Walk of Faith

That’s what a very dear friend of mine said to me, that I must see all this as a “walk of faith” after an outburst of expletives I had for the ridiculous mortgage lenders who, just today—after telling us WEEKS ago “no problem, no problem” about getting a loan for a larger home, even after we explained our farm losses on the tax returns that caused the denial of the first loan—told us today that we were denied. After all their stringing along and “Yes you can” bullscheisse and all the work we (Scott) did and time and money of the inspection and sewer scope and back and forth with the seller, not to mention the dreams, the DREAMS! of FINALLY a larger place, and the sanity, the SANITY involved (mine, really), only to be, once again, denied a loan for a larger home. “Walk of faith my ass,” or something like that, I told her.

I was in tears, thinking of what Kay had said on the God Father II:

“In five years the Corleone family will be completely legitimate.” Just like Kay, I had been waiting, hoping, wishing for all the crazy to have a meaning.

We moved into this home because of budgetary reasons; all our extra money had to go to the farm – so we had to go small, had to go with what we had left to spend. That was almost 5 years ago – just like Kay. No murders that we know of, but during that time the vineyard and wine adventure have sucked so much from us, emotionally, economically. It’s no wonder that I’ve been wishing for a moment, even the smallest moment of respite. So when these eejits told us it was a done deal, the loan, I couldn’t believe our great fortune. We had been living so frugally and carefully, and now we could FINALLY get out of this shoebox, get some breathing room. But no. Not meant to be. Walk of faith? Consider this people: 160 acres of farm: 920 square feet of house. Now considering one acre is 43,560 square feet, this time I know I’m saying it: “Walk of faith, my ass.”

I still need to read “Heartbreak Grape,” by Josh Jensen of Calera Wine Company. It’s on my extensive “to read” list. But Scott filled me in on some of the (ex) wife parts. I don’t know how long she made it through before exiting the scene, and right now I know of two other wine couples who are d-o-n-e. “We need to stick together,” Scott told me, after breaking the news on the phone, his drive back from the vineyard where he had spent the night to get up early and get work done. Thankfully our shoebox is no camper, that’s all I’ll say.

And it’s not like I’m looking for any kind of mansion. Just a little larger space, an easier space. But here we are, with what we have: 160 acres and 920 square feet. When we were all out on the hill this past weekend and I was flying a kite, it didn’t seem so bad. Sigh. I’ll just put it on my to-do list, along with my “to read” list: make this house more livable. Unload. Declutter. Organize. And call my therapist, because this must all end.