And that's a wrap!

Eight months of preparation. Three months of writing. Countless hours of studying, learning, making decisions. Creating a look book (the colors and design and actual visual look of what the film will be on screen), watching audition tapes, considering budget, buying props, making changes to the script, hiring crew, figuring out how to create a shot list, creating a shot list, lining the script for said shot list, blocking out shots in my house day after day, cleaning the house, individual meetings with the cast and crew, negotiating COVID protocols, worrying, stressing, being excited...

Eight months of work. 

And in 48 hours it was over. 

We began at 6:15am Saturday and we wrapped Sunday at 6:02pm! 

AND IT WAS AMAZING. 

Every single minute of it was exciting and fun and exactly what I had hoped it would be. Honestly, it was so much more than I had hoped it might be. We had a crew that showed up and WORKED. Many of them are union members and professionals and signed up to work on our project for reduced fees (or no fees), to support our project and our vision and women-led films and yet, they committed to the days like we were a big budget project. 

When I was asked this summer by a friend what a director's job is on set, I said leader. The director is the person who sets the tone, who gets everyone going, who builds momentum, and who creates the vision we will execute. And that's what I worked hard to do this past weekend. I started by gathering everyone early Saturday morning and saying two main things I wanted for our project: number one, that everyone be safe, and if they didn't feel safe, to come find me immediately, and number two for us to have fun. And I think we accomplished both of those things! 

I had a directing cheat sheet I'd cobbled together over the past few months and years, things I knew I should do day of, for every scene and every shot. And I did those for the first hour. And then things just came naturally to me, to all of us. We came together as a team and made it happen! 

Was it 102 degrees at one point, over 90 degrees INSIDE our house? Yes it was.

Were there mosquitoes everywhere? Yes there were.

Did the planes from Burbank's airport have me calling "CUT" more times that any of us would have liked? Yes they did. 

But...we persevered. 

I think one of the parts of the weekend, and of the job, that I was most surprised at, and want to learn more about but really found enjoyable all weekend was the juxtaposition of the technical side of storytelling and the art side of storytelling. Here was a story I'd written, characters I'd birthed in my brain, into a family, into a world, that I'd formed. And this weekend, real people inhabited those characters, became those people and that family, and moved into this world in a very real, tangible, way. Theses actors held hands and ate donuts and carried bags and got angry and broke things and laughed...all because of this story I created. To see the way those two sides came together, to see on a small (but very heavy) screen I wore around my neck (sometimes, again, it was very heavy) what these actors and crew members were doing was simply mind-boggling. 

I watched as our Director of Photography (DP) changed the look of the shot by rotating the camera lens. I marveled at how the visual of the whole scene softened when our PAs (shoutout to Abby and Jaime, family friends who ROCKED their jobs!) moved the lights and set up filters. I eavesdropped as two of our actors stayed in character between takes and crafted backstories so beyond anything I'd ever imagined in their commitment to doing their jobs at the highest level. I smiled every time I saw our COVID Compliance Officer (CCO) turn on the portable air purifier between scenes to keep us all safe. And then there was Angela...

She was promoted quickly from CCO (we hired another woman to fill the role) to AD (Assistant Director), the person who handles the logistics of running the set. Angela kept us going all weekend by ALWAYS knowing what was going on, constantly handing me a water bottle, being ready with the clapboard for every single take (which meant being in constant communication with the Script Supervisor), coordinating who went where, answering hundreds of questions, helping to frame shots AND move the patio umbrella about two dozen times. She did every COVID rapid test in the morning and then took hundreds of still photos and videos for us to use for social media. The weekend just didn't happen without her. 

And honestly, it didn't happen without every single person who was here. And who genuinely seemed pleased to be here at 6:15am on what was mostly her or his day off. And that's the fun of it. We all WANT to make cool things. We all WANT to tell stories that don't get told often enough. This particular story is about grief and post-traumatic growth and miscarriage and on Sunday at one point, a large group of us had the most amazing conversation about politics and health care and women and it was just...one of those things that only happens when people come together. When we do something instead of just pretending like we can't make a change or be a part of something bigger. 

Speaking of change, on Saturday at noon, a reminder went off on my watch. As soon as we finished the scene and broke for lunch I went to my bedroom and did exactly what one of my favorite directors says to do as a new filmmaker. I changed my socks. Ava Duvernay says change your socks at lunch each day and you'll feel like a new woman. And she was correct! I was hot and sweaty and at the same time tired and hyped but changing my socks, it felt exactly right. And then I was ready for the rest of the day.  

Are there other things I'd like to go back and change about our weekend? Yes! A hundred times yes! Cooler weather, more time to get different shots, more time with the actors, a bigger budget, etc. And yet...I don't think I'd really change a thing. I know I'll be processing what we did for a long time. I'll write more about it at some point. And the job isn't done yet either. The DP (who now has his editor hat on) and I will begin the editing process now. We'll take the work that every single person did this past weekend and we'll distill it down into the best 10 or so minutes it can be. And then we'll send it out into the world. 

But for now? For now, I'm going to keep smiling. I'm still tired. My mind is still reeling from what we did, what I did. But I do know this for sure: I want to do this again and again and again. It was a hell of a lot of fun. 

#AWomanDirectedThat

To Make Something

A few years ago, maybe it was more, certainly not less but time is an odd thing anymore, I made a decision that I was going to direct a movie. My movie. 

I made this decision after a host of adventures in this industry, some good, some less than good, and then set about to learn everything I could about directing. 

I shadowed a well-known episodic director. I read books. I listened to podcasts. I attended roundtables and classes and screenings. I took classes. I signed up for programs and talked to other directors and actors. I directed a scene. I planned to direct more, to gather groups of friends and start the actual work of training. And then...well we all know what happened. Time became odd. Months morphed into years and here we are.

I didn't exactly give up on directing but when the pandemic hit I realized my project had to go on the shelf for a host of reasons. So I dove back into writing. I blogged daily. I wrote a new screenplay and another pilot. I wrote a novel. I started rewriting said novel. And then I got a text message.

It was in December, right before we were scheduled to go back home for Christmas. It was from my friend and former producing partner, Ayelette, of The Couch fame! She was thinking of dipping her toe back in the water of production. Was I interested? 

I was. I am. And so here we are. Six months later.

I've written a short film script titled Laughing Again. 

The script was years, then months, in the making. As most stories are for me. I write them all at once after I've been writing them my whole life. 

This year has been a whirlwind. It started with Dad getting sick and then Angela and I traveling back and forth to Michigan more than we ever do in a given year, much less in the span of a few months. It has been new and continuing waves of the pandemic that have created so much uncertainty and fear in so many ways but we've figured it all out. But when Ayelette and I first chatted on Zoom in December, I knew this was going to happen. I already had the central image of the film in my mind. I saw it as clearly as if it were already filmed. 

And it will be. Soon. Very soon. 

Yesterday, Angela and I took the training to become COVID Compliance Officers (CCOs) on film sets. We did this because the first week of August we'll be filming Laughing Again.

There's so much work left to do. But it's all falling into place and coming together and it's happening. 

This morning I received the first batch of taped auditions for the two roles we have left to cast. It was exhilarating to watch these women, to listen to these women, as they read my words. As they embodied the characters I created. As they brought to life, for just a few moments, this story I've seen only in my head and on some pieces of paper. 

Angela will be our CCO. A friend's daughter who wants to make movies is going to help us out on set. We'll film over the course of a weekend at our house. (Not the plan when we started but it seems meant to be now, #ClubCleon is going to be famous!) 

And I'm going to direct. 

Finally!

Recently, a friend asked if I was nervous about directing. And honestly? No. I thought I would be. And no, this isn't about hubris. I know I've only ever directed one scene in my life. And I'll mess up and I'll do it a bunch before I get better. But...I'm preparing. I'm learning. And I'm excited. I'm surrounded by people who are also excited to do this. To produce. To film. To make something. 

And I cannot wait to share that something with the world. Soon. So soon. 

In our pre-production days. On set. After. What an adventure. Let's go! 

#AWomanWroteThat

#AWomanDirectedThat 

This Lenten Season

Today was my assigned day for the Lenten devotional for Hollywood UMC:

Philippians 3:17 – 4:1

Agree together, my friends, to follow my example. You have us for a model; watch those whose way of life conforms to it. 

 

Friends volunteering at the HUMC Tuesday Lunch in 2019

One of the losses I’ve grieved the most in the past two years is the loss of my in-person volunteering experiences. Yes, I’ve found ways to volunteer from home since the pandemic began but I have not been able to recreate the time spent in the company of the people I volunteered with. I miss them. I miss the conversations, the hugs, the smiles, the venting sessions, the tears, the community. I had friends at my sister’s middle school where I chaperoned dances and cleaned out filing cabinets. I had friends at Planned Parenthood where I folded letters and addressed en
velopes. I had friends at Hollywood UMC’s Tuesday lunch program. Friends who knew me, knew my family, friends who supported me in ways I didn’t even know I needed supporting. 

 

And it’s true, I still have those friends. The people are not gone. But the time we spent together, in close physical proximity, disappeared in the blink of an eye. I haven’t seen some of those friends in person in almost two years. I haven’t hugged them. I haven’t seen the lines around their eyes crinkle at a story. I haven’t sat quietly together as we worked. And that changes a person. That has changed me. 

 

However, that change isn’t all bad. In this Bible passage Paul instructs us to “keep track of those you see running this same course, headed for this same goal” (The Message) and I think about that when I think about these people I volunteered with. Whether we worked together at church or at school or somewhere else, we all worked for a common purpose, to help others. We gave of our time, our selves, for others, to others. These are my people, no matter where we are, what we are doing. And when I talk to them today (thank goodness for social media, telephones, and yes, good old-fashioned paper and stamps), I still know we are running the same course. Their lives, and mine, still show that and they are inspiration for me to keep going. We share our love for Christ, and our hope for this Lenten season, through our actions. Through our lives. I’m grateful for them. I’m grateful for Paul’s reminder to take note of those who conform to the model set before us. Lent is a good reminder to take time to recommit to sharing our love, and to creating community with those who strive toward that same goal. 

 

Dear Lord – Thank you for examples, whether they’re from Paul in Philippians or from people in our lives today. And please Lord, remind us that one day our communities will be able to be together in-person more and more. It is that hope, and your love, that sustains me, and so many others, through this particular Lenten season. 

 

 

Angela's Advent Devotion for the Season

Angela's Advent Devotion: 

Zephaniah 3:14-15

“Sing…..shout aloud! Be glad and rejoice with all your heart!” 

 

To be honest, when I opened my email with my assigned Advent scripture, I was like who is Zephaniah?! But then I started to read. And I found out that he wrote his book about a pretty tough time in his country of Judah. There was a sense that the nation’s future hung in the balance and Zephaniah’s words could help. 

 

Okay, I can relate. I suspect we can all relate. We’ve gone through a pretty tough time lately here in our nation as well. The last presidency, the pandemic, now the pandemic part two…it’s unrelenting. And sometimes, I have a hard time seeing a way out of this tough time. 

 

And so when I started reading Zephaniah, I realized him and all of Judah were going through some things. It seemed the Lord was angry and wasn’t holding back. But… (there’s always a but in the Bible) if they trusted God, they would be alright. In fact, He reminded them that He would be with them always. And raise them up.

 

It’s that “but” that keeps me going. And I suspect so many others as well. It’s been a terrible year (yes, I’m talking about 2021) but…there were so many happy moments. Work has been harder this month than ever before but…I love the kids I get to see at drop off every morning. I miss eating out in restaurants or brunching with friends but…I’ve perfected homemade pizza and we have more frequent intentional catch-ups now. The list goes on and on. 

 

God (and my new friend Zephaniah) remind us to shout aloud, to be glad, to have a happy heart even when things are hard or were really hard not that long ago. And while it’s difficult at times, I try to remind myself of that whenever I’m down. While this may not be a season with as many gatherings as usual, I am safe and I am keeping others
safe and God is taking care of us all. That’s surely something to shout about! 

 

Prayer – 

God, you’ve turned back our enemy, figuratively and literally, time and time again, and I rejoice over that today and always. Thank you, for getting us through the tough times, and for reminding us there are always reasons to rejoice, at Christmastime and all the time. Amen. 

My Advent Devotion for the Season

Luke 3: 1-6

“Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low…”

 

Christmas has always been my favorite season. My heart brightens at the sight of the first Christmas lights spotted on a dark drive. My voice belts out every and any Christmas song I hear. I get way too much joy from wrapping packages and laying them beneath the tree. And yet…this season has felt different. 

 

Last year we had to make the best of things. We sacrificed being with family and friends for the greater good. We celebrated in our homes, alone or with our housemates, watching gifts be opened on Zoom, singing the Christmas Eve carols with a virtual congregation. So this year, when I booked our tickets to fly home, across the country, for Christmas, I thought my heart might sing. I thought my cup of joy would overflow. But it hasn’t…yet. 

 

Last year was hard. We lost so many, so much. And I thought this year would be different. And it is. But it is its own kind of hard too. We wonder what is next. We wonder if we’re doing the right thing. But isn’t that every year? Should we spend the money? Should we change jobs? Should we trust that it will all be OK? 

 

John the Baptist reminds us in this passage to prepare the way for the Lord’s coming, which is what Advent is all about. He reminds us to be content, to share, to prepare. Sounds simple enough. But then why am I not as joyous as I want to be? Why do I feel a sense of fear and dread? 

 

Because even though there are scary things out there, and genuine things to worry about, I have lost sight of what this season is really about. It’s not about the travel or the gifts or the songs. It’s about preparing the way for the Lord’s arrival. It’s about preparing for that baby who has come to save us all. And isn’t that glorious? The rough ways will be made smooth by Him…and all of that work happens right here within me. An important reminder as the season takes hold. 

 

Prayer – 

Lord, thank you for this season. For this reminder. For your gifts, big and small. A tiny baby, a unique snowflake, a friend’s laugh, a soft hug, a nudge to make the right choice. Thank you for, literally, everything. 

One Year Ago, One Year From Now

One year ago today we were sitting in our rental house on Abbey Place in Los Angeles, a heat wave melting us. We were working and trying to make it through another day of life in the Safer At Home world. It was Day 90 of The Distancing. At some point in the late morning Angela called me into her office (AKA her bedroom) where she was laid out on her bed, working, listening to a Zoom PD about something or other. 

Brent & Angela one year ago tomorrow

I found this house, she said. On Redfin. I didn't even know what Redfin was at that point. She sent me the link and we looked at it. We dreamed. She had made a list a few days earlier of everything she'd wanted in a house and it seemed to have all of that. And some. And so...she called our friend Brent, who became our real estate broker Brent and the next day (one year ago tomorrow) we would visit Club Cleon for the very first time. We'd fall in love instantly. We'd know this was where we were meant to be. And we'd put in an offer that very evening. 

One year ago.

I keep thinking, as The Distancing becomes much more of a memory, of all that life entailed a year ago. I listen to podcasts recorded last year and I giggle at the reminder that we quarantined our groceries for days on end. That we wore gloves whenever we went outside. That we weren't as big on the masks back then. (Well, we were by June.) I smile at the memories but I also remember the real fear. And I remind myself it's not over yet. We just have better masks now. 

The 400 days we spent physically distanced from most of the world was hard. It was devastating. It was, at times, simply too much to comprehend. We lost friends and family members we still haven't properly mourned. We lost time together which we'll mourn forever. We lost momentum and energy and fight. 

And in some ways we gained all of that too. We gained more time with family and friends then might have happened in another timeline. We reconnected with people via Zoom and FaceTime in ways that kept us up to date daily, weekly, monthly in ways we'd never been done before. Game nights became once a month instead of once a year events. Coffee with college friends became regular dates. Yes, Christmas wasn't as magical as it usually is for me but I adjusted. I rolled with it. We all did. 

Angela and I never would have contemplated moving much less buying a house if it weren't for that time. We likely wouldn't have started our Instagram cooking show that brought us so much joy and hopefully a little joy to some others. I'm not sure Angela would have ever perfected her homemade pizza dough recipe, a staple we now love and serve to family! I never would have taken the month of November to write a novel. 

I certainly wouldn't have taken the time out to begin meditating once a week, on a schedule, had I been in production on my film instead of locked inside. The film will still happen, one day, but I also know the meditation will continue. I still remember how it felt that first Wednesday night when we sat down to worship and the meditation was so new, and so welcome. 

One year ago Club Cleon was but a dream. A dream we barely dared dreaming. We sat and looked at those photos on that website and wondered what if. And then we bought Bob the tomato a bigger house and thought, no, this can't possibly happen. 

And yet it did. 

As we move back toward one another, toward the way things used to be, I have to think that The Distancing gave as much as it took. I have to have faith that we'll come out the other side of this OK. Not great, not happy, not even better. Just OK. I have to have that faith so that I can continue on. So I can keep venturing out, in my dreams, and in my physical space. 

One year ago. 

What will one year from now become? 

Guest Blog - Angela's Lenten Devotion

Angela's lenten devotion written for Hollywood United Methodist Church: 

Psalm 51: 1-2 

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. 

One of my jobs as an educator is to teach students that it’s ok to make mistakes. We often discuss that once a mistake is made, the best thing that the student can do is to adjust their behavior moving forward. If I am being honest, it usually doesn’t take the first time, especially in middle school. Sometimes I have that conversation many, many times with the same student. And that’s ok, because the students know that I am going to listen and give them space to make better choices. Middle school is just the beginning of learning how to make mistakes and how to move forward from them.  

As adults, we can be hard on ourselves when we make mistakes and it can effect everything from our health to our relationships. By taking our mistakes to God, we can ask forgiveness and begin the healing that needs to happen. The prayer that David prays in Psalm 51 is the perfect prayer for us to keep on hand and incorporate into our daily prayer and talks with God. 

Lenten promises

My lenten devotion written for Hollywood United Methodist Church: 

Psalm 25:6-10 (The Message)

“Mark the milestones of your mercy and love, God;
Rebuild the ancient landmarks!

Forget that I sowed wild oats;
Mark me with your sign of love.
Plan only the best for me, God!

God is fair and just;
He corrects the misdirected,
Sends them in the right direction.

He gives the rejects his hand,
And leads them step-by-step.

From now on every road you travel

Will take you to God.
Follow the Covenant signs;
Read the charted directions.”

 

As I sat reading this passage in my Student Bible (hey, pink neon cover from high school!) and in The Message Bible, I focused in on the part that asks God to plan only what is best for me. Jeremiah 29:10 is my go-to memorization verse, where God says He has plans to prosper me and not harm me, plans to give me a hope and a future.  And this psalm fits nicely with that reminder from Jeremiah. I ask Him for help and God says, “I got you, girl.” 

 

And as I sat there reading and praying, I thought about how I haven’t felt that God’s had my back much in this past year. I have felt alone (I am not), I have felt afraid for my physical safety (I have not been in harm’s way), I have felt anxious, I have felt scared, I have felt abandoned by the people in charge (we all were), I have felt angry (join the club, right??). And I have had a hard time focusing on what I should be focusing on, what God has laid out for me. And none of those feelings have anything to do with God changing, they’ve all been because of me changing. 

 

He promises me I will never be alone. He promises me I will be alright with him. And yet…I stray. I spend time reading the news and being angry and trying to make a difference and all of that is OK. I know that. But more than that, I need to follow His signs, listen to His directions, take His hand. 

 

I wake up most mornings thinking about what I cannot control. I cannot get the vaccine into my parents’ arms or others’ arms. I cannot will my sister and her students back into their physical classrooms. I cannot wave my arms and vanquish this virus. I cannot snap my fingers and erase the hatred in people’s hearts. So, I roll over and I pick up my daily devotional. I used to read it at night and sometimes I’d be too tired or too into Twitter and I’d forget about it. But now I read it each and every morning. There’s no excuse I can use. I roll over and I pick up the book and I spend just a few moments with God. I think about how everything is SO HARD right now. And then I think about how fortunate I am – because I know that God will send me in the right direction. He will listen to my thoughts and prayers and He will lead me, step-by-step. He is right there with me. He wants everything I want. He loves everyone I love. And that helps. 

 

It doesn’t completely take away the fear or the anxiety or the anger. Sometimes we need other tools to deal with those parts of our lives. I know that too. But knowing He’s charted the directions is a good tool to have as part of my arsenal. He’s there with me. He’s here with me. He’s here with each and every one of us. And we need Him now more than ever. Him and His reminders. 

 

Dear Lord – Thank you for rebuilding the ancient landmarks, including my soul. Thank you for marking me with your love. Even when the markings are faint, I know deep down they are there. Continue to guide me, Lord, even when I stray, especially when I stray. Amen. 

Angela's Advent Devotion

Angela's Advent Devotion

Mark 13:32-36

But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come…

Telling a child that Santa is watching makes parenting a wee bit easier in the months leading up to Christmas. No one wants Santa to take away their gifts because they were whiny or misbehaved at the mall. As an adult who still gets presents from Santa, I make sure to mind my Ps and Qs this time of year as well.

Here’s the thing, God is always watching. It is up to us to remember that and act accordingly. Not just on Sunday or when we remember. It is up to us to have empathy for those around us, to share in the joy and pain we see around us.

Throughout the past few months, heartbreaking and challenging as they have been, a theme has emerged from the Zoom calls with colleagues, friends and family. Give grace. The whole world is struggling, and our lives have changed so dramatically in such a short period of time. We are encouraging one another to extend grace to those around us and to ourselves. We are doing enough, we are enough.

When we are able move forward as a society, I hope we do not lose the idea of extending grace to those around us. The truth is we can never know another person’s circumstances or experiences. Just as Santa is watching during the Christmas season, God is watching through all the seasons. Each time we extend grace we honor and renew our commitment to be the Christians God has taught us to be.

Prayer: 

Dear God, thank you for the grace you extend to each and every person, may we follow your example and be your light this holiday season.

The season of Advent is upon us...

Today is the first day of Advent and I wrote the devotion for Hollywood United Methodist Church to start the season.  

Isaiah 40:28-31

“Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

When I opened up my email to see which scripture I’d been assigned for this year’s advent devotion, I read my verses and thought, yeah, that’s about right. That’s so 2020. That’s exactly what I’m feeling…

 

I have grown weary and I feel powerless, I am exhausted and I sometimes have a hard time understanding what’s happening and more so, why it’s happening. It’s been a year full of sickness and strife and so much pain. So. Much. Pain. 

 

I am heartbroken for so many, for our world. I am sad all the time. I am angry all the time. I am fragile and jaded all at once. And yet…

 

This passage from Isaiah reminds me that there is help. It reminds me that even though this year has been one like no other I’ve experienced; God is in control. He will renew me when I cannot renew myself. He will help me to stand tall and confident and He will shore up my reserves. And I need that. Every. Single. Day.

 

This advent season will be so different from any we’ve ever experienced. We will not gather in person to worship or celebrate. We will not gather in person to exchange gifts and eat cookies. We will not carol with friends. We will not shop in malls. We will not eat and drink and be merry in public or with anyone who doesn’t live in our house. We will celebrate differently but we will still celebrate. 

 

For the Lord will renew us regardless of what the world throws at us. And we will mount up with wings like eagles. We will hunker down and be thankful for what we have and that we are healthy and able to stay at home when we can. We will run and not be weary. We will wear masks and smile with our eyes, spreading the news of Jesus’ birth online and via the postal service. We will walk and not faint. We will be hopeful for what tomorrow will bring, knowing God will protect us, that He will save us. He’s got us. 

 

Advent is about waiting and preparing. We do that as we get ready for the baby Jesus’ birth. We do that too as we get ready for life after the pandemic. We put our faith and trust in Him. We believe in Him. We love Him. Because no matter how tired and powerless we feel, He loves us, He strengthens us. Every. Single. Day. 

 

Prayer – God, please hold our communities close. Please be with every person who is doing their part to make this world safer, healthier, happier, better. Please strengthen all of us. You are amazing, God. And we remember that, even in the darkest of days. Amen. 

  

I do not know what tomorrow will bring but...

Four years ago I wrote a blog post entitled: What happens next. In it I wrote about my sadness, my disappointment, and my determination not to quiet my voice. We had experienced a long election season and I had campaigned mightily for Hillary Clinton, among others. And we lost. 

I wrote these words at the end of that post: 

Be that person who's not just asking what happens next but actually be that person who goes out and does what happens next. Because what happens next will be extraordinary. It has to be.

And it's true. The last four years have been extraordinary. I have never been so invested in so many issues and projects outside of myself. Four years. I keep thinking about how my life is so very similar to how it was all those days ago. And yet, how it's so very different. 

Since 2016, I've made a web series. I've committed to directing a movie (pandemic-pending, but isn't everything?!). I've helped feed and cloth people. I've raised money. I've raised awareness. I've helped make sustainable menstrual health solutions for girls and women around the world. I've marched for and worked to help educators and students. And I've worked to Get Out The Vote more because I believe that is one of the most important things we can do. We need leaders who we can be proud of. We need leaders who look like us. ALL OF US. We need leaders with empathy. We need leaders who are smart. We need leaders who are women. And I've tried to help with that. And I'm proud of every single person I know who's doing all of these things too and so much more. 

So much has happened in the last four years. And yet, when I think back, I'm immediately flooded with stomach-churning memories of that night. The night we knew the election wasn't ours. Of the day after when I needed comfort from friends and family. When friends and family needed comfort from me. When we hugged and cried and decided we'd grieve but we'd try again. Because...

What else is there? 

These last four years have not been ordinary. They have not been easy. They have not been palatable. They have not been calm. Not for one moment. They have been violent. They have been heartbreaking. They have been maddening. They have been full of terror and anger and astonishment. 

I've never invested so much time into learning about my country, my government, foreign policy, community movements. And while I'm exhausted by it all, I have no right to be. I am a citizen. I am a woman. I should expect this from myself. I should expect to be involved. To be constantly learning and evolving and sharing. As part of a community, a country, I need to do better. Be better. TRY HARDER. We all do. 

I do not know what tomorrow will bring. I am equal parts terrified and excited, hopeful and anxious, angry and ecstatic. I do not know what tomorrow will bring. But I do know that the next four years will again, be extraordinary. They have to be. 

My mother, my grandmothers, and my great-grandmothers fought for me every day. They fought for me in ways big and small, by marching with their minds and with their feet. They wanted to make this world a better place for all of us, not just women. And I will pick up that baton, whatever tomorrow's outcome is. I will continue on. I will remind myself of that through the dread and the fear and the small glimmer of hope. I have to be the person who's not just asking what happens next but actually be that person who goes out and does what happens next. We all have to be that person. And it starts tomorrow, by voting. 

Please, BE A VOTER. Tomorrow and always. 

200 Days

Angela & our 200 Days of Distancing pie

Two hundred days ago was a Saturday. It was our very first day of The Distancing. We started a jigsaw puzzle. We assessed our grocery situation. We called our parents and texted our friends. We watched the first Fast and Furious movie. That seems like a lifetime ago. And yet I remember it so very clearly. 

In the past 200 days we've lost 200,000 Americans to this virus. To COVID-19. That terrifies me. And so I stay at home. I read the news day and night. I watch funny shows to dull that fear. I bake. I cook. I eat cheese and crackers for Sunday dinner. I cry. I rage. I take pictures. I write on my laptop, in a journal, on Instagram. 

We've experienced the start of three seasons during Safer At Home. Spring, summer, and today, fall. When Angela said last night that today is the first day of fall I replied, RUDE. And that's my general mood. I have friends and family who finished their distancing months ago, tens of thousands deaths ago. I try to remind myself I cannot control that. What I can control is my household, my environment, my actions, myself. 

So much has changed in the past 200 days. We moved. We left the house we'd called home for 12 years and bought a place to call our own for hopefully as long and beyond. We've lost people we love. My hair is so long. Angela's might be longer. We've grieved lost vacations, lost opportunities, and lost time with people, maybe the worst part of all of this. We cannot get that time back. 

Angela and I often talk about how this period has been a blessing to us and some of our family in so many ways. We firmly believe we would not have this house if COVID hadn't happened. We know people who would not have life changing opportunities if not for this pandemic. Our lives would have taken a very different path. But that path would have led us to Alaska and Vancouver and making a movie. A MOVIE. Instead we now own a swimming pool and luxuriate in central air conditioning while celebrating a script of mine winning a writing contest. Different timelines for sure. Better? Worse? We can't dwell on that too much. There's too much heartache. 

Two hundred days ago my toes were painted bright pink. I had a week-old pedicure. Today my toes are the color I was born with and they need their bi-monthly trim. I miss the pedicures. I miss the pampering. I miss the ladies who smiled when we walked in and always asked how our dad was. But when I took off that pink polish at the end of March I noticed my nails were slightly yellow underneath and had some weird ridges. Today? Today my nails are not at all yellow and they are perfectly formed as my toenails should be. They needed the time to breath after 14+ years of never having seen the light of day except for a few minutes between polish changes. Isn't it interesting what 200 days can teach us. 

In the last 200 days I've grown a tomato plant and eaten more tomatoes than I probably have in the past two years. Angela had never willingly eaten tomatoes before this. Now she requests bruschetta when we have extras. We learned to make our own pizza dough for a fraction of the price we used to pay for ready made pies elsewhere. I definitely never would have done that in the other timeline.

I've done almost 200 days of Spanish lessons, I've taken several photography classes, I've done a daily devotional and I've completed almost 200 daily crosswords from the LA Times. All things I likely would have never attempted or completed if not for the Distancing. 

The Distancing introduced us to Zoom game nights which I hope to continue with our friends and family across the country even when we can travel again. The Distancing has reintroduced us to people who we now chat with regularly who we hadn't spent time with regularly in decades. For that, I can never not be grateful. But the Distancing has stopped us from celebrating birthdays and births and lazy July days with those we love. The Distancing has instilled something in me that is not new but it certainly is distinct.

I live life constantly in fear. I know all of us do. Even if we pretend we don't. We fear aging. We fear losing people. We fear failure. We fear they'll be out of guac at Chipotle. Three hundred days ago I feared catching a cold or the flu but I mitigated the exposure by justifying I'd get over it. As someone with an autoimmune disease I have always been extremely susceptible to illness. I accept that even though I fear it and hate it. When I worked and/or volunteered in places where germs spread readily (i.e., schools or churches) I used hand sanitizer more than anyone should. And I accepted my fate that I'd likely end the Book Fair or the fall event with a cold. More often than not I'd get off an airplane with a head cold. Christmas vacation wasn't Christmas vacation without some form of sickness. I've played golf in the middle of August with a sinus infection. It's just my lot in life. There is so much worse I could have to deal with. But this...this time...it's different.

Two hundred days of being at home. Well, at two homes. We managed a safe move and for that I'll always be impressed and happily surprised. Two hundred days of mounting death tolls. Two hundred thousand souls we pray for and millions more left behind we grieve with. Two hundred days of making silly baking shows that bring us as much laughter as we hope that do our friends. Two hundred days of learning new words and swearing when we don't know old ones over the crossword with my parents on FaceTime. Two hundred days of opening our phones in the morning fearful of what the day might possibly bring next. Two hundred days of jigsaw puzzles and podcasts and crying for no reason and crying for every reason and not sleeping and sleeping in too late and no one even noticing because there are no longer time cards. Two hundred days of wondering if we could just go back and do it all over again, would we? Because then these two hundred days of life would vanish. And they haven't been all terrible. We laugh through the tears eventually. We order Twizzlers from Instacart. We remember when we couldn't buy fresh fruit and we couldn't get grocery deliveries or Advil from Target and we think about the fear we felt then we with a sense of nostalgia. And then we wish for that naive nostalgia because we wonder if tomorrow will really be worse. And in a way, it will be. We know more. And that's good and bad. 

My prayer is that in 200 more days life is drastically different. And at the same time I hope it's somewhat the same. That's the joy of being human isn't it? We yearn for comfort and we long for adventure. We can't have both. But we can. 

Two hundred days. A lifetime in the blink of an eye. 

12 Years Ago Today

Twelve years ago today I moved to Los Angeles to become a UCLA Bruin. I moved here to Los Angeles to become a screenwriter. I moved here to Los Angeles to tell stories. And what I didn't know then was I moved to Los Angeles to meet some amazing people, form some life-changing relationships, and learn so much more than I ever could imagine, most of it not inside those college walls. 

Twelve years ago I was sure I'd write a movie, get discovered by an agent, and have a career. Bing, bang, boom! Ah, what I didn't know then could fill the universe. What I still don't know today could fill several. But what I've learned has been invaluable. At UCLA I met friends I still have, some live just down the street from me and we pick up right where we left off whether it's been two hours or two years since we last talked. Some live across the country, have moved on to different jobs, and I click like on their babies' photos on Facebook and exchange birthday and Christmas cards. Some I cry in front of, others I only share the positive with. Every one of them has been and is so important to me. They have formed me and my path in LA. 

At UCLA I learned that the most important part of any story is conflict. That was drilled into me. I had to sign a contract about it and everything. Conflict in every story. In every act. In every scene. In every sentence. It's something I think about daily when I sit down to work: am I writing in the highest conflict available? For me, it's a plumb line when things start to overwhelm me at my desk. But it's also served me well in life. Oftentimes, the important things are discovered and achieved only through conflict. And conflict doesn't necessarily mean a fistfight, at times it's struggle in my brain, or my heart. But conflict is almost always the precursor to a happy ending...which is important to remember as well. Whether I'm at my desk or not.  

If you'd asked me 12 years ago where I'd be today, I'd have had some answer about writing movies, or working on a television show maybe. And I'm not sure at that moment I really knew what that meant. And it's certainly part of where I am right now. But I'm also doing dozens of other things. It's researching for hours on end, it's thinking about writing a novel, it's playing with short stories, it's studying crowdfunding, it's opening the big directing books that sit on my desk and trying not to feel overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed but not defeated, that's a key difference. See back in late 2019 I decided to make my first feature film, Love and Embalming Fluid, myself. I decided to direct it and produce it, with help from A LOT of other people of course. In early 2020 I met with several producers, we made budgets, we made plans, I got ready to crowdfund for production and we started talking about filming in September 2020. In Michigan. Making the thing. I was ready. I was excited. I was all in. 

And then of course, the world changed. Seemingly overnight. My copy of the producing indies book sat untouched on my desk for months. The envelope of money my friends had already donated to my production fund got pushed to the way back of the shelf. We spent days trying to get groceries delivered to our house, there was no way were were going to be able to make a movie. No one could make a movie under these circumstances. And they didn't. My industry literally shut down in one afternoon. What a thing to witness. What a thing to realize. 

I cried. I sulked. I grew anxious. I got mad. I'd finally got some momentum. I'd finally decided I was ready to do this. I could do this. And then the door slammed shut. And there were no windows to open. I stayed away from my desk for months. There was always something else to do. It was a global pandemic for christ's sake. 

And then we moved. And that changed so much. And then it was time to get back to my desk. My newly cleaned, surrounded by air conditioning, desk. And I started thinking about the film again. And I got back into my studying. And a thought crept in, amidst all of the conflict, that maybe, just maybe, I could still do it. 

Not in September, for sure. Not even this year. But maybe soon. Maybe after all of this. Maybe next year. 

And it's that hope, that small glimmer, barely discernible to even myself, that is all it took. All it took to get me to jump back in. To believe. To have faith. That what I didn't even know to dream about those 12 years ago could come true. 

I came to Los Angeles 12 years ago to make movies. I've done that already. (Shout out to THE COUCH!) And I'm gonna keep doing that. Embracing the conflict, relying on those relationships to get me through, and knowing that I could have never nor could I ever, do this alone. I've got a community that spans this city and this country (and beyond!). It was my decision to move here to California but I didn't come alone. All of you came with me, all of you are with me every day. I love that, and I need that. That is what that small glimmer of hope feeds on. 

Guest Blogger - The Days are Long, but the Years are Short

Today, my little sister, Angela Leigh Knapp, turns forty years old. She wrote about this and asked if she could post it here. I'm honored. Happy Birthday, Angela. 

Some of my most vivid childhood memories are of driving in the car with my dad and he would ask me what I saw for my future. With the scent of wood chips in the air and wind blowing through my hair on warm Michigan days we would make plans to win the lottery and live our best lives. Sometimes he would ask where I would want to live if I could live anywhere? And sometimes it was what do you see yourself doing after college? During these conversations I never felt pressure, never felt that he wanted something specific for me, he was actually interested in what I thought. I honestly don’t remember much about my answers, I probably just wanted a credit card and to be a teacher. 

I have been on an incredible journey; one I couldn’t have imagined as a child in a small midwestern town in the 1980s. I have lived a life of privilege. I attended good public schools, was part of a loving church family, and college was not a choice, it was an expectation. When it became apparent that I had a chronic illness, my family let nothing stand in the way of finding the best doctors and seeking treatment for me, even when it meant going out of state and out of our health plan coverage area.

When I accepted a job across the country my friends and family loaded up a U-Haul and made my dream a reality. And when I called my mom, crying, begging her to come and get me because it was a horrible mistake, she said no, to which I will be forever grateful to her. 

That little girl dreaming big dreams with her dad has since graduated from college three times, lived in as many states, and has a job she loves. That little girl had no idea that she wanted to live in Los Angeles, and somedays, she’s still unsure. That little girl had no idea what 40 would look like. It was so far away, it seemed it would never come. But it has. Today, August 19, 1980, at 4:17 AM (EST) I turned 40 years old. I know society tells me I should feel old and sad, that the best times are behind me, but I don’t. 

I loved being a teenager, I had great friends, did well in school, had a large, loving family. My twenties were such a blast, so many memories, trials and successes. Honestly my thirties are a bit of a blur. I remember turning 30 and now it’s 10 years later, doesn’t seem possible!

My school district is always back for my birthday, so no big plans were made for my 40^th. I had intended to celebrate a bit early on a cruise in Alaska with three of my favorite people in the whole wide world. We were going to see sled dog puppies and blow glass! But as we all know, this year had its own plans. So instead, we have quarantined at Club Cleon and it has been life changing. This wasn’t just a move over the hill, this move has created a peace in my soul I didn’t know I was missing. 

Many years ago, someone, I can’t remember who, said to me, the days are long, but the years are short. This quote has stuck with me and I use it as a mantra. When work gets tough and I want to scream into a pillow, when a migraine comes on and I can’t remember not having a headache, when I am so lost, I can’t see a way out, I say this to myself. It is calming to me. It reminds me that this will pass. This day is one of so many yet to live. I am proud of the woman I have become. I don’t think we say that about ourselves enough. I am proud of the work that I do to make others’ lives better. I am proud of the relationships that I have with friends and family and I am proud of the work I have done on myself to get to this point. 

No matter how old you are, be proud of yourself and keep working on yourself, the days are long but the years are short. 

 

Saying Hello to Club Cleon

Sarah & Angela at Club Cleon!

Back in the spring Angela started perusing real estate sites. She'd send me links to cute houses, big houses, old houses, tiny houses, houses we could never afford but loved and houses we could maybe afford but didn't want. We talked about it at length and the search for affordable real estate in Los Angeles seemed fruitless. Especially in our neighborhood. Back in December we'd gone to one open house, and the experience had been so disheartening we'd laughed it off and decided nope, not again. But with spring comes hope, and with a pandemic comes fear and we were both hopeful we could some day improve our home life and fearful we could never. 

This time Angela even went so far as to contact someone from our church we'd met who was a realtor. He sent a few listings but again, nothing piqued our interest. We are handy and we cook and we craft and we have tools but we did not want to spend our spare time drywalling and renovating. Things looked bleak. We considered a move to an apartment with central AC and couldn't even find one in Mid City that we could afford. We resigned ourselves to living at Abbey Place forever. 

And then one morning Angela asked me for a notebook. I took her to the closet where I had a stash (#writelife) and she chose a slim brown journal. She opened the first page and asked me what I would want for my perfect house in Los Angeles. What were my dreams? And so we brainstormed.

Trees. A pool. Air conditioning. A garage. Parking. Two bathrooms. We talked and she wrote and that was that. I went back to work, she opened Twitter.

And then a few days later, on a Thursday morning, she sent me a Redfin link. And that was it. Just 29 days later we would have the deed to this house and be spending our first night within its' walls. TWENTY NINE DAYS. 

The process was wild but so us. When Angela wanted a full-time teaching job and Michigan was in the middle of a recession and not hiring all the teachers they were producing, she applied for a job in Yuma, a place she'd never heard of, interviewed via phone the next day, and accepted the job that afternoon. When I was contemplating film school and a move to Los Angeles, we asked why not and jumped in with both feet immediately. When we needed a new car, we researched online, walked into the dealership and said we want that one and drove it home six hours later. When we decided what we wanted in a house Angela found it (or maybe it found us) and that was that.

She called the realtor back up and said, hey, maybe we aren't done after all, can we see this house. He arranged a visit in less than 24 hours. We donned masks and gloves and he opened all the doors and we stepped inside. The house was empty as it had been for more than six months. We were in here all of ten minutes. We social distanced. We didn't open many cupboards. We looked quickly and left. We hadn't been out of the house much since March and just this visit was a lot for us. 

Our realtor suggested if we were interested that we should put a bid in. That night. So Friday night, we put in a bid. We learned we were one of at least five other people bidding, some higher, some lower. Mom and Dad suggested going a little higher. The seller counter offered that weekend. Not just to us. We hit a financing snag. We overcame that snag together. We figured things out, and we sent in our counter. And we waited. And waited. And waited.

And then Tuesday afternoon our realtor called and put on his best well, there were a lot of people in the running voice...and told us it didn't matter because OUR OFFER WAS ACCEPTED. I screamed so loud I'm sure the sharks in the Pacific heard me. We cried. We laughed. We sat there freaked out. 

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. We would be in the house only three more times before we moved in. We met with the woman who inspected it for us, her in a respirator mask, us in masks, standing far apart, mostly outside. Then we met with a pool inspector, again in masks, again, outside around the pool, for just a few moments. And finally we'd do a last walkthrough right before signing closing papers. All the paperwork was done online until last week. And it all went so fast and was so stressful but so worth it (even the blood sample Mom kept offering up next!). 

And finally it was the week of the move. And the pandemic was getting worse again. We'd only had to meet with three people total for this whole process and we'd all social distancing and worn our protective gear. But last week there was another money snafu. Which required Angela to go into two banks. This was scary but necessary (because although most of the economy is apparently reopen, banks are not. And bankers are not working at most banks (tellers are, learned that the hard way) and some aren't even open). But again we persevered and kept ourselves safe and got that wire transfer done! A traveling notary took the papers to Mom and Dad's house in Michigan to keep them safe and another brought the papers to Abbey Place to keep us safe. And then...we found out there was a filing deadline in California. After you sign your closing papers you do not get the keys. You wait 24 hours and then the deed is filed with the county and THEN you get the keys. 

By this point it was Thursday afternoon. We had the movers scheduled for Friday morning. We had the internet scheduled to switch on Friday at 12:01am. We had the entire house packed. And we weren't sure what to do. 

So we drove to the beach. We sat in the car and we looked at the waves and we smelled the salt water. And then we drove home.

And Friday morning about 15 minutes before the movers arrived we got the call that we owned the house! This is so us. We make a decision, and we plan, and we do it. And some how it works. Some how. Some miracle. 

The movers were great and safe. We socially distanced and wore masks all day. (Those expensive N95 masks we got at the pharmacy, and yes, mine broke about two hours in...)We used reusable green moving boxes that were delivered to us in a contactless manner. We found a locksmith who said safety was her biggest concern, who wore a mask and kept the doors open as she rekeyed the locks for us. We found a plumber who's suppling his employees with PPE and requiring them to get tested regularly. We had the requisite termite work done but it was all outside. So far we've felt very safe and very pleased with pulling off a move in the middle of a pandemic. We've had lots more time to pack and organize but it's been hard not being able to run to the hardware store or collect used boxes from stores or invite our friends in for a housewarming. But we're figuring it out. 

Another part of this that's been strange is sharing our news. For months now, life has been really really hard for so many. And in so many ways. So many people have lost their jobs and their homes and more importantly, their friends and family members, to this pandemic. And while we've had rough, hard days, we have been so privileged to get to stay safer at home, to get to keep a paycheck coming in, to get to order food that arrives relatively quickly, to get to have most of the people we know safe and secure. And so we had some guilt around this good news. We didn't want to share our move publicly until it was a sure thing but we wanted to tell some family and friends about it as we progressed through the process. And there was some fear and hesitation tied to that...

Ultimately, it's been a positive experience, particularly emotionally. EVERYONE has been supportive and excited for us and that's been so lovely to experience. We've needed this move, we've wanted this move, for so long. So many of you know we loved Abbey Place but we also despised it. We were constantly worried that the landlord would give us 30 days notice (as was his legal right, kinda...) and we'd have to move out. The sink was falling in and no plumber or handyman could convince us that the leaks were acceptable. The wiring was suspicious from day one. The bathroom and closets and bedroom walls had serious mold issues that we couldn't keep at bay. The list goes on...but still, with so many hurting and dying, we felt guilt at aspiring to this new home. Should we save the money. Should we give it away. Should we not share our joy. So many questions sat in our soul. 

Ultimately, we decided we had to move, we were fortunate enough that it all worked out and it was meant to be, because of so many factors. Living frugally for 12 years. Having amazing parents. Being smart about expectations. We know we are privileged and we acknowledge that. We name it and we try to continue to give back in other ways.

And now, with the Safer at Home order still in place, or again depending on who you ask, and with school going virtual in the fall again, we are so grateful for this space we have. For this air conditioning. For these windows (one word: mosquitoes). For this pool. For these walls and this safety. For all that we have.

Abbey Place will never be forgotten. But Club Cleon is the new, better, brighter, reality. And we love it! It is bright and shiny and new-ish (so far we've found ants, a broken door handle, lots of touchups to be done, and the plumber comes back Wednesday to fix a whole laundry list of items). And it is ours. The Knapps are now bi-coastal. And we cannot wait to invite you all INSIDE! 

Saying Goodbye to Abbey Place

We'll always love you Abbey Place!

We lived on Abbey Place for 11 years, 10 months and 21 days. It was inside of these walls that we laughed, slept, cried, screamed with delight, pounded our fists with frustration, spent thousands of hours talking with friends, hosted party after party, and lived our every day lives. Eating dinner in the living room, putting together jigsaw puzzles at the dining room table, making food to nourish our bodies and our souls in the kitchen, healed while lying in the beds, exercised while walking miles around the yard and the loop in the house. Writing screenplay after screenplay, studying, reading, posting, dancing, viewing, consuming, breathing, resting. So much resting. Abbey Place is where we met Betty, Bill, and Mary. Abbey Place is where we welcomed family from across the country and the continent. Abbey Place has been our home. And it has been an amazing home. It has been an amazing storage space for us with built-in closets and a garage and a yard. It is where we’ve grilled and grown food and washed our cars and watched the cats and hummingbirds for hours on end. It is where we felt safe. It is where our friends knew they could come when they needed to. It was always open and ready to receive. And now we have left it.

Moving is never easy. Even in the best of circumstances. You have to confront the why, the how, the details. At the very least you have to say goodbye. And then there’s the packing. And the cleaning. And the parting with what really should not go. And then you promise you will not forget. Because it’s rarely about the physical space. It’s always about the memories. The growth. The relationships. The stories.

I can tell you the exact spot where I killed every large spider. Some remains haunt the paint. Some remains haunt my mind. I can point out to you the plastered over wall where a termite popped out our first year there. I will never unsee the rats brought down out of the attic or the lizards under my bed or the earthworms in the middle of the carpet. The raccoons who played with the marshmallows in the trap outside instead of eating them will always have a place in my heart.

I know exactly where I was standing when Angela took my picture before I headed off to my first day of filming on The Couch. I think about how my dad drilled storage racks into the tiny bathroom our first night here. I knew right where to lie on my bed to get the sun on my legs but not on my face during the afternoon summers. I can tell you precisely where I was seated when my dear Trace called to tell me to go to the ER because she feared I had blood clots. I still smile as I think about every single conversation I had while seated around the table surrounded by people I love.

The backyard when we moved into Abbey Place

Moving is never easy. But sometimes it is exciting. When we moved from Yuma to Los Angeles on August 20, 2008 we knew an adventure was waiting. And that it has been. Jobs. Careers. Graduate degrees. Scripts. Web series. Relationships. Loss. Sickness. Healing. Life was rarely boring on Abbey Place. And when it was, we thanked God for that too. For the quiet winters when we locked up early, ate dinner at five and went to bed at nine-thirty. For the hot summer mornings that started before six because the sun was up and the trash trucks were on the move.

And this next move will be the best one yet, I’m sure of it. We’ve been pinching ourselves over the past three weeks (yes! all of this has transpired over just THREE WEEKS!). The world has changed, we’ve changed, our needs have changed. We can’t tolerate the increasingly hot weather as well as we once did. We need different types of exercise. We want more than just existence. We want comfort and happiness and contentment. And we pray that Club Cleon will be all of that and more.

There are checkmarks in both the plus and minus columns. We will no longer have a landlord. But we will be responsible for so much more. We will have air conditioning and a pool. But we will have more bills to fret over. We will not be where we’ve felt safe and comfortable for these past almost 12 years. But we will find that again. We are sure of it.

The backyard when we moved out of Abbey Place

This move came at the best time and the worst time. We are excited to create a space of our own we can thrive in for however long this pandemic endures. We can’t wait to have every single person we love and miss come visit and swim and eat and talk around the new, larger, dining room table. We were scared for movers and worker-type people to enter our walls. But we know this is the next step. This is what happens when you want more. When you work for and strive for more. You get more. And you work more. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. You tax yourself but you reward yourself.

We are so grateful for all Abbey Place has given us. And we can’t wait to learn what Club Cleon has in store for us.