Building a retirement home is, unquestionably, a big challenge. But it can be made even more so by the initiator being barking mad. Or, perhaps, better put; being so woefully ignorant about what they are about to undertake that they waltz in casually where even fools would not dare to tread. I know all too well from whence I speak.

Arf Arf!

Actually, to be fair, some things were done right on our cabin and the experience was greatly rewarding. Other things, as you’d expect, were done wrongly and the best that can be said when things went terribly awry is that lessons were learned and tails were spent tucked firmly between legs for lengthy periods of time. Or were bandaged heavily and treated with antiseptics. Hard lessons. Life-is-tough-and-then-you-die kinda lessons.

Some were even harder.

I am reminded of all this again by reading Barry Golsom’s attempt at building in Mexico (see book: Gringos in Paradise). Despite not doing any of the construction and not having to build the infrastructure into which the so-called dream house was being placed, they were still beaten about the ears, the pocketbook, their schedule and their hopes and dreams! And they did fairly well!!

The American dream is really the American fantasy.

They undertook their task ignorant of the building process, lacking any skills or even perspective on construction and with the limp wrists and spoiled tastes of New York magazine writers. They were motivated by whim and habit, clichés and ‘image’ and, of course, by picture books. Those damned, cursed, picture books. Trust me; I know the path they took path well.

Oh my Gawd! There is a special place in hell for the photographers of architectural pictures, ‘views’ ‘settings’ and ‘features’. Those damned pictures that instill an unachievable image as the standard to which one should aspire.

No matter how well you do something, no matter what skill is called on, no matter how much money is spent or how many attempts are made, it is impossible to replicate a scene from an architectural digest or even a Home Depot flyer for that matter.

Best not to even try. I call it the Lee Valley syndrome. Whatever they picture in their catalogue is a lie. Even the Hummingbirds shown feeding in the gardening catalogue are stuffed and hung from string to get ‘just the right shot’.

The tool is not that shiny. The work shop floor is not that clean. The skill levels displayed on the featured woodwork were computer driven and are humanly impossible to replicate. You will never see any of that. Ever.

Maybe the compost.

Think of the Lee Valley catalogue like you might the Victoria Secrets catalogue. Pure fantasy.

You see, the pictures are ‘set up’ to achieve the best possible image for some ‘dupe’ being lulled into thinking ‘our house/garden/baby-doll pajama wearer should look like this’. It never will.

The flowers in the background are fresh and bountiful, the table setting is clean, beautiful and sports expensive ‘designerware’. The artwork is chosen and rented for the setting. It did not arrive by way having shared your life. The floors are shiny and all the lights are on. Real life ‘shots’ have wet gloves that fell from the rack and lie on the floor along with a muddy set of boots and an even muddier dog. Maybe a dust bunny or chew toy.

Sorry, dear readers, I am way too smart to carry the Victoria Secret comparison any further……

But trust me anyway: do not let designer books influence you too much, if at all. Floor plans, maybe. Picture absorbing from magazines and architectural renderings are to be considered at one’s own mental, emotional and financial peril.

You want the first step? Camp out on your property for a summer. THAT is the first step. Second step? Camp there for a week or two in the winter!

I mention this because most people start envisioning their new ‘place’ from the comfort and warmth of their old one. That is the wrong place to even start to think.

They see pictures of log homes, timber frame homes and designer homes and imagine themselves living in them – but also in the invisibly installed ‘infrastructure’ in which they already live. They don’t see the sewer or the power or the road or the stairways.

They imagine their boat bobbing nicely at the dock. But don’t see building the dock. They imagine a drink in hand without carrying the fridge up the hill or starting the genset. Or the drinks, for that matter (they came a long way, too). The sun is always shining in the vision. Flowers are exploding over designer gardens. The dreamer has clean clothes.

You can do that too, if you want. I did. And it was wrong.

Suggestion: read Gringos in Paradise. It ain’t anywhere near that easy!!!!!!!!!!!