On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. For winter 2022, writers tackled the theme EATING CHRISTMAS.
Cindy Dach, a writer, artist and community advocate, is co-owner and CEO of Changing Hands Bookstore.
It was just the two of us and a few cats. We owned our home, and then purchased a small building in downtown Phoenix in a run-down, former commercial district. We had a vision for an artist collective. There were repairs, drywall, and much learning about permits and fire codes. Eventually — the area became popular on the First Friday of each month.
When another vacant property a block away became available, we envisioned an artist live work space. We thought we knew what we were doing. The contractors that refused the work, called the property a teardown.
A part of the roof had caved in, and the basement flooded when it rained. In the backyard, there was a parking lot on one side. On the other side was a collection of rusted box springs, broken cinder blocks and rotten wood. Standing on a red step stool, looking through a box spring was Margaret, our new neighbor. She was grateful we had purchased the house. It had been vacant for years, and the area was still questionable when it was not First Friday.
Margaret lived in her childhood home. She had purchased it from her parents. She had an amazing life story. Margaret had been a nun, left the convent, married a state legislator, sang in a church choir, and her twin nieces were champion clog dancers. Margaret told us about her late husband’s enchilada recipe, and how on Christmas she made trays for everyone in her family. She said we were family now, and promised us a tray of our own. She then asked if we would build a proper fence between our properties.
We began with the fence. Then the roof, electrical, plumbing. We realized quickly we had not budgeted for this project.
In long-term relationships there is often a time when one or both partners wonder how it all could have been different. One or both partners begin to obsess over the paths not taken. Arguments remain on a constant loop and they all become big. My husband and I were in that place.
We needed a break to see if we could stay together, but we were in a spiral of debt. We had taken loans on our house, loans on the first building, sold anything we could, and maxed every credit card we were given. No one would buy the partially repaired teardown. To move forward, we had to get to the building to code.
We worked 28-hour days. We had full-time jobs that funded the construction. Our routine was jobs in the day and construction all night. We left rings of drywall dust in our wake. My husband did most of the construction. I played the shell game with the bills and dodged the turn-off notices.
We did this for three years, and each year on Christmas Eve, Margaret gave us a tray of cheese enchiladas covered in red and green sauce with a side of green chile.
Through those long days, my husband and I discovered something new in each other. There was creativity and resilience. There was generosity and consideration. Maybe because we had given up, our relationship was able to shift, and we chose to stay together.
The house become an artist live work space. The basement continued to flood. Every December, for over a decade, we exchanged a tray of Christmas enchiladas with a side of green chile for a bottle of white wine and two novels. We did this until Margaret moved into a senior living center.
My husband and I hold this one tradition. On Christmas Eve, we pick up a tray of cheese enchiladas with a side of green chile from Rito's. We sit in our backyard, only a few street away from that house. We sit at our fire pit and we toast to Margaret. We toast to all the paths that led us here.