppositional factor would come into play? With that in mind, I never dreamed Texas would prove so difficult a place to find outside laborers and contractors, which meant that much of the work fell to us, with the assistance of a local “handyman” here and there for the more onerous electrical and plumbing tasks. Painting, setting tile, basic construction and landscape “fixes” were slowly being added to the “Pro” side or column, on our collective resumés, particularly Alex’s. Nothing seemed outside the scope of his reach or determination. Everything was doable, but often slow going and required heavy-duty gloves, work boots and focused attention. One never knew what “kind of critter” might have nestled its way into a stack of lumber, supplies, and other materials, or taken cover in the thick native plantings which enveloped the Cantina’s surrounding stone patio? Both the local Weatherford “Home Depot” and “Lowes” stores became a for-sure once, sometimes twice daily stop and between the two, as well as with the original and authentic parts of The Cantina that we had salvaged and planned to repurpose, our vision was on its way to being carried out.
THE ENTRY PORTION OF THE CANTINA APARTMENT, STAGE 1…THE BEFORE!
Step two…following the huge overhaul that a thorough cleaning yielded, we performed a total demo of the second-floor apartment. Just seeing the space without all the clutter and chopped-up, disjointed series of walls and filthy, box-type rooms was a prize in itself. Anything seemed possible, and the blank canvas was infinitely better that what I had imagined might be waiting below the grime and hard living? The direction was clearer than ever. A huge picture window in each of the two main rooms overlooking the entirety of The Cantina’s rear expanse of space, including the stone patio, horse facilities, rustic wooden tack and storage building, as well as all the lush acreage beyond provided a perfect focal point for what was to become the master suite. The tiny, ill-conceived kitchenette, “jerry-rigged” bathroom and horrible tiny closet were gone in less than a full day’s work with the aid of a few enormous, heavy-duty mallets zealously swung by the three of us. Hundreds of paint, tile, flooring, hardware and fixture samples were gathered, studied and tried before selecting each final finish. Extra special care was given to the bathroom vanity cabinet, as it was from one of the two downstairs bathrooms, originally adjacent to the kitchen, but was removed when we elected to convert that space to a well-equipped, convenient laundry/mud room. The wood was old, weathered and lent an authentic charm to what was otherwise a completely redesigned, up-to-date, lovely master bathroom, especially when we (well truth be told, mostly Em) stained the cabinet a rich, dark saddle brown with hand-applied streaks and touches of Copper, my favorite color, and added the patinaed, sunken Copper sink with Iron hardware. Those touches in addition to the walls of Copper tiling, a deep soaking tub, newly constructed adjacent shower, and large walk-in closet, all created and finished exactly as specified, turned out better than I could have dreamed. It was perfect.
THE SERIES OF SECOND FLOOR WINDOWS REMINDED ME OF THAT SONG BY CREDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL, “DO, DO, DO, LOOKIN’ OUT MY BACK DOOR,” OR IN MY CASE…BACK WINDOWS.
THE “BEFORE KITCHENETTE/BATHROOM ENTRANCE” WAS LOVINGLY TRANSFORMED INTO THIS, A MASTER BATH FOR ONE…ME!
MY LENS FOR THE FUTURE HAD ME ALL CAUGHT UP IN THE INDIVIDUAL DETAILS I LOVED, LIKE THE WALLS OF COPPER TILE, COMPLEMENTED BY SHADES OF MESQUITE POWDER PAINT, RICH CHOCOLATE MOLDINGS & WOOD TILE FLOORING.
Em and I had floorplans for furnishings, and site plans of the 17-acre property with an overall “endgame” all sketched out. We had also formulated a timeline complete with date specific milestone markers and a pretty clear vision of how we planned to achieve the unique results that would accompany the venue and home to which we were giving our heart and soul. By that time, Alex also had a system for the exterior maintenance totally “dialed" with both, necessary and appropriate manpower to keep it all working with precision. While waiting on Ridgeoak action in order to proceed with the rest of the plan, we spent our hours trying to stay cool, patching problems when needed and devising the next step in our plans. Regardless of the stifling exterior temperatures, and the abundant comfort of resort type amenities including a covered loggia, extensive outdoor kitchen with state-of-the-art audio/video system, multiple pools, waterfall features, swim-up bar, slide, spa and beach entry for sunning which Ridgeoak offered, all three of us still preferred being at The Cantina, so we concentrated our focus and time there. The benefit of a kick-ass HVAC system will never go undervalued again, and the array of Netflix series we took in combined with marathon Monopoly and Scrabble sessions will not be soon forgotten either!
TRUE… RIDGEOAK WAS A BIT RESORT-LIKE, BUT IT DIDN’T POSSESS THE SOUL OF THE CANTINA, WHICH HAD TOTALLY CAPTURED MY HEART.
One July afternoon I found myself huddled on the massive, but temporary sectional we had purchased for the Cantina’s expansive main level, which proved an invaluable addition until we were able to make the complete and final transfer of furnishings from Ridgeoak once new buyers were procured. Despite the move to Texas, Steve (the shrink) and I were still conversing, and the need for his counsel seemed as necessary as ever with the plethora of conflicting emotions swelling inside me after A.J.’s troubled spring visit and the announcement which followed regarding the plans he had made with Al to take his then girlfriend, Kristen, to California for a week of vacation. After all the trials that we had been through over 11 years and Al’s very conspicuous absence from, and disinterest in, our “kid’s” lives, I was struggling with the sudden alliance being formed between A.J. and Al. It’s not a proud moment nor a time I care to remember, but I could recognize a hint of jealousy and undeniable disdain tugging at my heart? I was also fearful, and worried about Al’s apparent influence over A.J.? Al’s desire and encouragement for A.J. to rush through UA and complete his degree early was not only transparent, but predictable. Per usual, Al’s driving force was self-serving and motivated by HIS own personal agenda…yep, MONEY/$$$. The faster A.J. finished his degree and graduated, the sooner Al was off the hook for any financial input into our kid’s lives. I would guarantee that any additional pressure or toll which Al’s plan could have caused A.J. was irrelevant to Al’s almighty bottom-line. The initial provision of A.J.’s acceptance to the infamous home of “The Crimson Tide” was with the understanding that A.J. make a 5-year academic commitment, as a way to offset and temper the broad range of learning differences which were diagnosed, required extensive intervention, and had “dogged” our son since the 2nd grade at Franklin Academy, on St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. A.J. was already in his third year at UA, and aside from the freakish health issue which warranted 3 separate trips to the “ER” over his last Christmas break, was on a really good path. I didn’t want anything to mess with the incredible success A.J. had been achieving over the past seven to eight years. Once the necessary State mandated academic accommodations required of the University were secured, and a reliable tutoring situation was put into effect, our son was quite handily balancing academics, his membership in “Pike,” an internship with the athletics department…and a very active social life. None of that had happened instantly, easily, or without a great deal of effort and care… at least with the academic part. During A.J.’s freshman year, I made over six visits to Tuscaloosa, one of which included a side trip with A.J. to an educational psychologist in Jacksonville, Florida, for updated and mandatory testing in order to receive the appropriate accommodations from UA. Many, many steps were required in order to support A.J.’s success, and the team of three who had supported him through high school (Em, Alex and myself) remained committed to continuing that streak. I must sound like a broken record for all the times this statement has been made…but mark my words, I could not have done that job alone, as a single mom. I needed back-up to raise our son.
Al was NOT interested in, and never availed himself of the “Joint Custody” provision outlined within our Settlement Agreement, even though he lived a mere mile away, just down the same road from Rancho Valiente, for the entirety of our seven years there. With the exception of 6 occasions, throughout the entirety of the 7 years which followed our divorce (to date then) that equation pencils out to…6 days of 2555 days possible. No matter how he, or anyone, might attempt to rationalize that number, it remains an absolutely pathetic reflection of Al’s parenting or interest in our Son’s life! Al made only the requisite financial contributions to A.J.’s life that I was careful to negotiate in our Divorce and resulting Marital Settlement Agreement, and there was just one single occasion in a span of 7 years when Al initiated a visit with our son on his own accord. Al could also not be bothered to attend any of the activities in which A.J. participated, and there were many. Each such instance was relayed to Al, via either text or email, as was also outlined in our MSA and was a provision I respected, even if it didn’t result in any action taken by Al.
A.J. ROCKING THE TIE-DOWN EVENT ON STARBUCKS…ONE OF THE MANY HORSES PROVIDED FOR HIM AND AN INTEGRAL PART OF RANCHO VALIENTE. BETWEEN RODEOS, CUTTING SHOWS, SNOWBOARDING, SURFING, HUNTING TRIPS, ARCHERY, DIRT BIKES, AND THE ARRAY OF OTHER SPORTS A.J. LOVED, COMBINED WITH A DEMANDING PRIVATE HIGH SCHOOL CURRICULUM, THERE WASN’T MUCH FREE TIME…BUT I WOULDN’T HAVE WANTED IT ANY OTHER WAY! THOSE WERE EXPERIENCES OF WHICH THE MEMORIES WILL LAST FOREVER.
That said, I guess it’s no wonder I was anxious about the possibility of Al’s derailing A.J.’s momentum and accomplishments. Regardless of my concern however, Steve reminded me on that particular July afternoon at The Cantina, it was all out of my control. A.J. was an adult and would make his own decisions. Intellectually, I totally got that, but convincing my heart to accept it was something else. A defined plan, routine and safety net had gotten A.J. this far. Was I supposed to remove myself from the entire equation of A.J.’s life and success now? Plus I couldn’t help but think that I had allowed myself to become nothing more than a compliant “meal-ticket” these days? A.J. had no problem calling and staying in close contact, when he and some buddies wanted VIP weekend passes for the Bonnaroo music fest, or alternatively when he needed either a new Rifle or Shotgun to participate on UA’s “Shooting Team,” or when spanking-new suits, along with lodging, for out of town “Pike” occasions were desired. The “perks” were far outweighing the time spent together, and I had no idea what was ahead. What more was it going to take before I really caught on; not to worry, that too would eventually be revealed.
That one call between Steve and I started a “snowball effect” (despite the scorching Texas temperatures) and a series of unfortunate news. Two days later, I learned that my sweet little High Brow Cat mare, bred to our friend and neighbor’s sensational Cutting Sire, One Time Pepto had “slipped her foal.” I had been so looking forward to the excitement, promise and optimism that a new life symbolizes? The loss of the $8k breeding fee wasn’t great news either, particularly with the Ridgeoak sale falling through? Those recent developments felt both smothering as well as terrifying, and I had no immediate solution? My “rose-colored glasses” weren’t just fogging up…they were flat busted!
Two and a half months later, Ridgeoak was still hanging around, despite a Texas Judgement for damages in the amount of $99,000, ruled in my favor on the failed Ridgeoak deal. It was small consolation…but nonetheless a certain “Linchpin Energies” will remain on Texas’s legal hook indefinitely, or until they cure the judgement? There was another hint of good news… within a month and with the new agent in place, Ridgeoak was back on the market and had an offer in the works. So too, an additional decision had been made by my little tribe of three. After much debate and plenty of “pro/con” lists, we all concurred the Texas move had been a huge mistake! So, as disappointed, discouraged and disheartened as I felt doing it, the inevitable outcome seemed upon us, and The Cantina was officially put on the market for sale. That was one of the most painful decisions I’d been obliged to make recently, but a necessary one. Selling that property felt like losing a part of my soul; a mixture of creativity, potential, inspiration and risk all bound up in one unique package was about to be removed from my life. A door that I ONCE couldn’t wait to open was being shut in my face, and I’m NOT too naïve, stupid or proud to admit…it was my own doing.
Seven weeks following The Cantina’s listing, both properties were under contract with no contingencies in sight and movers were being contacted. My trusted little crew of three had endured our fair share of challenges in a relatively short period of time, with some inconceivable losses, many unresolved questions and an unknown future ahead. Nevertheless, we had each other, and that as it turns out is… “home” enough for me!
This particular blog entry may or may not be lengthy content or page-wise, but I know it’s one which has taken an inordinate amount of time to complete, but why? It’s still hard to reconcile all that occurred over the course of that year and the enormous extremes that were experienced. It’s sometimes tough to figure that the entirety of those actions transpired between November 3, 2017 and October 29, 2018? That’s probably as close to a full calendar year of changes as I could imagine surviving, well actually, no not quite?
In hindsight, turns out that I’ve had more than my fair share of such occurrences. I’ve also learned plenty as a result and found that nothing is im-possible. See what I did there? My rose-colored glasses are making a comeback. Impossible can be broken down into two words… I’m possible!
Somewhere along the path of my past, and through the ups and downs of these last years, I realized that I really love to write. Doubtless I won’t be “coined” the next Harper Lee, Hemingway, Margaret Mitchell or Kathryn Stockett, but I do like to unlock that stash of doors and windows secured away inside. And to those of you who choose to join my journey, I thank you so profusely. I’m truly appreciative. As unlikely as it may seem, the bulk of startling revelations which prompted this blog, actually revealed themselves AFTER Texas time; who’d have “thunk” it? Not me!
“THE CANTINA RESTS PEACEFULLY AMONGST OAK TREES AND NATIVE LANDSCAPE ON A PICTURE PERFECT 17 ACRE HILLTOP WITH PANORAMIC VIEWS FOR MILES…..”
THERE WAS CONSIDERABLY MORE TO THAT WRITE-UP, WHICH I PENNED FOR MY BELOVED CANTINA. IT WAS THE IMPETUS FOR ANYTHING THAT MIGHT STILL FILL MY FUTURE. I KIND OF LOVE THE SERENDIPITOUS BEAUTY TO THAT KIND OF SYMBOLISM!
I’m sure there’s more I could say about Texas and why I chose to make and then abandon that move, but for the first time since I started writing this particular series of posts, “They Said It Would Be Fun” (Pt. 1-3), the crushing weight of failure I felt on my shoulders feels a bit lighter. After writing all of this, the release that admitting to, much less owning, what I felt was a crushing defeat is wildly freeing! That said, thank God I no longer feel the itch of a mid-life crisis. We may not always get the result we intended or want from the choices we make, but maybe, just maybe the consequence which occurs…is the RIGHT one?
INSPIRED BY “THE FRAY,” EMILY CRAFTED THIS PLATTER FOR ME IN 2007…THE YEAR OF MY SEPARATION AND RESULTING DIVORCE. IT WAS TRUE THEN, TRUE DURING TEXAS, AND REMAINS TRUE TODAY.
While this particular post has seen its fair share of “can’ts, the only “CAN’T” which I’ll willingly admit to now, is that when the exciting conclusion of the NCHA’S Summer Spectacular Cutting in Ft. Worth 4 Y.O. Finals ended late Saturday afternoon via CHC Livestream, I thought to myself… “I can’t believe it’s been six years (exactly) since I was right there in Ft. Worth for the exact same show, watching my (then) horse, Whiskey Cat being shown in the Finals, and was also the first occasion when I saw my beloved Cantina? It’s crazy to think about all that has transpired since?
NCHA SUMMER SPECTACULAR, 2016 ~ GOD BLESS THAT AMAZING HORSE WHISKEY CAT… WELL-PILOTED AND WINNING THIS LOVELY BUCKLE. WHISKEY MOVED ON, BUT THE BUCKLE REMAINS AND REPRESENTS AN AMAZING CHAPTER IN MY LIFE.
“Home” by Daughtry
I'm staring out into the night, trying to hide the pain
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain
Well, I'm going home, back to the place where I belong
And where your love has always been enough for me
I'm not running from, no, I think you got me all wrong
I don't regret this life I chose for me
But these places and these faces are getting old
So I'm going home, well I'm going home
The miles are getting longer, it seems, the closer I get to you
I've not always been the best man or friend for you
But your love it makes true and I don't know why
You always seem to give me another try
So I'm going home, back to the place where I belong
And where your love has always been enough for me
I'm not running from, no, I think you got me all wrong
I don't regret this life I chose for me
But these places and these faces are getting old
Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it all
You just might get it all and then some you don't want
Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it all
You just might get it all, yeah
Oh, well I'm going home, back to the place where I belong
And where your love has always been enough for me
I'm not running from, no, I think you got me all wrong
I don't regret this life I chose for me
But these places and these faces are getting old
I said these places and these faces are getting old
So I'm going home, I'm going home
IF THERE WAS ANOTHER STANDOUT MESSAGE FROM THAT YEAR, THE LYRICS TO DAUGHTRY’S SONG “HOME” (SHOWN ABOVE) ARE PRETTY SPOT ON. HOME IS NOT ALWAYS A PLACE; IT’S EVERY BIT AS MUCH ABOUT THOSE WITH WHOM YOU SHARE YOUR TIME, AND THE ONES WHO PROVE WHAT’S REAL, WHATEVER THAT ENDS UP BEING!