“C” Stands For…?
If you answered, “Cantina,” you’d obviously be correct, and I’ll get back to that…promise. In the meantime, what else does “C” stand for; what words come to mind? My list which comes immediately to mind isn’t too terribly long, but as I was gathering my thoughts to finish “They Said It Would Be Fun, Part 3, my mind started wandering, and this is where it went. Here goes!
Capone…just makes sense, right?
So does…
-Corruption
-Conflict
-Conniving
-Conspiracy (hmmm, not to worry; no need for tin foil hats just yet)
What about…
-Cars
-Canines
-Comfort
-Catholicism
-Cowboys
-Country
-Complete
-Courage
-Commitment
-Craps, (as in the Dice game)
-Copper (my favorite color)
-Conniption
-Control
-“C” you next Tuesday (oops…oh well, a little vulgarity won’t kill us?)
-Culpability
-Crazy-making
-Culs-De-Sac (I can’t pass up a good Gilmore Girls reference)
-Consciousness, (as in “stream of…”)
-Continent (I know there are 7 of them, but somehow I can never remember how to name them all, damn?)
-Cash, (as in Johnny)
-Cross-Country, (not the running or skiing kind; I’m talking about the driving/roadtrip version, which I’ve done 8 times, 2 & 1/2 by myself.)
-Crown, (Em and Alex’s Aussie)
-Camellias
-Cruise Control (although I never use it, still there’s that word again)
-Kids, (phonetically, that is)
-Coming Home (for multiple reasons, and another poignant tune from the movie, “Country Strong.” Who knew Gwyneth Paltrow could sing so beautifully?
-Co-Parenting…more on this for sure!
-Control… Ok, now I’ve managed to mention that one, three times? There’s definitely got to be something there…there!
IS THIS GOING SOMEWHERE?
What do you think? Where IS this going? Something, or many things, about my last post struck me, and how I ever thought I could sum up that Texas/Cantina experience in one to two blog entries continues to elude me? Nevertheless, it also got me thinking again about why I do what I do, and why I am who I am? Oh good night nurse, that’s one hell of a tricky question, right? Answering it might prove awfully risky; am I that “Brave?” We shall see. Whatever the answer… it’s a good question, great song, and an apt reference from 2 posts back, “Segues and The Truth.” It’s probably a pretty safe bet to assume that the concept of “Control,” or the lack of it, just might play a pretty big role in this particular “trip.” Add in a not-so-healthy, dose, of “Co-parenting,” and we might be on to something? Let’s see…
Sometime during 2011, almost one complete year after the purchase, reimagining of, and ever evolving “creation” of Rancho Valiente, I found myself struggling to keep my kid’s as well as my own life together. By this point, Em (no longer a “kid” obviously) and Alex had moved from Santa Barbara to the Valley and were integrating themselves back into our collective fold. We had managed to salvage what could have resulted in a pretty shattered mother/daughter dynamic and bond. While I know we were both committed to repairing the damage of the past couple years, and trying to make our relationship work again, we were each still feeling pretty vulnerable. Trusting one another wasn’t automatic anymore and was instead requiring real work and effort.
Throughout the pendency of Al’s and my separation, divorce proceedings, Settlement Agreement and the “hot mess,” which followed, both my kids reacted to everything that happened around them, and us collectively in varying manners and at varying times. That’s probably not a big shocker, even to be expected? However…I was under the very delusional assumption that once our Settlement Agreement was negotiated and the divorce finalized, that we would ALL be able to move on with our lives and resume some semblance of normalcy. What an enormously mistaken assumption that was! Nothing approached normal for the next seven years. During the first three of those years, the various “growing/divorce pains” that we each experienced were beyond anything I might have anticipated. Mind you, when I say “each,” I’m referring only to the kids and myself. I can’t and won’t speak for Al. As I’ve explained before, it felt like Al divorced the three of us as a unit, not just me…the then wife and now one of the “dreaded ex’s!” He, summarily, had the kid’s rooms at the house which we all considered our main home of 15 years (3981 Roblar) packed up and stored as he simultaneously packed up my belongings? Did he not want our kids to still feel like they had a place in his life, or in what was suddenly, solely, HIS home? I can’t speak to his intentions, but I can speak to our kid’s reactions…because they, the kids were with me. We survived those times, for the most part, together. While A.J. buried and stuffed his emotions, did not want to see his Father, started Middle School in a new location, and chose his own, quiet, albeit activity-packed path, Em was in her Senior Year of High School, also in a new location. Those were rocky times, and getting rockier, rather than easier, with each day. A.J.’s second year of Middle School was better than the first for sure, but Em’s first year of College came with lots of challenges and hurdles. I was trying my darndest to juggle everything on my plate as best I could, but I’m afraid I fell short…often, and didn’t possess the grace I might have hoped for? That said, Em and I battled a good bit (wildly generous understatement) and as I was reminded frequently… “she was 18 and did not require, nor care for, the same degree of parenting her younger brother was getting.” I had always been a VERY involved parent and didn’t want the divorce to change that, but then divorce changes everything, doesn’t it?
If you’ve had a different experience, I’d love to hear about it? Then, I can both congratulate and celebrate you. I don’t know if it’s as apparent as I intend, but through DearEasyDiaries I’ve been trying, desperately, to paint a vivid picture for you of what life looked like back then. Sometimes, though, I feel like I’m failing now, just as I failed then? Maybe we should “brush” over that stretch of canvas? Better yet, maybe give me another chance?
Okay good, back to 2011. As I started to explain, Em and Alex were very much together, a real couple, and also very much in A.J.’s and my life, especially since they shared an apartment in town just 5-7minutes away, or “off-campus,” as I used to say. Rancho Valiente was wonderful therapy; it was all at once a project, a distraction, as well as a foundation on which we were building a new home, new relationships and a new beginning. I loved it, and I loved being with both my kids again like that. It seemed like while we were recreating Rancho Valiente, we were rediscovering and recreating our own happiness as well.
THE BEGINNING OR “BEFORE” PICTURE… THE POOL’S CONSTRUCTION WAS COMPLETE, BUT THE INSTALLATION OF HARDSCAPE AND THE ADDITION OF LUSH SURROUNDING LANDSCAPE WAS YET TO TAKE FORM. IT WAS SUCH FUN TO PLAN AND WAS ALSO HUGELY REWARDING TO WATCH, AS IT TOOK ON A LIFE OF ITS OWN.
THE “AFTER” WAS EVERYTHING I HAD HOPED FOR, AND THE PROCESS OF GUIDING IT TO ITS CULMINATION WAS A LABOR OF LOVE. IT’S AMAZING WHAT A LITTLE TIME, ATTENTION AND CARE CAN DO…FOR LANDSCAPES, AS WELL AS HUMANS!
So, with much murky water under the bridge and for the most part, behind us (kind-of) the four of us marched forward. One odd day somewhere in the mid to late part of 2011, I answered my cell phone without looking first at the screen to see who the caller was? It was Al. That he was calling me was bizarre enough, but it was about to get a whole lot trickier.
By the time he placed that call, Al was a year and a half deep into his B/K filing, still up to his old shenanigans, still finding more reasons to challenge our MSA, and still inventing more ways to get me back into court. So too by this point, all of my (there was an assortment of five) attorneys were pretty well clued-in to Al’s games and machinations; they understood that we could not speak to one another, in order for me to remain and feel “safe.” Anytime I had previously tried to take an attorney’s suggestion to reach out to Al myself, in order to save on legal expenses, or “attempt to repair a bridge for my children’s sake,” the attempt would backfire, and backfire badly. Whatever conversation might have transpired in reality, would inevitably get twisted and contorted to fit Al’s narrative. I might have called Al to tell about him about A.J.’s progress with braces, the Orthodontist, or wisdom teeth removal, and next thing you knew, BOOM… Al’s attorneys could be filing a Motion to Subpoena the doctor to testify about my fitness as a parent, or my unnecessary expenditures? Nothing was out of the realm of possibility or beyond Al’s obsessive need to manipulate and control every situation…despite the fact we were already three years past the date of our official divorce by that juncture, and (very notably) it was Al…NOT me, who filed for both the divorce and bankruptcy in the first place.
On one prior occasion, when a very pertinent issue was being decided in Al’s Bankruptcy case, I arrived maybe fifteen minutes early to ensure a parking space in what was the old “I. Magnin’s” lot, for the adjacent building on State Street, now home to California’s Central District Bankruptcy Courthouse, and to also be certain there was no delay getting through the security scanner. All of that was accomplished with ease only to step outside the elevator at the appropriate floor to find Al standing there, immediately in front of me with an intensely grim, almost crazed kind of expression on his face. We were the only two people in the smallish lobby just outside the doors of Courtroom “B,” and Al let loose! He began to rant, with his arms flailing in the air above him, face turning bright red, and essentially, in an almost hysterical way, accusing me of trying to kill him. “You’re determined to take and strip everything from me, aren’t you? I won’t be left with a single thing, and I’m bound to die before this whole ordeal is over. Maybe you’ll be satisfied then? You have no right…” Al didn’t get to finish his statement, because thankfully just then my B/K lawyer was stepping off the elevator. He walked to my side, took my arm and led me down a short hallway to a series of small conference rooms. Once inside, I sat down but felt myself shaking and my voice was low and quivering while I attempted to answer John’s question about what had happened? I answered him and explained, “I’m not sure; I got off the elevator and he was there, standing right in front of me, and he just started going off.” “Well this is unacceptable and must stop; I’m going to request a sidebar with Judge Robb and have Al sanctioned for exhibiting that kind of behavior in court.” I just nodded and took the glass of water he offered me from the room’s beverage dispenser. “Was he like that always,” John asked? “Al has always been volatile and can easily lose his temper, but it wasn’t usually directed my way…at least for most of our years together.” John excused himself, and told me to stay put, saying I could lock the door if it made me feel more comfortable. He returned in a few minutes and relayed that he had seen the opposing counsel, explained what happened and further told him that he planned to advise the Judge of Al’s conduct. He then asked if I was going to be okay to remain in the courtroom throughout the entirety of our hearing, while he addressed the issue at hand. I said yes, and we made our way into Judge Robb’s courtroom. The proceedings transpired as John had prepared me they would; Al was reprimanded, but not sanctioned, not that I really expected anything of serious consequence to occur. While Judge Robb had made it abundantly clear…she despised when divorce cases got turned into bankruptcy matters, she didn’t seem terribly interested in much of anything substantial beyond that? My guess was that her retirement, just months away, was about all that piqued her interest in those last days of her career? Regardless, when noon came and the morning’s business was concluded, John walked me to my car, and said he finally got it; he understood all of my apprehension and fears. “Al really is an unsavory and devious character. I think it would be best if you had someone drive you to court in the future. I’ll plan to wait outside in the parking lot for all future appearances, and we’ll enter the court together.” It was a pittance, but it was validating. He later told me he also understood why I preferred to only text or email Al, when communication was required. “It’s obviously the only sane, or safe, way to deal with someone of his nature. Cover your back and put it all in writing!” That logic made sense but it wasn’t foolproof either? After all, our MSA was in writing, signed off by a Glynn County Georgia Judge, and that document hadn’t turned out to be worth much more than the paper it was printed on?
On the one particular day in 2011, when I “flipped open,” my (even back then) antiquated cell phone to say hello only to unexpectedly hear Al’s voice, it was too late to turn back and would have been super immature to just hang up. I took a deep breath, sat myself down on the chaise in my bedroom, and readied myself for what might be coming? Like the weather in the South, however, so too go Al’s mercurial moods and on that occasion, I found myself speaking to a chipper, friendly, yet “concerned” Al. “Mizz, I’m calling about “Emzer,” always his pet name for our daughter. She’s acting very irrationally, and I believe she’s also been taking things from my mailbox,” he said. Since the time of our separation, the telephone had not been my favorite thing, as I was accustomed to it being a vehicle delivering bad news. Mix in Al’s even weightier crazy-making of late and the corresponding equation, continuously subject to change…not for the better, only provided for a heightened disdain for the device. In keeping with my rules for dealing with Al, however, I always had a pad of paper and pen handy, in case I needed to take notes or get specific details jotted down. To that end, it meant the phone had to be on speaker, so I was ready to write as required. Al continued on…but I was distracted by the appearance of Em, who was just turning from the hallway to enter the opened door into my room. She instantly recognized the voice, as he continued talking, saying something about “how should we handle this? I think it’s wise if we try to be a team right now?” I can only imagine what the expression on my face must have conveyed as I listened to this “reinvented, 2.0 version of my ex-husband” attempting to express sincerity? It had to be a trap? What was really going on? And further…how the devil would I respond? All great questions. Meanwhile, Em remained solid, silent, just standing there in front of me, obviously pensive and quietly waiting. For once, I didn’t overreact or get triggered by this twist of tactics in Al’s arsenal. I let him finish what he had to say and replied simply, “thanks for calling; please give me a day or two to think this through?” I hung up, feeling pretty proud of myself. A step forward…no matter how small, is still progress; that was new for me. Em, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share my takeaway. She looked at me, and only said a few sentences, but they packed a serious wallop. “Mom, no way. He doesn’t get to “co-parent” with you now. You never co-parented us when we were growing up, during the divorce, or ever. YOU parented us, not him. He lost his right, and it’s too late to start over. Not to mention, I’m 20 years old now; where was he before? He’s just going out of his mind, because he can’t control me, but I’m done…period.
She left my room, and I just sat for a while, processing the chain of events which had just unfolded. Em was passionate about what she had said, and she was right. Over the past few years, Al had betrayed her twice. Both times were in seriously extreme ways, which had dramatically altered Em’s life and significantly betrayed her trust. One of those examples could even have proven life threatening. Still Al used her, her vulnerability and the experiences as a bargaining chip…like a pawn in a chess game. Al’s entire life seemed like nothing more than a game, with people treated and traded like they were either his to be controlled, or disposed of when they lost their usefulness? His was a game that the rest of us call “life.” For all the hardships which Em and I had gone through, I don’t think my flaws and “f***-ups” ever approached the amount of damage that Al exacted? Good Lord, I sure hope not? But then again, Bobby had been a rather disastrously, bad call on my part! Oh that hindsight could erase our mistakes.
UNASSUMING, SIMPLE AND SERENE…MY SANCTUARY AND A QUIET SPOT TO COLLECT, GATHER & PROCESS THOUGHTS, SANS AL, DRAMA & EX’S ENTIRELY.
Al’s phone call that day proved one thing…Al had burned through his chances, at least with our very wise daughter. For my part, I didn’t respond to Al’s illustration of crazy making that time. Instead, I sent my lawyers a brief email, describing the morning’s events and moved on.
A second thing was made perfectly clear that day too…you don’t get to sell out my daughter and receive many, if ANY, second chances. I salute and will always respect her so incredibly much her fortitude of character, among a long list of others.
It was during that same time frame that Al failed to exhibit even the slightest bit of initiative or interest in regaining any standing, or rebuilding the tiniest hint of a relationship with our then, newly teenaged, son. And so with the exception of my documenting every single detail about A.J.’s activities, his well-being, and the transmittal of the same information to Al, there was no need for co-parenting. I was simply doing what I always did, the only way I knew how.
From the very first day of our daughter’s birth, it had been made very clear that we (Al and I) had an UBER traditional type of arrangement. Al made the money, all the financial decisions, the majority (97%) of lifestyle choices, and I took care of the kid(s), their wellness and keeping, as well as the entertaining, etc! And truth be told, there wasn’t much to the “etcetera” department, other than the formality of saying it made me feel more worthy…at the time. That is unless, you place value on such things as children’s safety, happiness, manners, activities, hygiene, clothing, Birthday and Christmas gifts, Holiday celebrations, religious upbringing? About those types of things, I was pretty much a rockstar. I was also good at remembering client’s names, their spouse’s names, the entertaining of same, phone numbers, important birthdates, annual Christmas card selections, and their sending (including personal sentiments and a hand-addressed envelope), holiday decorations, except the actual Christmas Tree, which required Al’s approval. I was also pretty good at, and flexible about hosting any number of houseguests on a random weekend; guests which I may, or may not, have ever met before. Cooking dinner for a gang of 8-12 work associates on any given evening with only two-hour notice… no problem. Lastly and perhaps most notably (for him), I rarely challenged Al’s authority. It was my deference to Al’s role and position, which earned me Al’s approval as well as the “supreme compliment” of being nicknamed, “a real non-pain in the ass.” I suppose there were worse titles he might have bestowed upon me? In return for my compliance, we had an abundance of lovely homes, a very comfortable life, and additionally I got to have my family around A LOT, and eventually, Al, even, kind of, accepted the plethora of animals which joined our home and were essential to my well-being.
I wouldn’t have traded the experience and luxury of raising my kids myself for anything in the world, but every so often, my role in that former life felt demeaning. It was sometimes difficult to acknowledge that all the things I did or took care of, were the things Al couldn’t care less about? Houses (plural) yes…many, and at one time, were of Al’s choosing, “an investment,” as was the decorating and furnishing of each; same went for cars, although I’m certainly not going to bitch about driving Mercedes, Bentleys, and Suburbans, just as I’m not going to apologize about enjoying our beautiful homes. Every so often though, it might have been nice to have had a teensy bit of input in those decisions. Maybe a little more than “bring your toothbrush, the house is ready.” With that said, I have admittedly, most probably, developed some “control issues?” It’s likely that’s because I had so little, if any, control about what happened in our life. This is not news; any one of my past blog posts gives some fairly decent insight to the struggle I felt. Maybe what was lacking, was my awareness of how acutely those same issues affected me until it was too late? I’ll never forget the evening, or early morning when the car dropped us home for the summer at 3981 Roblar, right around 12:30 a.m. after an eighteen-hour day of travel. I got the kids and two dogs situated, Al went to change clothes, and I went back out to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine and went through the entire house, straightening picture frames, rearranging items that were out of place, throwing out old food from the fridge and generally doing a “once over lightly” assessment of our home, which I hadn’t seen in five months. It was therapeutic, and I desperately needed therapy. Al was in bed watching a basketball game he had previously set to record, when I finally made my way back to the Master suite to wash off a very long day and change for bed. Without so much as a glance away from the tv and ball game, Al spoke to me, saying “I don’t know why the hell you fuss with all that nonsense; Lala takes care of everything just fine. The house doesn’t need all your little fixes!”
Lala was our amazing housekeeper; I trusted her and loved her, but right then the reality of my “non-importance” was hitting a little too close to home for comfort.
Al was probably correct, albeit arrogant and condescending, but I realized…the house may not have needed fixing, but I did. Somehow that detail got lost, but it sure spurred a host of other questions. Our lives, my life, it was all out of control, and I didn’t know how to fix or rearrange that! If I could define one single moment when everything changed, and I started feeling hypersensitive and vulnerable…that was it, but I didn’t recognize the moment’s significance at the time.
So, once again, I’ve taken quite the detour in an effort to finally get to the business of finishing of my “They Said It Would Be Fun” post, part trois. When I started exploring this little diversion, it was all about the letter “C.” What it means, represents and/or symbolizes? That’s how we arrived here, but eventually, I will get back to Texas and wind up at my beloved “Cantina.” For now, all that’s left for me to say on this topic is the following…
-I do have ‘some’ control issues, admittedly.
-I have survived a great deal of life, and many circumstances when I had zero control.
-I have tried to co-parent, and I suck at it. (Soon you’ll see just how badly)
-“If God Is For Us, Who Can Be Against Us?” Romans 8:31 A verse and sentiment which has grown more weighty and substantive recently, but pretty much sums up the way I feel about, and value, my daughter!
-It’s nowhere close to an easy transition is it, to jump from God to Gnarl’s Barkley, but in this moment, I beseech you to give it a try? Ask “Siri” to play the one-hit wonder, and maybe dance around a little too? “Does That Make Me Crazy?” (P.S. the answer is either hell no, or, maybe just a teensy bit?)
“Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley
I remember when
I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that place
Even your emotions have an echo in so much space
And when you're out there without care
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Possibly
And I hope that you are having the time of your life
But think twice, that's my only advice
Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you
Who do you think you are
Ha ha ha, bless your soul
You really think you're in control
I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
Just like me
My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb
And all I remember is thinking I want to be like them
Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done
But maybe I'm crazy
Maybe you're crazy
Maybe we're crazy
Probably
THE SONG WAS MY “RINGBACK TONE” FOR THE LONGEST TIME BACK WHEN THAT WAS A THING, AND NOW “DOES THAT MAKE ME CRAZY” HOLDS A PERMANENT SPOT ON MY PLAYLIST.