A little piece of Paris on the walls of Abbey Place

The art on the walls at Abbey Place tells a story, each and every piece. The canvases above the couch are of pictures I took of my favorite places in Michigan. The black and white photographs framing the dining room window were taken by one of my college roommates and show off some very cool places of the Olivet campus. The black and white photographs across the room were found by my parents at an estate sale and show off some of the natural beauty of the mitten state. I could go on and on...

So it only seems fitting that Angela and I add some of our Paris story to the walls. And that we did this weekend finally. We made a trek with our little paper bag we'd protected all the way from the banks of the Seine to the framing store and procured just the right frames. Then we headed home and held the art up against all of the walls in the house until we found just the right place: next to the front door in the living room. Where we can see it all the time.

These pieces of art aren't just prints we got in a souvenir shop in Paris. They're actual paintings created by an artist we saw working on our last day in France. We were exploring the neighborhood around our hotel, enjoying our last hours of sun near the river, listening to the sounds of the music fest all around us, when we happened upon PondyaKunik Ruslane. He was set up just across from Notre Dame, on the banks of the Seine, painting. And as he finished the cityscape and it was still wet, we purchased it. And the other painting. To me, there is nothing more French than this.

We didn't bring home a lot of souvenirs from Europe. A lot of gifts, a lot of treats to share, but mostly just a few really special things we found along our way. A candle holder from Giverny for me. A tiny red wooden ring box from Versailles for Angela. A bracelet of the Eiffel Tower from this really cool art gallery for both of us. A few small things to remember our days by. But most of all, photos. And so many memories. And I'm excited that these paintings will help us remember our days in Europe every day here.

The Sidewalk Squirrel

Almost every weekday morning I walk the same route with Angela to school and then I leave her in the parking lot and continue on. I walk about ninety minutes each morning and pass by the same houses, the same streets, the same gardeners, sometimes even the same other people exercising, each day.

I also pass by the same dead squirrel. Every single day.

A few weeks ago this squirrel met it's fate on the side of the road. I assume it was run over by a car but I'm really not sure because it was on the curb. (Side Note: I've also seen two dead crows on my walks this fall, though in different neighborhoods, and way too many smashed snails.) I momentarily considered how sad this was but kept moving. I assumed someone would take care of it, most likely the homeowner. But no.

Each day the squirrel becomes less of a squirrel and more of the earth. If you didn't know there was a dead squirrel in this part of the dirt near the big tree roots that protrude up from the sidewalk on Sixth Street, you wouldn't notice it. What was once a carcass is now becoming part of the earth it came from. This morning I noted that there's a bit of the tail still there but not much else.

I'm not bothered by this poor, dead squirrel. I imagine, to make myself feel better, it had a full long life and met it's fate doing what it loved to do, running. The carcass doesn't smell and it's not a gory bloody site. It never was. It's simply something that was once living and no longer is. It's simply an empty shell now. Fibers and organic material that's becoming something else.

What I'm bothered by is the idea that this squirrel is gone and no one will remember it. Yes, it's a squirrel, I get that. But I'm thinking larger now. I'm thinking about the most important thing to me -- me.

Because that's really the fear I have. That one day I will be gone and no one will remember I was here. I get that feeling when I think about all of the people I've lost in my life. When I think about the fact that as of today, I have no descendents. I have no spouse. I have not even a plot of land I can claim as my own.

Is it morbid? Yes. Is it terrifying? Yes. Is my birthday coming up again soon? Yes.

But it's also something every single person on this earth faces on a regular basis. The idea that we want to be something, someone, who is cared for, loved, thought of, remembered. And I see it in the people in my life.

This Tuesday I headed off to Hollywood as I do most Tuesday mornings and I set about with the business of handing out lunches and clothing and hygiene products to our guests. And I thought about this while I was there too. These people, standing in line for a sack lunch, for a washed but clearly used new to them tee-shirt, must feel what I feel. They must want to connect on such a basic level that the starvation of such connection can be life-threatening, just as it can be for me. I was reminded of this mostly by the lovely interactions I had with my friends as the morning wore on.

"Detroit, you aren't crying? I was sure you'd be crying!" came the voice of James, one of my favorite friends at lunch.

He smiled shyly at me and I knew immediately what he meant.

"No, I had to dry my tears yesterday. One day of crying was enough."

He was teasing me about the Detroit Tigers. I often wear a Tigers tee or hat or bracelet to lunch and James has taken to calling me Detroit. Usually quietly, as he says hello or thanks me for something. He always knows the score of the game from the day before or in this week's case, the fact that the Tigers had been knocked out of the playoffs. He's not from Michigan, he's not even a big baseball fan but he's taken it upon himself to find a way to connect with me. With another human being.

As some of the other guys in line joined in the conversation, teasing me for hating on L.A. teams and sticking to my hometown alliances, I considered for a moment that we weren't talking about lunch or toothbrushes or what size shirts they wore. We were interacting as human beings, on an interpersonal level. Something I needed sorely that morning. More than even I knew.

I spend so much time alone, at a desk, as many of us do, that I have to remember to exert energy on what really matters. To take the time to focus on the bigger picture. On what that little squirrel on the curb, or rather now part of the curb, means.

I don't want to disappear. I don't want to fade away. And after a month of not hearing back from the television network, a month of not hearing back about the faculty job I obviously did not get, a month of "high anxiety" as we call it here on Abbey Place, I'm finally starting to remember that there are other things worth focusing my attention on as well. No, I'm not abandoning the desk. I'm likely not even going to spend fewer hours here behind the keyboard. But I am going to be conscious about leaving a mark. Leaving a legacy. Even if it's just through a simple smile or a kind conversation with another of God's children. Just as that squirrel left me with something to remember, I hope to leave the people in my life with something to remember as well.

Put the cork back in the champagne

Be careful what you wish for.

I've been lamenting that the waiting is hard. The waiting and the stewing and the dreaming and the hoping and the wishing. All of it. Very hard.

And POOF! Just like that, you're not waiting any more.

Yesterday I got an email that confirmed what my heart already knew. The television network that I've been working with since June passed on my pilot. They decided that our script, our TV show, didn't match their target audience. An it's not you, it's me speech if I've ever heard one.

Now, I'm not alone in this experience. Hundreds of writers all over this town will get their hopes and dreams dashed this month and next. That's pilot season for ya. However, this is new to me. This thing called hope, it was new when it came to television writing for me.

I've never had anyone so interested in my work. I've never had someone put so much time and effort and energy into my work. And lord, it was wonderful. And then it wasn't. I kind of knew it was going to happen. In this town they say love is shown with a check. I hadn't received one yet. And there wasn't talk of one. So I knew. But it still hurts. A lot.

But...it's also time to move on. I've done some grieving of this experience, I'll likely do some more over the next little while, but as one of the best people I know told me last week, us good Christian girls know how to handle things like this. There's no 'this is the end', there's only what's to come.

The producers I've been working with, who actually got me the pitch in the first place, are still with me. They are excited to keep moving forward, to shop this pilot and others of mine to networks all around town. We'll meet this week to devise a plan. I'm so excited about that. So excited to not have been completely laid aside. Because once you get a little hope, you only want to add to it.

So...in the words of my favorite fictional president (frankly, just my favorite president, fictional or otherwise) Jed Bartlett (and his muse Aaron Sorkin), I put my hands in my pockets and say,

"What's next?"

Inspired cooking

One of the best movies I've seen this year was Jon Favreau's CHEF. And I was so excited when I heard there was going to be a cooking class inspired by the food in the film, Cuban food truck food. Food that looked amazing on screen. Food that looked like nothing I'd really eaten before. Food that I really really just wanted to taste.

And taste I did. Wednesday. After I cooked it. Yep, me. I cooked some of the amazing food you see in the film and had an amazing time doing it!

Because yesterday was the kickoff of Birthday month (yep, comes around this time every year!), Angela decided I should go to the cooking class so she signed me up and off I went to Sur La Tab, the cooking store at The Grove. And that's where me and nine others spent two and a half hours learning proper cooking techniques, learning how to make tostones with chile vinegar, cubanos with mojo-marinated pork shoulder, yucca fries with banana ketchup and french quarter beignets.

The class was taught by a real chef, with real chefs assisting him, and it felt like a real kitchen. The atmosphere was professional and fun and oddly enough, just the perfect mix of people who would chat enough and people who were really serious about learning to make this food.

We began by making a marinade for the pork. We chopped and diced and zested and worked in teams of three to get the job done. I worked with two very nice women and we were all super polite in letting each other take a turn which was really nice. We tasted the marinade then tossed it as the class's pork was already cooking. But that was just the beginning.

Next we moved on to making tostones out of green plantains (not brown plantains, which are sweeter) and the accompanying bright green chile vinegar. The tostones had several steps, peeling, slicing using the mandolin (which scared me but we had these really cool no-cut gloves and it was easy-peasy!), blanching then smashing then frying and salting. The green chile vinegar was simpler, just put everything in a bowl and use the immersion blender. Simple. Until you took a breath. A kitchen full of fumes from three different kinds of chilies left us all coughing and running for air. And then we had to taste it. It was HOT. And amazing. And while I'm not usually one for hot things, or trying new things so so quickly, in that environment I was completely open. This was something I'd made. Watching being made. Of course I was going to try it. Of course I was going to add salt when we determined it needed more and then try it again. And? It was actually very good, and yes, very spicy.

After prepping the plantains we moved on to the yucca fries and banana ketchup. This was something
I'd been curious about when I signed up. I had never had yucca before, a brown root vegetable that when cut, looks like potato. But we started chopping and blanching and then moved on to the ketchup. In went bananas, in went onions, in went pickled jalapenos, in went garlic, in went ginger, in went basil. And out came something AMAZING. Seriously. I love ketchup. Love it. And this stuff? With bananas which really, I'd be okay never having again in my life? So so good. It did not taste like bananas. It tasted like just the sweetest, spiciest, best sauce I've ever had. Honestly, could not get enough with the yucca fries.

We made the beignet dough as a group as well. There wasn't much to it, some yeast, some flour, some sugar, egg and milk. And then we fried everything up at the same time. The tostones, which we then proceeded to smash and fry again. The yucca fries which were blanched then fried, and the beignets. The frying scared me a bit too. There were just these big pans of canola oil heating away on the stove and we were to slide (away from us, always away) our food into the pans. We took turns again, and surprisingly no one was hurt, nothing splattered, and everything came out crispy golden brown. The green chile sauce went right on the tostones, the beignets were covered in immense amounts of powdered sugar, and everything was plated, ready to be tasted. And tasted we did.

Everything was really, just so good. And to know each little ingredient that went in to each sauce and each dish was just really interesting. To know how methodically and how intentionally each item had been selected and prepared. To hear the chef say we were using jalapenos because the Fresno chilies didn't seem just right this morning at the market, all of it was fascinating. I know it's nothing like working in a real restaurant kitchen but it certainly was made to feel that way.

After we snacked on our first course, and dessert (we voted as a class to fry the beignet's in the same pan as everything else, so we could do it at home without the assist of a deep fryer and a few of the beignets did not get cooked through; however, that did not stop any of us from indulging in them). We moved on to the pork shoulder and the cubanos.
Chef showed us the proper way to slice the meat, how to remove the casing, and how to fry it in the fry pan if it wasn't quite cooked through in the
middle. Then he laid out everything for the sandwiches and had each group assemble their own. The sandwiches were then slathered with butter (just like in the movie) and pressed to heat on the cast iron pans. Sliced in thirds. Then handed over to us. And honestly?

Maybe the best sandwich I've ever had in my life. The french bread. The mustard. The ham. The swiss cheese. The pork. The pickles.

And I don't even like pickles. But I liked these pickles.

As we stood around the kitchen, mouths full, eating our sandwiches, we all just kind of looked at each other. I smiled at the guy across the table who hadn't shown much emotion the whole day and who I hadn't heard speak at all, and he smiled back like, "yeah, exactly". Perfection.

All in all, an amazing afternoon. Class went almost 45 minutes long and not one of us minded. We left with coupons, a DVD of the movie, and most of all, a new-found respect for this culture, this food, and the art of creating it. Mostly? I can't wait to make it all in my own kitchen.

The waiting makes it worth it, I believe

It's late September. It's the last week of regular season baseball. It's premier week for most network television shows. It's well into the start of the traditional school year. I have yet another cold (I've lost count on how many this makes this year). I am wrapping up the semester with my students. I had an interview for a full-time job I wasn't sure I wanted two weeks ago. It started today so I'm guessing I didn't get it. And, most of all, I haven't heard anything about the pilot.

It was three weeks last Friday since we turned it into the network. And now we wait.

I have no idea what will come next. Less than none. My mind runs with the possibility and the fear and the excitement and the disappointment. So, I don't let my mind run too much.

I'm a patient person. Far more than many of you will ever know. I waited a long time to move to California. I'm still waiting for some of those things I believe God promises to each of His children. I wait and I wait and I wait. And it's not easy. And I'm no saint. I'm not a happy patient person. Not by a long shot. And I don't think I'm very good at waiting. I complain a lot. Just ask my friends and family.

But this morning as I was baking eggs for the week and making muffins for Angela's new teachers' meeting and doing laundry, all in an effort to focus my mind on something, anything, other than the waiting, I was listening to an episode of one of my favorite podcasts, Marc Maron's WTF. He was interviewing Billy Gardell, Mike from Mike and Molly. And Gardell was talking about what I was thinking about, waiting.

Now, it's not just sitting in an apartment somewhere hoping for something this waiting that we do. He was talking about the classes he took, the years he spent on the road as a standup, honing his craft. An active waiting, the farthest from the passive act we usually associate with patience. And then when he told the story about auditioning for Mike and Molly and ultimately getting the part, I cried. Right there in the kitchen, sweating as I put together egg sandwiches. I cried these happy tears for this man I have never met but enjoy on television 22 weeks a year. I cried because he waited and he made it. He finally finally made it. With $4.71 or how much ever he had in his bank account.

I cried mostly because it gave me a renewed sense of hope. That renewal I need daily. That renewal I get from the oddest places at times. From an email from someone I've never met who knows a friend of a friend who tells me "positive energy moves mountains" and that he knows I'm a good writer. From friends who check in weekly, daily, to see what I've heard or what I'm working on now. From a hug and an encouraging smile from people at church. From a favorite quote above my desk. From a bright pink rose peeking through the fence as I walk early in the morning. From the belief that I have to have to keep going.

This week I will hold true to the belief that no news is good news. I will continue to smile and answer the calls and the texts and the questions. I will grade final drafts and wrap up my class. I will cheer on my beloved Tigers and pray for a postseason run. I will make more food to wrap up and send across the country to those I hold close in my heart. I will send bright funny cards and little packages that can only make me feel a little lighter. I will splurge on Coke Zero and late night yoga and stay in bed a little later to sleep this cold away. I will know, deep down, past my heart into my soul, that the waiting makes it worth it. So worth it. No matter what it is. Because I have to believe. There's nothing else.

My Gratitude Experience

It's day five, the last day, of my gratitude challenge and I really want to thank my mom for nominating me to this challenge. Like a lot of things on Facebook, this could have been scrolled by quickly and ignored or laughed off. But since Mom tagged me, I decided to take it seriously. For the past four days here is what I have been thankful for:

Day 1
1) my very own bed, toothbrush, & refrigerator. I do not take any of that for granted. 2) Decades of memories & photos to jar them. 3) Baseball.

Day 2
1) teachers who do amazing jobs & are not respected nearly enough, 2) my awesome sister & parents who never once said maybe you can't be a professional writer, and 3) vegetables.

Day 3
1) first responders who do a job I can't fathom doing on a daily basis, 2) my family that extends far and wide, people I'm related to by blood and by choice, people who live with me in my heart every day, and 3) ice cream.

Day 4
1) I am grateful for the 2 amazing women who live next too and across from my house. They came to visit yesterday, Mary brought flowers & we shared our Europe pictures with them. A lovely afternoon. 2) I am grateful for a body that moves. Today I start another three month workout challenge & I'm so thankful my body is up to it! 3) The person who invented fans. Ours have been on nonstop for a month now and while I wish everyday for central air conditioning, I am grateful for what I do have.

So today, Day 5, seems a bit anticlimactic.  I've been listing all the people in my life and all the things I have and that's well and good but today I was trying to figure out what else to be grateful for. And then I went to volunteer at the Homeless Lunch at my church, just like I do most Tuesdays. And I realized that basically, I have to be grateful to God for everything I've listed above and thought about all week. Because without Him, there is nothing. But most of all, without Him, I am nothing. And I realize that in the grand scheme of things I am really so unbelievably blessed that it's kind of hard to fathom. Yes, I complain, a lot at times. Yesterday I was almost in tears because it was so hot in our house all afternoon. It's really getting to me. And then I had to do a gut check and remember, hey, you have a fan. You have a house. You have a mattress. You have a car to take you to places where it's not so hot. And I get that. I also get that at times I have to open the valve and let out the steam. But mostly, I have to remember, every minute of every day, how much I have to be thankful for. So thank you, Mom, for reminding me of that five days ago. Here goes...
 
Day 5
1) The fruit in my fridge. I was able to buy cut up melon and pineapple and strawberries and grapes this week. I have had a huge fruit salad twice a day for the entire weekend. And today I had to ask people in the lunch line if they wanted one banana or one box of raisins or one cup of applesauce. Just one. Maybe for the whole week until next Tuesday. (Side Note: If you ask me for an extra fruit, I will likely give it to you, especially if you aren't wearing any shoes.) I bet I throw out more fruit in a week than they eat. I have to remember this. Every day. Especially on days I want to skip the banana and go for the bagel.
2) Money in my bank account. There isn't much this month. Hardly any because it's right before Angela gets paid. But there's a little. Yes, there are bills waiting to be paid but they'll get their due. But right now? I have more than enough. I was able to go to the mall this weekend and buy fancy lotion at Bath and Body Works for Angela, myself, and one of my Homeless Lunch friends. We were able to eat more than one meal out in the past week. We bought hundreds of dollars worth of groceries in the past few weeks. We have television and Internet and fancy phones and new clothes and so much more than we could ever possibly need. And yet? I worry about money all the time. All. The. Time. And I shouldn't. God will provide, as He has for every single day of my life and will continue to do until the day I die. I am so grateful for that. (And for Justin for reminding me of that in his FB post today.)
3) Hallmark. No seriously. I mean I am the girl who listed baseball in her first day's list (I almost put baseball pants - I should have!). Saturday Angela and I missed the movie we'd intended to see at the mall because I took a shortcut driving and it didn't work out. And so we wandered through the air conditioned mall for several hours, not buying much (see lotion above) but laughing and window shopping and dreaming. However, we did spend the money we would have spent on movie tickets in Hallmark buying cards for friends and family members. And today I mailed five of them out. We bought silly cards and birthday cards and just because cards. We laughed and shared them with one another and then picked our favorites to bring home. And mostly? Hallmark reminded me to stay in touch this week, to brighten up a friend's day or to comfort a family member who might need it. I can't be there to give hugs in person but my hugs often come wrapped in a bright colored envelope and delivered by a federal employee.

So my official gratitude challenge is finished. But I won't stop. I'll keep it going, unofficially. I'll keep being thankful for what I have, working for what I want, and trying, just a little bit each day, to make the world brighter.

P.S. - If you have cable TV, check out the 15-minute show SOULPANCAKE on Pivot. It's a crazy little montage of interviews with people like Mindy Kaling and Russell Brand and stories from homeless people and reminders to be happy. I love it. I am grateful for it. Yep, I always like to do the extra credit.

Another piece of my heart...gone

Spring Training 2014 - Helen cheering on our Tigers

I have started this post ten times already. I've erased pictures and words and I've closed the browser a few times. If I don't write it maybe it won't be true to me. Maybe I won't feel it so much. And yet...I do. The tears once again cloud my eyes as I refuse to wipe them away...

Thursday I was standing in the paper towel aisle at the grocery store when I got the bad news. Normally I wouldn't have answered the call from my mom at the grocery store, I'd have sent it to voicemail and called her back from the car or the house. But her and my dad were on vacation up north and we hadn't talked in a few days and I wasn't sure when they'd have service again so I picked up. And that's when my mom told me. 

Helen had passed away.

My hand went to my mouth. I audibly gasped and started to cry. In all the world I had not been expecting that call on that day. We've had our share of loss and sadness over the past year or so. Too many funerals. Too many goodbyes. Too many tears. And in the back of my mind, I know more are coming. People get older. People get sicker. But I try not to dwell. 

But Helen wasn't sick. She was fine. My parents had spent a few weeks with her at her home in Florida this winter. They'd gone to spring training and cheered on our Tigers. They'd played board games and gone golfing. We were cooking up a scheme to all fly to Florida over Thanksgiving break and spend the week with her in the sun. The first time we'd all be there together with her in a long time. But it wasn't too be. She had a stroke and slipped away. Quietly. Quickly. Without my parents getting down there. Without us even knowing. The phone call from a nephew broke the news. 

Winter 2014

Helen is family. By blood? No. But by more than that. She has just been Helen as long as I can remember. Not aunt or grandma or anything. Just Helen. She has been a rock, a friend, a confidant, a cheerleader. There are pictures from Europe and Tiger games sitting on my shelf to mail her this week. My dad's slippers are still under the guest bed at her house. Helen. 

I last talked with her on the phone on Christmas day. She was proud of me going after what I wanted. She told me not to let anyone stand in my way, certainly no man. I said no, ma'am, I wouldn't let that happen, with a smile in my voice. She thanked us for the Christmas cookies we'd expressed shipped down there and we promised more soon. She'd emailed just a few weeks ago to tell me she was enjoying my blogs and to write more often. Something a grandma would and did often say. 

She had a hard life. Lost a child to a car accident then a husband to addiction. Found a new community and vitality in Florida, her own space, her own life. Amazed all of us by traveling the globe and finding a boyfriend and adopting a little dog to devote her days to. 

More than anything, Helen is a piece of my heart. She is a piece of the family that raised me. Her mother was my Grandma Susie. And so many summer evenings were spent being coaxed off the diving board at her pool on Grand River in Howell. Listening to my parents and her and Rube laugh. Loving that we had people who wanted to spend their time with us. Not because they had to but because they chose too. 

Once I lost all of my blood grandparents I took solace in the fact that I still had an older generation of family in my life. And I hold on to that. I still do, even if today, a piece of my heart has flown away. A very big piece.

Winter 2014

A little postscript (8/27/14):
Helen's funeral was yesterday, Mom said it was lovely. Family and friends and flowers and then the pastor asked for people to share stories.

My aunt Wensday told about a hat with flowers on it that traveled around between Helen and some other family members for a while which made me smile. And as my mom was talking I thought about something I hadn't remembered in a while.

When we went to Disney World for the first time in 1988 I was just ten years old. It was the first time we went on a real vacation, staying in hotels and all that jazz. (My family was a family of tent campers, good, bad, and monsoon.) And Helen took the time to put together little envelopes for us to open on the trip. I don't remember what was in all of them though I do remember stickers on the envelopes and little handwritten notes and instructions to open this one on Day 2, Day 3, etc. But I do remember there being a little bit of money in the last envelope, to buy a souvenir with. And I remember thinking that was just about the coolest thing ever, that Helen made us this little game. Because that's what she was, just about the coolest person ever.

That's the story I would have told yesterday when the pastor asked for people to share. That and the fact that she instilled in me a great desire to someday live in a house with an INGROUND swimming pool, just like she had.

I'm sad I wasn't there yesterday, to hug my family and to pray as she was laid to rest but I take solace in the fact that I will have her memories with me always. Always.

The notes call went WELL!

So yesterday it happened again. Another conference call. Another few minutes of butterflies just before I dialed in one whole minute early and waited to be joined on the call by the network executives and my producers.

I had expected to be more nervous. I really did. I expected to not be able to focus or not be able to sit still as usually is the case when I'm anxious. But that didn't happen. Maybe it's perspective. I've been getting a lot of that lately. Maybe because this is finally the real thing. Maybe because this is just a part of life that is what it is. It's exciting. It's amazing. It's wonderful. But really? It's just a part of it all.

So I was nervous but not too nervous. More so that we had handed in an actual script this time. With my name on it alone. And this was the first time anyone at the network was reading my writing, not just my ideas or my thoughts.

So how did it go?

Really freaking well.

Mind you, this was my first one of these. My first time getting notes on a draft. But still? I think it went well. They told us what they liked, they thanked us for incorporating so many of their notes from the outline so well, and then they gave us their thoughts.

And told us we had eight more pages to play with. Which never happens. I'm constantly cutting my scripts, trying to fit them into these prescribed boxes of page counts, act outs and act ins, blah blah blah. It's all important in television writing and I get that. I've been getting it for over five years now. But I also love that I've finally been told, okay, we get it, you can writing in the box. Now color outside a little. I LOVE THAT.

Their notes were specific and general. But not specific enough that they don't want to hear what I and the producers have to say. They said do this but not how to do it. And I love that.

So what's next?

A rewrite. Adding pages. Making things that need to jump off the page fly off the page. Reworking and retooling some stuff. And having fun. Because, as I often tell my writing students, if you do all the hard work when you outline, the writing is a breeze. And that's what I'm hoping for this week and next. A fun breeze.

So here we go -- to official draft two. Due right after Labor Day though we'll get it in before the long weekend so we can all enjoy (strong hints were shared about this during the call). For now? A good call, a smile on my face, and my fingers typing really fast! I love it!

Draft one and done!

We beat our deadline by one day. It feels good too. To have a draft done. To have a script to work with.

Yes, I finished my first draft of the new pilot and we turned it into the television studio this morning. I finished the draft on Monday. And then I had some of my peeps read it and tell me where I misspelled things and what really didn't make sense. And then last night I met with my producers for about three hours and we did the unbearable: we cut the script by five pages. FIVE PAGES. That's a whole act in sitcom land! But we did it. And?

It wasn't horrible. It wasn't unbearable at all. In fact it was exciting and fun and every cut we made made perfect sense. And I love this newest, cleanest, leanest version more than anything!

And best of all?

It's not the end.

Yes, I typed END OF SHOW at the end of the script. Yes, I registered my script with the Writers Guild. Yes, we turned it into the network executives. But we get to do that again a few more times before decisions are made. And that's exciting. Very exciting.

So what's next? Well, we wait. Again. There's a lot of that. And that's okay. Because I have papers to grade and notes to organize and a house to clean in preparation of the first big birthday celebration tomorrow night! I have a cake to make (or at least procure), I have other writing to do and I have some books piling up beside the bed. So we just wait. That's all. But again, with hope.

P.S. - My friend Carol Reinig made this for me and posted it on Facebook. Too fun!

A pilot in development

On July 9 I had my first TV pitch meeting at a network. There was some discussion as to what would happen next but there wasn't a clear path and I decided to just be patient and wait. Something I don't always do well. But I did it. I went back to Detroit and I helped to plan a bridal shower and I showed off pictures of my Europe trip and I pushed the grandneighbors on the swings at the park. And then not a full week later I got a voicemail from one of my producing partners.

It seems the television network liked our pitch. Very much. I asked what this meant exactly. Were they buying the pilot? No. Not yet. We had some work to do first.

We had a very positive, very pleasant call with the network executives. They told us how excited they were by our project. How excited the film studio behind the television studio was by our project and our main character. How much they loved the story. And what they wanted to see happen with our show. And they gave us a very tight timeline in which to present to them an outline and a pilot script.

And so, we started working. I spent the next few days drafting an outline. Having conference calls and pouring over the Google doc with my producers. And then there was another conference call with the network. Interestingly, they're becoming old hat now. I mean, I've only had a handful of them but we have a rhythm. They tell us what they want to see in the next draft of something, we ask a few questions, and the meeting is done. Bing bam boom. Easy peasy. Well, for now anyway.

So after the big conference call with several execs I asked my producers what this all means. And officially, they said we have a pilot in development.

I love those words. I've heard them around town for years. They're vague and invite curiosity and questions. No one is really sure what they mean. You could be shooting a show in a month. You could be working on the same script in a year. But most of all? Those words contain in them so much hope. Hope that you're moving forward. Hope that you're on the right path. Hope that what's next might be big and exciting.

Hope.

It has been just three weeks since that first call with the network. Since then we've turned in two drafts of an outline and just this morning I got the email from the network that we're ready to go to script. That means next they want to see a full draft. In 10 days. So here we go...

It's been a crazy and exciting and terrifying and amazing couple of months. I've been to Europe and Detroit and done so much. It's really been just the best summer. And now? Now I get to spend the next month writing with hope. Working with hope. I'm just, beyond thrilled. Really. It's almost like I'm in shock. Just getting it done. Getting the words on the page, trying not to think too much about the what if and the how and the what. Just doing what I do best. Writing.

And being happy. When I got the news that we were in development I was able to share my excitement with my family and some of my very best friends back home in person. I love that. I love that they opened champagne and toasted with me. I love that we talked and talked and then went right back to making s'mores and chasing lightening bugs. Because that balance, that amazing balance, is what makes everything worthwhile.

My first television pitch meeting - check!

I'm not even sure where to begin. Maybe back during the staged reading of my sitcom last December when my friend Mike heard my work for the first time. Or maybe back in the spring when he (and his newly formed production company) took my screenplay out to a studio and they passed (well, we assume, we're still waiting to hear...). Or maybe back to the week before I left for Paris when I learned that he and his producing partner wanted to submit a logline of another of my scripts (just one sentence encapsulating the whole idea) to a new-ish television network. Or to the day, just before we were to leave Paris when I found out we'd been selected to actually pitch the idea to the head of the network. Yeah, I guess that's a good place to start.

I don't even know what to say about that, I'm completely blown away by the fact that after six years and countless words and pages and scripts, I would get the chance to have a television network head hear my idea. But I would.

And that happened today.

Yes, I am in Los Angeles. Yesterday I was in Detroit. Within ten hours I will be back in Detroit. But in the past three weeks I've had several meetings, conference calls, hundreds of email sessions, one long Google Doc experience, and after five hours of preparation with my producing partners last night, I got the chance to pitch my script, my story, to a television studio. Yes, today. It happened.

It went quickly. Twenty five minutes and we were in and out. It went well. They asked questions, we had answers. I talked, a lot. It was exciting and fun and most surprising of all -- not scary. I wasn't anxious or nervous or sick to my stomach or anything I have experienced in the past or thought I might be.

I was ready.

My family and friends have been giving me pep talks for the past few weeks. So have my producing partners (who are AMAZING). And on Saturday I heard one of my favorite baseball players say that before he swings the bat, he goes into the batters' box and says one word: dominate. So that was my mantra. And I did it.

I ad libbed some jokes and little asides during the pitch. I added answers to questions and jumped in when the producers needed me to jump in. I smiled and made mad eye contact and made sure the head of the studio knew I was talking to her (Yes, she is a woman and I love that).

And now? Now I get to smile a lot and go back to Detroit. I go home to family and friends and bonfires and birthday celebrations and wedding showers and baseball games and my childhood bed. For a few more weeks.

And I wait.

It may be a while. Their time table isn't immediate. And that's okay. Because I've done my part. And I feel I've done it well.

So, that's the scoop of the day. I flew back to LA for just over 24 hours for my first television pitch meeting. This life we live sure is amazing, isn't it?

This is it! Paris here we come!

In just 12 hours I will fire up my Uber app and request a car to take Angela and I to the airport. To the airport to catch our 13 hour flight to Paris. Sitting here tonight I'm really having a hard time believing these facts.

Devon loves us!

We had reserved the weekend for last minute preparations but honestly, there weren't too many. There were only a few items on our to-do list yesterday. We made a run to the grocery store for some travel snacks (apples, bananas, Twizzlers, mega M&Ms, cheese and crackers), we made a cheat sheet for the new fancy still-intimidating camera, we charged all of our electronics and the little power banks to charge them again later, and we made some cookies to take the neighbors who'll keep an eye on our house while we're gone.

Then today we packed. We had everything already laid out clothing-wise but spent some time going through toiletries and other miscellaneous. We opened the care package we received yesterday from dear friend Devon and added a few more items to the bags.
We managed to get everything into just our rolling suitcases and our backpacks which was the goal all along. We'll throw our snacks and some sandwiches in the top in the morning and we'll be good to go.

So this is it. Tomorrow we leave! It seems like we've been dreaming of this trip forever, and planning for almost as long. And while we're gone we might check in, well Cedric probably will at least, and we'll make sure to take lots of pictures because, in the words of Audrey Hepburn, "Paris is always a good idea."

One week from today

That's right. At this time next week I'll be sitting on an Air Canada flight about to take off for Paris. It's hard to believe really. What seemed like such a pipe dream for so long (frankly for over half my life) is about to happen.

What's really been so cool is how many people are excited for us, genuinely so. From the comments on Facebook and emails we've received, to the people wanting to pray for us while we're gone, to friends and family members who continuously ask about our planning and express how much fun they are living vicariously through us.

Often times I feel like I'm bragging when I talk about it but I really do try to squash that feeling and feel happy instead. Happy that we have been intentional about saving money, happy that our grandparents wanted us to do something like this, happy that we have had so much fun planning and anticipating and getting ready. I'm almost afraid for what will happen after the trip, when there's no Paris to look forward to anymore. (Hawaii? Italy? Greece? New York?)

We've whittled down our To Do list considerably. I spent some serious time at our bank on Friday and on the phone with them and the credit card companies (we're only taking two cards, it should not have been that difficult). And then some more time at the bank Saturday, adding Angela to my travel debit account (cool thing for travelers, so that if something terrible does happen, the thief will not have access to my main account). And then we bought some money. Yep, bought, not exchanged. Because, frankly, European money is expensive. But it sure is cool looking.

We don't have much else to do before the weekend when we'll pack before heading out Monday morning. Some snacks to buy (anyone have any favorite plane foods?). Our new travel pillows to blow up and try out once they arrive today (they attach to the back out the headrest and go across our bodies, I hate those little horseshoe pillows so I am excited for these, and yes, I'll report back). We'll go through the travel guides one more time to see if there's any exciting stop we've missed planning for. Oh, and we'll practice with the camera a little bit more. Other than that? I guess I'll just keep dreaming...

Vegas, baby!

Angela, Arianna, Olga, and me! Ready to head out on the town Saturday night!

Vegas is one of those ideas friends banter around and around, and until somebody comes in from out of town or until somebody gets married, it rarely happens. And yet, this past weekend, we made it happen without any of that. A couple of months ago Angela, Arianna, Olga and I were having lunch and saying it sure would be nice to get away. The other three all teach middle school together and I think the thought of anywhere without preteens was intoxicating. So we made a plan. Quick and simple. One hotel room, food, alcohol, and fun.

Whereas with this Europe trip I've been planning for almost a year, I took the opposite route with Vegas. I Googled pools at strip hotels. And then I modified my Google search to family friendly pools at strip hotels. (Apparently pools are the hottest clubs now, and after getting an eyeful of the club, er pool, at the MGM, I'm glad to say we enjoyed our quiet family friendly pools at the Excalibur where yes, you could drink, and where I didn't feel like I was in a bad spring break movie).

We took in the sights, had some drinks, talked and talked some more, laughed, danced, and ate. We ended up at the Bellagio buffet Saturday night, and yes, the dessert was by far the best part of the meal. Though the Kobe beef wasn't bad either. However, while I'm proud of myself for trying it, I don't think I'll stop by for another round of caviar any time soon.

We caught the Bellagio fountains show at the top of the hour, we had frozen drinks somewhere along the strip, we laughed at girls in six-inch heels and then rubbed our own feet when we got back to the hotel Saturday night. Oh, and we rode the monorail a few extra times because the AC was high and there were benches.

We also threw a few dollars in the slots as we passed through each new casino. None of us won anything until Angela sat down at a video poker machine, put in a dollar and promptly won $50! She cashed out and celebrated!

All in all, the perfect Vegas weekend. We got their Friday after 9pm and left Sunday before 2pm. Just right in that it was too short, none of us wanted to leave, especially after our bottomless champagne brunch at the Rio. But alas, all good things are much too short and remembered much too fondly. Here's to the next trip!

The Wibbs

Marianne Wibberly & me (Cormac Wibberly is just over my shoulder)

When I went to film school at UCLA I took advantage of every opportunity that came my way. Screenings, extra classes, guest lectures, everything, even the free fair each August that might yield some useless flyers and a couple run ins with classmates. And I'm fortunate that as an alumnus, I'm still able to take advantage of some of the cool opportunities that come about. Last night was one of those very cool things.

A few months ago on Twitter I began following @dottiehudson, the account that belongs to The Wibberlys. The Wibberlys are writing partners who are also married. They've written movies like NATIONAL TREASURE, I SPY, BAD BOYS 2, and CHARLIE'S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE. Big, billion-dollar grossing movies. They (though I think the account is mostly updated by Marianne) tweet about anything and everything. I follow them and occasionally I favorite a tweet. Then a few weeks back they tweeted something about their USA television series COMMON LAW. Ang and I were big fans of the show and sad to see it get cancelled after only one season. Marianne mentioned they were gonna just start shipping copies of the DVD out to fans. I favorited that tweet because I thought that was a really cool thing to do and the next thing I knew we were Twitter friends and I had a copy of COMMON LAW show up on my doorstep from Amazon.

Cormac, Hal Ackerman (UCLA), Marianne

Fast forward to last night. I was excited to be able to head back to UCLA and see The Wibberlys be honored with an award, enjoy a screening of NATIONAL TREASURE (which holds up really well -- I saw it 10 years ago when it first came out and it was just as enjoyable this time around), and then hear Cormac and Marianne speak about the film after. The only bummer of the night? There were just 10 of us there for the screening. The thing about people no going to things in LA? Totally true. UCLA couldn't even fill a theater with film students for this event. Just crazy.

But, that meant that we had a nice intimate evening with the screenwriters. No mikes, I just loudly asked my question from a few rows back, and then we held court in the reception area as they shared stories of Jerry Bruckheimer and their college days and what it's like to be married to your writing partner. And best of all? I got a huge smile from Marianne when I whipped out the COMMON LAW DVD and asked her to sign it.

Sometimes we meet people we've admired and they fail to meet our expectations. And then sometimes we meet people and they exceed those expectations and it turns out to be just a fun night. One more adventure for the books. I'm glad last night was one of those nights.

Pepe Update - He Lives!

My really bad picture of Pepe from last night, see his paw on the white fence on the left hand side

Yesterday afternoon a friend asked about Pepe. I had no news to report. He had apparently seen the cage and marshmallows and by now stale Kashi bar and taken the first path out of town. Or so I thought.

Fast forward eight hours. It was quarter to eleven last night, pitch dark, and I was lying in bed reading. I hear a noise and couldn't determine if it was on the street or behind our house but I wasn't concerned. I grew up on the busiest street in Howell. Without air conditioning. I can sleep through almost anything. But then the noise got louder. Almost a purring. And yep, there he was. Pepe.

He walked by on the fence just outside my window. The fence that separates our side yard from the neighbors driveway. He walked the fence like he owned the place. Then he got down, on the neighbors side and proceeded to have himself a grand old time.

The motion light came on next door but no one seemed to investigate. I don't know the neighbors more than to wave hello and they have indicated to us numerous times they don't speak English. Which is a lie since I heard the husband speaking almost perfect English on his cell phone last week. But anyway, they are quite neighbors and their dog never barks. We love them.

So Pepe had himself a night. From just my listening in, he seemed to jump down on their car and onto the trash cans (I am totally guessing, I actually have no idea what he did). But I did see him on the roof overhang at one point. He made lots of loud grunting and tick-ticking noises while he was purring. Then he proceeded to walk along the top of the fence three more times. I checked the trap when it got quite but he wasn't there. I'll try some new bait today.

So Pepe lives. And lives well, I might add. No I'm not going to set out water and food bowls for him like a friend suggested. Yes, I still want Pepe to leave. Mostly because it's a bit disconcerting to have him prowling around outside my bedroom window at all hours of the night. Also because I know he's not a good house guest. Also, because I'm almost out of marshmallows.

So close!

In less than a month Angela and I will be in Paris. And then in London. And then in Paris again. It's so exciting it's hard to even comprehend. But then again, it's kind of sad too because in just over a month our trip will be over. I can't even think about that right now.

We've been doing a lot more planning lately. Almost every day we discuss things we've read or people have told us (shout out to Heather G for her awesome blog post just for Ang and I the day after getting back from Europe!). Several of Angela's co-workers are going to be in France the same time as us so while we're not meeting up, we're discussing plans and sharing tips and purchases. I know it seems like all we do it plan, and how much can there really be? But let me tell you...

A couple of weekends ago we hunkered down in our Corner Bakery and did some major work on London. We get in on Sunday morning and we leave Tuesday night so we need to pack a lot in to a short amount of time. And we have to leave some free time just in case we can sneak in a last-minute play date with George.

So that weekend we figured out our plans for London. We ordered Oyster cards to ride the Tube with which are conveniently delivered to your house for free. We bought tickets for one of those big red double decker sightseeing buses you hop on and off of so we could get the full-on tourist experience. We reserved a table for high tea at Fordum & Mason where it looks like we'll not only have tea but a full on meal and then belly up to a dessert cart. We bought tickets for the London Eye and for the Tower of London. We planned routes to get from our hotel to each of these places and planned to visit not only Baker Street but the famed Hamley's toy store (it's a good thing we'll be seeing the grandneighbors six days after we land stateside!).

We've also done a few things to make our lives easier over there. We've opened our beloved Rick Steves' travel guides and snapped pics of each page on the historic walks and made Evernote files so that we can look at our directions and maps on our phones (for free, meaning no data charges, with Evernote Premium) and not call too much attention to our touristy selves. We've also Mapquested our walks and our train rides all around both London and Paris, taken screenshots and saved those too. We're probably over prepared but it feels right, and it's fun to trace the routes on the maps and dream about where we'll be.

Oh, and we've also secured earlier dates for our Global Entry interviews! In just two weeks! So hopefully we'll be able to breeze through customs with an eye scan and a song.

We have a bit more day-to-day planning to do in the upcoming weeks. We bought two more suitcase locks this week to secure our backpacks on the Chunnel as well as our roller bags. We've gotten directions on how to navigate the Montreal airport for our Air Canada connection (shout out to amazing cousin Doris!). Oh, and we've got a pant situation.

We've realized, thanks to several friends, that jeans might be too casual at some places in Europe. Yes, we're dressing up our top but our bottoms will still need to be in pants that look decent with Nikes. So...we're on a pants hunt. When you're our size, that's difficult to say the least. If you're wide you shouldn't also be tall is the mantra of most designers in America. So...that will be our next few weeks. And a skirt or pair of crop pants might get tossed in the duffel as well. Such first world problems, I know.

So, lunch at the Eiffel Tower booked. Tea in London booked. Shuttles from the airport arranged. And each night, I still close my eyes and see those twinkly lights of Paris. I cannot wait.

Pepe 1, Humans 0

Just a little update on the Pepe situation.

Pepe is still king of Abbey Place.

With no movement on his part to eat the Kashi bars put in the trap Thursday, Angela did some research and discovered that raccoons have a sweet tooth and like marshmallows. (Hence, the pest control expert's desire for me to whip up a batch of Rice Krispie Treats). So Saturday we traipsed to Target, bought some marshmallows, and sweetened the pot so to speak. You can see above how I laid out a little trail of marshmallows and then put a few more in the back of the track thinking Pepe would scarf them down and go searching for more.

But no.

Monday evening the marshmallows were still there. Right where I'd placed them. The landlord called to check in (a surprise in itself) and suggested moving the trap or putting eggs in it. A) I don't know where to move it to exactly. The side yard isn't much bigger than the picture above shows. B) I'm not making Eggs Benedict for Pepe. He can just move along, which maybe he's done. Or so we thought...

This morning I peered through the living room window, on my tip toes, to see down to the yard and I couldn't find any marshmallows. Maybe something was trapped! But no, the trap wasn't sprung. So on my way out this morning I went to the back yard. And this is what I found:

Pepe, or some other mischievous yard creature (yes, we have back yard gnomes, the backyardigans, but they are usually lazy and don't leave their picnic table), had very nicely put all of the marshmallows into the cage for me.

Yep. All the marshmallows and the Kashi bars are now in the back of the cage. Not chewed on or eaten at all. So helpful.

I think Pepe is telling us to take our food and shove it. He doesn't need our help, nor does he want it, to get out of town.

So we'll see what happens tonight. I'll leave the food out there. We have the trap for 30 days and maybe, just maybe, that was Pepe's parting shot. Maybe we can have the basement entrances sealed up tight and say goodbye to our little raccoon adventure. Or maybe not.

The Pepe Saga

This is Pepe. He is our raccoon. And when I say ours, I mean he lives in our house. Allegedly, if you want to be precise. Under the house. In the crawl space. In the crawl space that was boarded up and blocked by several bricks. Apparently Pepe is quite strong.

Pepe came to visit almost four weeks ago for the first time. Well, that's when he made his presence known to Angela and I. We were eating nachos, watching TV and he walked across the top of the fence outside the living room windows, stopped and peered in. For some reason I yelped, jumped up and shut the window. We have screens. We have bars. But I thought Pepe might still come in. The photo above is our first interaction with Pepe. It was still light out, just barely, and he walked back the way he came and disappeared. I did not follow him. Angela didn't either but to be fair she was on crutches and in an arm cast.

This is the next night when we saw Pepe again. This time he paused in the second window and waited as I took about 10 photos. I think he knew I was getting the light just right. Then he climbed down the end of the fence and strolled down the sidewalk like he owned the place. And frankly, after seeing his paws and claws, he does.

This is the last time I took a photo of Pepe. It was a couple of nights later, much earlier in the evening, and he looks like he groomed himself for the photo shoot. He looks good. He watched me for a moment and then headed on down the fence to the sidewalk. After that we didn't see Pepe for almost a week. I'd tweeted and Facebooked about him and we concluded that he must have known his five minutes of fame were about up and was heading elsewhere. Maybe north for the summer. This turned out not to be true.

Last week Pepe showed up again. This time I didn't even bother to get up and shut a window or snap a picture. He came by a few nights in a row and I placed a call to my friendly pest control company. They assured me they could tango with Pepe.

Fast forward to this week. After several other phone calls and landlord dealings, the day had come to find Pepe a new home. For the night at least.

It's bright and shiny and very close to his old home. (Look close and you can see the teeth/claw marks on the crawlspace window!) And when the two grown men who came to set it up asked me for a Rice Krispie treat (apparently a favorite of southern California raccoons) because they had brought a trap but no bait even thought I was told this endeavor was costing THOUSANDS of dollars, I smiled to myself. Pepe might just win this one.

And so last night I baited the trap with a broken in two Kashi blackberry breakfast bar. I don't keep Rice Krispie treats in the house. And apparently that bothers Pepe because he chose not to partake of my offerings last night. No one did. Not even the cat that overnights behind the grill and spends the early sun moments washing her fur like she's prepping for her own photo shoot.

This is what I found this morning at 6am.

Unsprung trap. Kashi bars still where I threw them. And no Pepe sighting last night. It's possible he can read and knew what all the hoopla was yesterday when the big red truck arrived and the two grown men stood around talking about how he might like living in Malibu. I don't think Pepe wants to live in Malibu. I think Pepe likes it here on Abbey Place. I mean we have nachos and dry crawlspaces and that pretty great fence. And no one will force you to eat the Kashi bars.