Unwired

I have been in Howell for two and a half weeks now and I'm enjoying it so. Besides seeing family and friends and playing a lot of golf I'm enjoying being unwired, untethered from my computer. Yes, I'm still working and yes I'm still checking Facebook, etc. but I'm not sitting at it for ten hours every single day. And I am loving it.

True, I am not writing very much of anything. But I think my brain and my back/neck needed the break. I'm reading books, spending time just sitting with people, leaving my phone on silent more often, even leaving it home. And it's bliss.

Just over a week to go -- maybe I can find a little more balance when I get back to L.A....

Goodbyes never get easier

Yesterday we said goodbye to our pastor, Reverend Chuck Jacobs, and his wife, Ann. They have been at my parents church here in Howell for 13 years. Part of me was surprised it had been that long but part of me cannot remember the other pastors at the church well at all so I guess it has been that long.

I've experienced my share of goodbyes over the years, to pastors, to jobs, to friends, to relatives, to towns, you name it, I've said goodbye to it. And it never really gets easier. Which I think is a good thing.

As we stood in a circle yesterday, over a 100 of us at just one of the three worship services of the day, and sang Michael W. Smith's "Friends", I cried. Yep. As I often do when saying goodbye. I can't make it through a graduation, a wedding, sometimes even a TV show that's even remotely sad without crying. But I think that's a good thing. I wear my feelings on my sleeves, and my face and my hands and everywhere else. I think too often in our culture it's seen as a weakness to show emotion, particularly tears.

So yesterday I shed some tears. But so did many people around me. And it was really nice to be a part of a community who was mourning, celebrating and sharing.

Do you ever...

Do you ever have one of those nights where you're tired and you're kinda sore and you get into bed and all you want to do is go to sleep? And you can't.

Yeah. That's me right now. I came home tonight, watched some TV, read a little and shut off the light. I laid there and thought about the new book I'm reading. Then I started thinking about writing. And my trip back to Michigan next week. And what will happen if Angela has to have surgery. And whether or not I'll get up the gumption to work out again tomorrow. And what I'll buy with the Kohl's cash I have. And whether or not the macaroni salad will still be good on Sunday.

Then I thought about how I shouldn't have eaten both of the peanut butter cookies at lunch. And about how I was kinda mean to Angela when I met her afterschool because I was hot and sweaty from walking over in the sun. Then I thought about the movie I'd seen tonight and if I'll ever have an idea half as good.

Then I thought about the script I finished yesterday. The 69 pages bound and sitting on my desk with my title and my name on the cover. Then I realized I never applied for the church scholarship this year because I hadn't been to church in a few weeks. Then I felt guilty and asked God to please forgive me. And tell me whether or not I should go back to school this fall. And then I thought about if I'd have enough money to go back to school. I tried really hard to remember if my credit cards have any open balances. And then that brought me back to the Kohl's cash and how I really need to stop at Target for dish soap. And maybe some laundry detergent.

And I suppose, if you're still reading, maybe it's because you have had one of those nights. Because it's a quarter after twelve and I'm sitting here in the dark, thankful I took typing in community college so I can type in the dark. Wishing I could go to sleep because tomorrow is a busy day. Lots to do, lots I want to do, including getting up early to make the 12 mile trek to Kohl's so it won't take 2 hours in traffic. Ah, apparently shopping is on the brain.

But yeah, so it's just one of those nights. So I'll go crawl back in bed and read some more and pray sleep comes easily. Sweet dreams to the rest of you...

Polar opposite feelings

Last night I sat at my computer after returning home from my television pilot writing class at UCLA thinking, it is possible to experience hope and despair in the same breath. I'm proof of that.

I spent most of yesterday writing. Not just thinking about writing, not just fiddling with an outline or fleshing out ideas but actually writing pages. Writing dialogue. Coming up with character names and places and actions. I wrote over 25 pages yesterday. Yeah it's all first draft but it felt awesome. I felt like a writer and that's the best feeling in the world.

And then I went to class. With only one week left after last night we'd come down to the obligatory 'How to get an agent' lecture. And everyone has their two cents and it's nothing I haven't heard before. It basically boils down to two things: it's who you know and it's where you've worked.

This is great if your brother's an agent at CAA or your father's the head of his own production company. This is great if you came out of a writing program that placed you in an internship that naturally progressed to a production assistant position. This is soul-crushing if you're me.

I don't know many people in the business. And my one and only internship (out of the hundred or so I've applied for) is for a company that experienced a shift in staff after I left. So I sat here last night, listening to the tail end of a screenwriting podcast (my equivalent to watching bad TV before bed) and I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

"I've literally put myself in the position where I cannot fail."

The screenwriter was talking about how he quit his job to move to Los Angeles (yep, me too). He went on to say how he couldn't get a job and so he just kept writing (I know the feeling). So I got to thinking. Yeah, that's me.

I'm not a twenty-one year old college graduate who's living on my parent's dime (not that my parents aren't awesome and don't help out whenever I ask, and even when I don't) and 'trying out' L.A. for a while. I'm a grown adult who's made a conscious choice to move here, to write, to support myself, and to make a go of it. There is no other option. There's no law degree to fall back on. There's no trust fund that will mature. There. Is. No. Other. Option.

So I crawled into bed and opened the Oprah magazine I've been reading and came upon a story about putting adventure into your life. And I got to thinking about that. A friend from Michigan had just asked me on the phone that afternoon if I truly liked living here. And I answered, I truly do. Because for me, this is my home. No, not home, that will always be Howell. But it's my home for now. And if I don't think of it that way then I will see failure as an option. I can't go home because I'm already there.

So I got out of bed this morning and listened to the end of said podcast, and another for good measure (I listen while I 'teach' so it's not like I'm just laying around in the sun, I wish it were sunny right now). And the second one got me thinking about my script. It got me thinking about the pages I've written and will write today. About how accomplished I will feel after I've finished this draft. What it's like to hold a bound copy of my writing in my hands. It's pretty awesome. And that, my friends, is not failure. It's the polar opposite.

Career Day

Yesterday I was a speaker in Angela's classes for John Burroughs Middle School's career day. It was a good day, I always love visiting her classes mostly because I'm stared at a bit like an animal in the zoo.

"Are you and Ms. Knapp sisters?"
"Why do you and Ms. Knapp have the same last name?"
"I thought you were Ms. Knapp."
"Are you and Ms. Knapp twins?"
"Do you have a brother that looks like you?"

Yesterday was no exception but I also turned the tables on them a bit. I opened my career day discussion by asking them if they hated writing. Most said yes, happily. I asked them if they knew what a screenwriter was. Most of them did not. And then I just smiled and nodded when one child told me he thought my job sounded very easy. I wish.

All in all, a good day. One student told Angela I encouraged her to write seven stories about seven different animals. I think this came mostly from the prompt I had them write about for a few minutes: hippos who were found in the parking lot of their school. But still, it was pretty cool. And some of their stories about how the hippos got there or what they were doing was very imaginative. We had hippos who had come down from outer space via spaceship. We had hippos who had stolen a Ferrari. We had hippos who were there to go to school and hippos who were there to eat cars and students. We had hippos who carried signs protesting the legalization of pot. They were a creative bunch.

And the energy. You know, when you're in the trenches it's different, you don't notice how much energy they have and you have to give but I was reminded of it yesterday. And I was only there part of the day. God bless all the teachers out there. Seriously. If you know a teacher, do something kind for her. Tell her she's doing a good job. Take him a $5 gift card to Subway. Offer to watch her kids on the weekend for an hour. Seriously. You have no idea what they go through.

So yeah. Career day. I had fun, I'm hoping the kids learned something. And maybe, just maybe, I encouraged one of them to put pencil to paper and explore themselves a little bit.

The newspaper

For the first few days of my mom's visit out here to Los Angeles I went to the gas station and bought her a copy of the L.A. Times newspaper. Then I decided it would be easier, and cheaper, to get it delivered. One call and the next morning, voila! newspaper on the front step.

I read bits and pieces of it while she was here but not the whole thing. She read it religiously and pointed out good articles and funny comics we cut out and mailed to my dad. Then she flew home Wednesday morning. But the newspaper didn't stop coming. Yesterday, on my way out of the driveway to take Ang's car to be service, I threw the paper in the passenger seat. And I read it while waiting at the dealership. I learned about the whale stuck in the nets at Dana Point. I learned about the overnight failures BP had with the oil mess. And I felt a little more educated than I had been that morning.

I've been thinking I should probably cancel the subscription but I haven't done it yet. So this morning I grabbed a bowl of cereal and headed toward the TV. Sometimes I eat at my desk, sometimes I eat in front of the Today show (which I really don't like after 7:20), and sometimes I eat while watching last night's The Daily Show. But instead, today, I saw the paper sitting there. So I sat down at the dining room table and I opened it up.

I learned that the whale has been freed (and nicknamed "Lilly", though they don't know it's sex) but won't go back out to sea. I learned that children who spend copious amounts in preschool have a tendency toward risky behavior as teens. I learned that LAUSD can't fire anymore teachers at 3 school because of a court order. And I learned that I really do like the newspaper.

It took me all of 15 minutes to go through the newsprint pages. There was a lot I didn't read -- ads and the sports mostly -- but I also got a chuckle out of the few comics I remember reading as a kid and I read my positive horoscope for the day (You'll do what you believe in, and that will work well for you.) and I felt a little accomplished.

I think I'll keep the subscription going for another week, see if this trend in slowing down and reading something not on a computer screen continues for me. I like it. I like the feel of the paper in my hands and the idea that I'm learning about my community a bit more by not skipping "all the boring" parts while reading the paper online.

Also, I think I'm a bit prejudiced toward actual print newspapers. I've spent a good chunk of my life writing and a good portion of that has been writing for newspapers. I still vividly remember finding out that a story I'd written had been selected to run in the Lansing State Journal back when I was in community college. Some friends told my parents the good news at church that Sunday morning and we had to go meet up with the Old Car Club for a trip that afternoon. As we were waiting for everyone to arrive I saw a paper box and I ran down to the corner with the requisite 50 cents. I put my money in, opened the box, and promptly took out every single copy of the paper in there. I don't think that's how the paper box is supposed to work but hey, I was excited!

So, for what it's worth, long live the newspaper! And here's to reading it with a bowl of cereal every morning!

Womentum

(WOMENTUM> is an inspirational force gained over a distance of 5 kilometers applied to the eradication of cancers in women. (According to the EIF Revlon Run/Walk)

And today we saw that (Womentum> in full force. Us and over 50,000 other people on the University of Southern California campus, at the Olympic Coliseum, all walking with one purpose, for one reason. Because cancer has touched our lives.

It was an amazing day that started at 7am. When we got there the place was already packed. And the people had only started to arrive. But here's the thing that stood out to me the most:

Everyone there was there to help.
Everyone there wanted to make a difference and to remember someone.
Everyone there was showing their love in an outward fashion. By wearing it proudly on their chests and back and putting their feet into motion.

And it was a very cool thing.

Thank you if you donated money or prayers or kind thoughts to our walk this morning. We walked for Marilyn and Grandpa Jim but we also walked for so many others. We walked for everyone who fights this disease on a daily basis, we walked for everyone who fought with all they have and has gone on to a place where there is no cancer, we walked for everyone who has shed a tear or had their heart broken because of this awful disease.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, many are strong at the broken places." --Ernest Hemingway

Today we saw how strong everyone is afterwards. We have womentum and we're still moving forward.

Story

I recently finished reading the nonfiction book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life" by Donald Miller. He's the guy who wrote "Blue Like Jazz" one of the best books on spirituality and Christianity I've ever read. It's a book I've bought several copies of because I just have to share it with everyone. I love books like that.

So back to A Million Miles. This book was about Miller making his book Blue Like Jazz into a screenplay. I had no idea this is what it was about when I bought it for Angela for Christmas (she had it on her wish list). But it kinda fits perfectly with my life right now. And Miller talks a lot about story. Writing story, living story, creating a better story, those who teach about story (particularly Robert McKee, the screenwriting guru on the subject), etc.

But what's stayed with me most is not any of the writing tidbits sprinkled throughout the book but the idea that because of all this talk of story, Miller made the decision to create a better story of his own. And he encourages all of us to do the same. We have the ability to create an awesome life story. No matter what. All we have to do is get off the couch. (Well, that's what he had to do at least).

That thoughts stayed with me over the last week or so since I've put the book back in it's dust jacket and slid it onto the shelf. Am I creating a better story every day? How can I write my the best story possible with my life? I thought about it today when I got up from my computer an hour before I should have and went out to the living room and asked my mom to show me how to knit, again (yes, she's shown me, several times, and no, I never remember but I really really want to learn from her).

I thought about it when I invited my two elderly neighbors over for coffee tomorrow morning. I want to hear about their stories, more than I hear in passing when we wave from the driveway or walk to the Neighborhood Watch meetings.

And I've been thinking about it as I make decisions and contemplate making decisions that affect my life in a much bigger, overall way. How can I write a really interesting story? What should I do right now? Tomorrow? Next year?

I want to write a good story. I want to live a good story. I want to create better stories. The question now is how?

Me and tuna

I just ate a can of tuna. Yep. It's true. Me, the girl who doesn't like tuna. Who doesn't like any fish (this probably has something to do with my severe allergy to seafood).

I've eaten tuna before, this wasn't my first time. Tuna and noodles (a hot casserole) was a staple growing up and I ate my fair share of it and I liked it. And I distinctly remember eating several tuna salad sandwiches on a mission trip to Philadelphia because I was famished. I also remember that those sandwiches tasted better than anything I'd ever eaten and I appreciated the heck out of them.

But today was different. Today was me trying my hardest to be healthy. (And yes, thin but mostly, for today, healthy). I'm trying to eat more whole foods, more foods that are served the way they come if that makes sense.

I recently read a book called "The Game on Diet" by Krista Vernoff and Az Ferguson. If you're at all interested in creating a better, healthier life for yourself, I highly recommend it. Plus, Krista's a very funny writer (she's a writer on "Grey's Anatomy"). While I'm doing the game right now (because you're supposed to have 4 or more players and Angela and I are only 2) I am trying to put a lot of the principles into place. For instance:

-Less chemicals! Yeah, yeah, I like 'em too. I love Diet Coke. I adore ketchup. I put 2 packets of Splenda in my apple spice tea. But apparently chemicals are bad for you. So I'm cutting back. Less prepackaged food. Less pop (none in the house was big change number one), even less Crystal Light (sorry, Ang but I know you're getting used to iced tea!). And my tea doesn't taste so bad. And yes, I still had ketchup on my burger the other night, let's not get crazy!

-More protein, less empty calories. Before I'd reach for a bag of crackers or chips to accompany my lunch sandwich. Yeah, they're only 2 points on Weight Watchers (which I am still doing religiously). But they're 2 points that mean little in terms of fuel. So instead, I reach for the 5 point package of almonds - plain old unsalted almonds, and guess what? I feel better. And I really like almonds (this last week we also bought walnuts and cashews! Cashews! I thought they were only for Christmas but guess what? You can eat them any time!).

-Water. I am drinking water like no one's business. We splurged and bought these new stainless steel water bottles, three of them at Sam's for like 20 bucks. Now there are always 5 or 6 filled in the fridge. Makes life a lot easier.

-Fresh fruits and veggies. Yeah, they seem more expensive but I've realized, they're really not. Not compared to how expensive those 100-calorie packs of snacks are. And I've now got Ang hooked on asparagus. My mom would be proud!

-More movement. I bought this elliptical. I am trying to get my money's worth from it. (It's a lot easier on Wednesdays when I have 2 hours of "The Biggest Loser" to keep me going!) But not just that. For instance, last night Ang and I danced around my room for 10 minutes to some new songs I downloaded. It was fun and it was healthy.

So yeah, a few changes here on Abbey Place. Nothing big, nothing major, just making better choices. Hence the tuna. I ate a can of it, mixed with a teaspoon of olive oil and some kosher salt (I have the biggest box of this stuff, bought for some recipe I can't remember) and guess what? It was pretty good. And I feel good, I feel like I'm treating my body better. And hopefully, in return, it'll treat me better too.

A collaborative sport

The other night I had an "Ah-ha!" moment. And I cannot tell you what a relief it was. I was sitting at the table with my classmates and instructor and I just couldn't figure out why my instructor had given me the same note on my script multiple times. It just didn't make sense. I got that there was a problem with the plot but I couldn't grasp what it was. I'd spent several hours that afternoon sitting there, thinking it through (remember Victor Hugo's quote: A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor.), re-reading the notes I'd received and I just wasn't getting it.

And then "bam!" right there, at that moment, I got it. And it was a relatively simple problem to fix. Some characters had to interact earlier, a few scenes needed to be changed and voila! the whole was filled. But it took me several weeks to get there.

As I was driving home that night I thought about how I just couldn't get to that realization on my own. I'd tried and tried and tried. I'd made outlines and notes and charts and nothing worked. It wasn't until I was talking with other people that I finally saw the light. And that led me to think about how for most of my life writing has been an individual activity. It's been a process I do alone, with a computer or a pencil, sometimes with music but mostly just alone. Me and my thoughts. Me and my crazy brain. (My grandmother once asked me where I came up with my stories. I didn't have an answer, they're just there, in my head, and once they're there, I have to get them out.)

But now my writing life is changing. It's becoming a group activity. It's becoming collaborative and I like that. I like talking about my characters and storylines with others. I like trying to come up with ideas for someone else's characters. I like working through the beats and the outlines, working together, discussing, creating.

I think that's what drew me to screenwriting at the beginning. I love the idea that I'm just the start of it all. I'm just the architect. And I love when I watch a movie or a television show I'm fully aware that those characters would have nothing to say if it weren't for some writer sitting around with a computer and a few friends. I love that.

But that's not to say it's easy. At least when I write my Bones or NCIS: Los Angeles or Big Bang Theory spec scripts, I know that I'm drawing from someone else's world, I'm just visiting for a while. But now, starting this week, I'm going to be responsible for creating the world again -- as I embark on my first pilot writing experience. I'm taking a class on how to write an original television show, so once again I'll delve back into my mind, to my own ideas and work out from there.

But now I know something I didn't know when I began my writing journey: that I don't have to do it alone. There's so much to be said for spending time with other writers. For learning from, helping out, just going along the path with them. And that's exciting...

Philosophy of Teaching

I spent a good chunk of this morning applying for a faculty position at a local university. It sounds like a good job. I'd teach two sections of communication classes each semester, in the area of my choice (I'd love love love to teach interpersonal comm again, or public speaking! I've had enough of teaching writing for a while!). I'd also be responsible for the guidance of 175 students, helping them choose and register for classes, etc. I think this would be an interesting part of the job, I love working one-on-one with students.

So after I filled out all the boxes and attached all the documents I had to do one last thing: write a statement of my teaching philosophy. This should have been a simple task right? I've been teaching for almost ten years now. TEN YEARS. And that doesn't even include my time before that as a Sunday school teacher or a youth group leader. That's ten years of paid teaching in either an elementary school, middle school or college classroom. But I found out writing my philosophy out was a little difficult at first. And then I thought, wait. Just talk. Just write it like a blog. Just tell them what you're thinking. So I did. And I thought I'd share it with all of you too:

I believe a good teacher learns right along side of her students. I believe a good teacher tries new things, sometimes fails, learns from her mistakes, and tries again. I believe a good teacher encourages and pushes her students beyond what they thought they could do. I believe a good teacher does more than teach. She prods.

Students can learn a lot about the world from books. They can learn a lot about the world from the Internet. We now have teenagers going to virtual high school. We have college classes being taught to students on several different continents at once. However, what does not change is that the teacher has to continually prod. She has to engage her students. She has to ask the questions that aren’t on the pages of the book or on the website. She has to say, “Why?” and wait for the answer and then ask for a deeper explanation. She has to remember that Student X needs more encouragement than Student Y in getting assignments in on time but that Student Y needs to hear a few extra positive comments before she passes on the constructive criticism.

When I teach I am engaged in a dialogue, never a lecture. I love the back and forth between people, I love the idea that you can learn from another person or even just see something a new way. But most of all I enjoy the unfolding and discovering of what was there all along, of skills possessed and refined, of knowledge added to practice and what comes from that.

In the classroom my philosophy is simple: engage. Engage students’ minds, their mouths, and their hands. If I can do that, I can get them onto the path of learning. And to me, that’s the best end result I can hope for.

Putting a name on it

(Me with Mom #1 Chris and Mom #2 Mariyln)

Growing up with a large extended family that included a very close church family I knew several people who went through battles with cancer. But it never impacted my immediate family or my daily life. I never heard about chemo and radiation burns and the secondary diseases caused by treatments. I never knew the fear that comes from hearing that a loved one has been diagnosed. And then I got the phone call.

I remember the call well, I was sitting in the parking lot of the mall in Yuma, Arizona about four years ago. I'd just bought a ridiculously expensive nightgown in preparation for a spring break trip to Palm Springs. I was giddy with the thought of a few days away from seventh graders laying by a pool, getting a massage, sleeping in the queen size bed the website for the inn we were going to promoted. (Side note: I still have the nightgown and I count it as one of my best purchases ever!)

My parents called and asked if Ang and I could get on the phone together, never a good sign. So we did, in the car, with our packages staring at us from the backseat. And they told us that my grandfather had been diagnosed with cancer. And it began.

Then this past summer we got another phone call. Another request to get us both on the phone. Through tears my mom told us that her best friend for her entire life, our second mother, had been diagnosed with colon cancer. The world started to crumble.

Four years later my grandfather still battles cancer on a daily basis. He's tried chemo, experimental drugs, his teeth have all broken because of the drugs, he's developed infections, he complains in his quiet manner that he doesn't have much to live for anymore, that he can't do anything. His cancer is not curable but not necessarily fatal either. For that we are thankful. Not that he's still sick but that we had another Christmas with him this year. I am thankful each time I get another hug from him or hear his voice on the phone.

Marilyn, my mom's best friend, is dealing with a more aggressive form of cancer. She has chemo almost weekly though you wouldn't know it from the brave face she puts out to the world. At Christmas we had a wonderful family dinner and I was so thankful to be able to create more memories with her. Because my life is filled with memories of Marilyn, she is a part of the fabric that has created my life. I cannot imagine life without her. I cannot imagine her not being part of the world, my world.

I cannot express in words how much I hate cancer. How much I don't understand why some people get it and others don't. I've heard we all have cancer cells in our body but I wasn't all that great of a science student in school. However, I do know that it takes money to research cures. And that's something I can help with. I can help by raising ten, fifteen, maybe even a hundred dollars to help keep these two people a part of my life, my memories, my fabric for a little longer.

Imagine your world without two of the most important people in your life. Imagine those same two people suffering on a daily basis. Struggling to keep water down. Sitting for days in the dentist chair because the cure is sometimes worse than the disease. Imagine losing people you don't have to lose just because there's not enough money to figure out how to save them.

I know money's tight right now, trust me, I know. But I also know that the $30 fee it took to sign up for the 5K Walk for Cancer wasn't much more than it costs for dinner and a movie and I decided that small concession was the best thing I could do this week. So what can you do?

Can you donate $5? That's all I'm asking for, a small donation. I know I've asked in the past. I'll probably ask again. But then again, cancer's not going anywhere either. Not unless we do something about it.

Visit my page and consider donating: (click here)

I thank you in honor of the two names I've put on my cancer fight: Jim and Marilyn. I thank you in honor of the millions of women and men fighting cancer on a daily basis and their families who fight right alongside them. I thank you because it's all I can do. That and raise a little money and walk a few miles. It doesn't seem like much but it might be the push this fight needs...

Another Lenten devotion for you

Today the second Lenten devotion I wrote for HUMC's book runs. Here it is:

Luke 15: 17-20

And he arose and came to his father. But while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.

When I was growing up my dad would always settle arguments with a simple request: “give each other a hug”. And hug we would, although sometimes more begrudgingly then other times. But that request always reminded me of the fact that we were still family, that we loved each other despite what else happened, and that we were connected, emotionally as well as physically.

In this passage of Luke the lost son’s father’s first response upon seeing him return wasn’t to question where he’d been or what he’d done or berate him for leaving. The father’s first response was to hug his son. And to me, that simple act embodies the love of God perfectly. The lost son’s father exhibited that love to his son and my own father exhibited that love to me time and time again (and still does). An embrace. A hug. A physical act of pulling someone into your arms and letting them know that you love them.

How often do you hug others? When I ask myself that question the answer varies depending upon the day, how I’m feeling, where I’ve been, etcetera. But I know what I want the answer to be. I want to hug others regularly. I want to be a physical example of God’s love on a regular basis to those people in my life. To those people God loves and wants me to share His love with.

When I first started teaching I worked with first graders. They’re notorious huggers. And they’re equal opportunity huggers. If you have legs they’ll wrap their arms around them. If you get down on the floor you’ll quickly have little ones in your lap. And I love that about children. They love – and hug – so unconditionally. They are a physical example of God’s love to everyone.

I am going to challenge myself this Lenten season, and all of you, to be more physical in our expressions of love. Jesus gave us a very physical, tangible, expression of His love by dying on the cross. The lost son’s father hugged his son. My own father hugged me every time I’d do something wrong. Of course not everything can be undone or forgotten after a simple embrace but isn’t it a great way to start down the path of forgiveness? Of sharing God’s love? I think so. And I’m going to work at hugging more. Watch out!

Texas time

Near the end of January a few things happened: I realized I would have two weeks without work at the end of February/beginning of March, a professor of mine at UCLA canceled a class in March so he could go skiing, and I found the little stash of Christmas money and the 20 year old savings bonds my mom had given me when I'd been home in December. That same afternoon I got a phone call. The caller ID showed it was my cousin Jamee, who I love and adore and consider to be one of my closest friends. But I held fast and didn't answer the phone because I was working and on deadline for a table read that night.

Then the phone rang again. And I'm of that mindset that if someone hangs up and calls right back without leaving a message, it's probably important or even an emergency. So I picked up.

It was Hannah, Jamee's six year old daughter. She wanted to know why I hadn't answered her call the first time and I chuckled. For the next twenty minutes or so I listened to tales of her basketball team, what color their uniforms are, how there's another girl named Hannah on the team, that she just learned I live in the same city where they film her favorite TV show American Idol, etc. And my heart ached because I hadn't seen Hannah in almost two years. For three years in a row Angela and I had visited Jamee and the Brick family in Texas while we lived in Yuma. But once we moved to Los Angeles we didn't have the time or the money.

So that afternoon when all my ducks lined up in a row I made a decision: I was going to Texas.

And I did. And it was fabulous!

I spent five days there, Friday through Wednesday and loved every minute of it. I got to meet grown-up Olivia who's now almost three and was only a babe the last time I was there. In fact, Olivia and I became best buds. I got to cook with all three kids, grocery shop for veggies and fruits (their favorite), I got to comb hair and find shoes and visit classrooms and run and play and laugh and cry and wipe away tears and kiss cuts. I got to go to Swampfest and watch as they played silly games for silly prizes, I got to hold Olivia when she drank her milk each night, I got to explain to Hannah what mascara was and dab some glittery lip gloss on her little lips. I got to play Super Mario Bros. with David and laugh at how serious he became about the game.

And I also got to spend time with Jamee, above mentioned adored cousin and friend. We snuck off to the bookstore and sipped tea and sat on the floor and talked for three hours Saturday night. We talked while she prepped her classroom for a sub Sunday night. We spent all day Monday without kids and laughed and shopped and read greeting cards for several hours (so fun, really -- plus they were 80% off so such a good deal!). We ran errands together, we did the dishes together, we watched the Olympics and bad TV together (who else was aware that a GIANT sperm whale exploded all over a city street in Taiwan?!?!?). We stood outside in the freezing cold temperatures (it was 34 in the morning) and sun (I have the sunburns still to prove it) for ELEVEN HOURS on Tuesday holding campaign signs for Jamee's mother-in-law who was running for state representative. And even though she lost, we had such a great day. We sang, we laughed, we danced, we joked, we teased, and we talked. Boy did we talk.

And on Wednesday, when I hugged the little Bricks goodbye on their way to school I was a little sad but mostly I was happy. I was so happy I'd been able to visit with them, to be a part of their lives for a few days, to be a part of their memories. And when Jamee and I parted at the airport, I did have tears but again, they were mostly tears of happiness, of love.

And guess what I did yesterday? Started saving for my next trip this summer. Because Cousin Sarah needs more little (and big) hugs!!!

Lenten Devotion 1

This year I wrote two Lenten devotions for First United Methodist of Hollywood's devotional booklet. The first is for today:

Luke 4: 5-8

And Jesus answered, and said unto him, “Get thee behind me, Satan; for it is written thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and God only shall you serve…”

There are days when I really enjoy grocery shopping. When I know there’s money in the bank account, when I’m planning healthy, yummy meals, when I have the time to wander the aisles looking at everything. And then there are days I detest grocery shopping. I’m in a hurry and it’s raining and the line at the checkout is six people deep and they don’t have my favorite chips and I drop my coupons and I’m outraged that lean ground turkey costs a dollar more a pound than the fatty kind.

And some days it’s the same with worship and serving the Lord. I know, I know, it’s blasphemy. But it’s the truth. There are some Sundays when I wake up and am excited to put on my best clothes and drive to church and see all my friends and serve communion and sing loudly along with the choir. But then there are those Sundays when I just want to stay in my pajamas and drink another cup of tea. When I want to turn off the alarm clock and roll over. When I want to go out to breakfast and beat the crowd to Target.

And you know what? I think that’s okay. I realized long ago that I couldn’t beat myself up over every little thing, every teensy tiny bit of guilt I experienced. I grew up attending church every single Sunday. And we were often there on Wednesdays and Thursdays and other days doing whatever needed doing. It’s okay because I can worship God at home in my pajamas. I can serve God by helping out at the AIDS clinic on Friday. And I can pray whenever and wherever and God still loves me.

Don’t get me wrong; I still have to continually tell Satan to get behind me. I have to remind myself that I’m a Christian not because I go to church regularly (which I do love doing) but because of my faith. Because of my worship and my service and most of all, my relationship with Jesus. And I love that my God, your God, our God, has taught me that.

Me care

It's Sunday afternoon and I just woke up from a two hour nap. If you know me, you know I hate naps. I don't care if other people take them but I don't like them. I always feel like I'm wasting time when I nap. And when I wake up I'm all fuzzy-headed for a good hour or more. I just don't like that feeling. That said, you know I must have really needed this nap. And I did.

I've taken many naps over the last twelve days. That's how long I've been fighting this stupid chest cold. Well, officially it's a respiratory infection -- according to the doctor I saw yesterday at the clinic. But I've finally come to the realization that if my body needs it, I'm going to do it. Because I need to take care of me, no one else is.

Now don't get me wrong - I have people who love me and care for me and want me to be well. Angela has made me food, encouraged naps, brought my tea and medicine and been the best darn nurse ever over the last two weeks. My parents continuously encouraged me to go to the doctor and even paid for above mentioned clinic visit. Friends helped me with recommendations of doctors and clinics and cures and didn't disown me when I canceled plans.

But at the end of the day, and at the beginning for that matter, I'm the one who has to take care of me. I'm it. I'm the one who takes the vitamins and lays down for the naps. I'm the one who exercises and puts food into my mouth. I'm the one who's looking out for me and this one body I get in this life.

As the nation spends so much time talking about health care or lack there of, I realized something about it all. It doesn't matter. I don't care if I have socialized medicine or the best insurance money (well, employment) can get a person. I only care if I'm well. I don't care if I have to pay for it (well, I do but you get the idea) or if I have to work for it (i.e., exercise) because if my body isn't healthy, I don't have a very good quality of life.

I've barely written over the past almost two weeks. I've gone to work every day but I dread it and do my job as quickly as possible so I can lie back down. I've skipped class and stayed home from church. I've eaten the bare minimum to get my body through the day and realized that I miss cooking and spicy foods and variety. Does it suck? Yep. It sucks being sick. It sucks not having the energy to put my fingers on the keyboard much less get on the elliptical that's grown dusty in the corner. It sucks laying on the couch watching television knowing that a few miles away my friends are drinking wine and playing Pictionary.

But I also know that I'm getting better. I've got some medication that the doctor swears will help me over the hump. I'm resting and taking vitamins and eating my fruits and vegetables and I feel stronger. I haven't coughed at all today (knock on wood) and that helps me not be so tired. And I'm really not complaining, I know there are so many people out there more sick than me. But right now, I'm the only one who counts in my world. Because again, if I don't take care of me, who will?

Yes, I think the public debate over health care is important but I also think me care is important. I think it's up to you and me and each one of us to take care of our bodies. And that's what I'll continue to do tonight as I lie on the couch. And tomorrow, I'll start writing again, because that's up to me too.

Breathing in the City

Last week I found out that the public library just a few blocks from my house has a free yoga class on Saturdays at noon. Now I love our library, I've spent many hours there, attended meetings there, etc. but I was surprised because well, it's a library and most of the "classes" they offer are things like mah jong or black and white movie discussions. So today I rolled up my yoga mat and walked over to the library to check it out.

And it was awesome. Really. In Yuma I "belonged" to a yoga studio for almost a year and I really liked it. It was hard work, it was fun and it was good for me but it was also very expensive. So the free part here caught my eye. But this experience was something different.

I felt a little bit like what I imagine it feels like to live in New York City. Walking to a yoga class, settling in with all kinds of different people: young, old, in shape, not in shape, different colors, different sexes, even some very young kids. And then the instructor told us that if we took nothing else away from today she wanted us to take away the idea of breathing. Deep concentrated breathes that you focus on. For the first five minutes all we did was sit up straight and breathe in and out. She wanted to hear our breath. Then we breathed through just one nostril, then the other. It was a lot of breathing and it was exactly what I needed today.

It's been a busy week. I've spent hours each day grading rough drafts of essays, outlines, reference lists. I prepared and pitched ideas for spec episodes of both NCIS: Los Angeles and The Big Bang Theory in my classes this week. I edited my Bones spec and sent it and my screenplay to a manager. I applied for some internships and jobs. I volunteered. I picked a friend up at the airport. I worked out almost every day. I worked on editing my novel. I cooked and did laundry. I wrote two Lenten devotionals for my church. I worried. I ate. I went to see a sneak preview of Valentine's Day. I tried to be a good friend and sister and still squeeze some time in to read the third book of the Twilight series.

And guess what I forgot to do this week? Breathe. I'm not sure I did it at all. I marked things off the to-do list. I created other lists. I watched TV. I slept. But I didn't breathe. Not in the sense of sitting and focusing and doing nothing else and thinking of nothing else but that moment's breath. And I need to do that more often. As my yoga instructor said today, there is nothing more important in life than breath. With the first breath we are born and with the last breath we die.

This week I'll try breathing a little more. And I'm already looking forward to the next yoga class. Yes, there were too many people in the little conference room. Yes, some of them were noisy and came in late. Yes, the old women who run the book sale in the room before our class were crotchety when they were hurried out. But none of that matters. All that matters is the breathing.

This week I wish you many deep breathes. Many quiet moments.

Slimmin' with Simmons!

When I was little I remember seeing Richard Simmons on infomercials for his "Sweatin' to the Oldies" workout videos and "Deal-A-Meal" diet. Later on I remember seeing him on David Letterman and it was always funny but I assumed the workout was for older people and just another one of those fads. But just a few weeks ago I learned that he teaches classes right here in Beverly Hills and my immediate reaction was, "I want to go!" And go we did...

Saturday I headed over to "Slimmons" - Richard's exercise studio, fifteen minutes from our house with Angela. We met our friends Tanya and Tony there. We went early for the "Project Me" class ($12) and found ourselves being hugged and kissed by Richard and then sitting in circle around him on the floor talking about forgiveness, food, exercise and laughing hysterically! This class lasted about 45 minutes and then he said we'd let the others in and get started with the exercise portion (another $12 which I didn't think was bad at all for a class). All of a sudden it was chaos!

The doors opened and the people rushed in. I estimated there were 200 people in that studio - which is totally 80s, mirrored walls (even hidden doors are mirrored), disco ball, pink and green steps for step aerobics, etc. And everyone just found a place so we did too - and then the music began (not oldies at all - Black Eyed Peas to start, a mix Richard assured us he made just for us!) and we were off.

Now I've always been a bit timid to do group exercise. I was a horrible P.E. student in school and even in Yuma where I enjoyed the classes I always felt like I was a step behind. And not quite dressed right. And too big to stand in front. But not here. At Slimmons there was no time to think about that because we just started! It was amazing. Richard yelled and moved and laughed and everyone just did it and it worked - so many people, squished together, even working out in the hallway but everyone was smiling and moving which was awesome!

And work out we did. I was sweating by the end of the first song but there was no break. We moved and moved and moved and then got water and then kept going. At one point we made a huge circle around Richard and he pulled people in to demonstrate moves with him. And of course Ang and I had been identified as "the sisters" right away so we got pulled in but even then, I just focused on moving my feet. It was pretty awesome. (He also walks around and constantly helps people, at another point in the class I was doing crunches with Richard Simmons holding my feet still!)

After the aerobic/dance part we did toning with 8 pound weights (yep, all 200 of us) and push-ups and stretching. We ended the hour and a half class with a little pep talk about forgiveness from Richard and more hugs. It was really amazing.

I never would have dreamed, years ago, that I would spend a Saturday morning working out with Richard Simmons who was wearing a $700 red tank top (Swarovski crystals!) and his short shorts! What I loved most was that the workout was for everyone - there were skinny people, heavy people, coordinated people, less coordinated people, celebrities (yep! honest to goodness, in a movie being considered an Oscar nom, celebrity), and me. And I loved it. I can't wait to go back. And next time, I'll take my camera!

Worrying about worrying

I'm not really big into New Year's resolutions. I have a personality that borders on obsessive at times and if I fail to meet a goal it's not always pretty inside my mind. I remember the year I vowed to floss every single day (yeah, I know, something most people probably do all the time). It became nearly catastrophic when I went on spring break in the mountains and forgot to floss because there was barely time or the place to pee much less do anything else. Or the year I vowed to read the entire Bible, one day at a time via this nifty little arrangement. I did it but I spent many a Saturday in the fall reading for hours at a time.

However, I'm really good at motivating myself, I have to be to be able to work at home. And I'm usually good at keeping an even keel. And this year while I did make some resolution type goals for myself as I do every year (written in my day journal - they're very general and fairly achievable) I have decided and announced to several people I'm going to turn a new leaf. I'm going to try and worry less. The key word there being "try".

I worry a lot about my sister, the sister who lives with me. This is normal behavior for me - and for most people I assume, who live with another person. You worry about them. But this year I'm going to try and worry a little less and just let her be. I can't cure all her medical problems. I can't get her job back for her. I can't make her less anxious. So I'm not going to worry about it as much.

I also worry a lot about the future. About the fact that I'm 32 and I don't make much money. That I write and write and write and haven't sold anything in a long time. That I have a job that I wish was different. But I realize I can't control the economic state of our country. I can't force agents to sign me or producers to buy my scripts. I can only try as hard as I possibly can and let it work itself out.

I'm also not going to worry that I've made the wrong choice or followed the wrong path. I'm going to try and enjoy the ride. I'm going to sit at lunch with my friends and listen to them rather than worry that I should be home doing something else. I'm going to go to coffee. I'm going to hike in Griffith Park. I'm going to enjoy myself just a little more. I'm not going to worry if I don't lose three pounds this week, I'm going to celebrate the fact that I got on the elliptical at all and that I beat everyone at Wii boxing. I'm going to wear out my new tennis shoes and worry later where the next pair will come from.

I'm not going to worry that I'll never meet Mr. Right and that I am becoming too old to have children. I'm going to instead talk to people, go out, enjoy being myself and being free and living in this amazing city. I'm going to write stories and look every day at the plaque on my desk that I got for Christmas: "If you can dream it, YOU CAN DO IT." -- Walt Disney.

Will I be able to stop worrying completely? No. And I don't want to. I see worrying as a form of love and caring and concern. I worry about my friends and family because I love them. And I am grateful I have so many people out there in the world who worry about me. But I am going to try and dwell on it a little less. 2010 is going to be my year. And yours!

In love with Christmas

I feel like a little kid this week, just vibrating with the anticipation of Christmas. I can't wait to give my friends their handmade gifts. I can't wait to walk the loaves of banana pecan bread over to the neighbors (and yes, I had to cut the bottoms and sides off because they were a little extra crispy but I think they'll still taste good!). I can't wait to get to wrap my presents for Angela and my parents and put them under the tree in Michigan. I can't wait to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation with my dad. I can't wait to hug my grandparents. I can't wait to wear a scarf and mittens and freeze. I can't wait to see snow and sit on the couch and stare at the mouse in the matchbook ornament I received for my very first Christmas from my other mother.

Yes, I know it's just another week in the year. But it's exciting for me. I love the idea of people getting together. Of sitting and talking and taking photographs with my cousins. I love the fact that my whole family, all four of us, make the Christmas plunkett we'll eat on Christmas morning. I love the fact that next Thursday I get to go to church and sing Silent Night and hold my candle up high, just like I've been doing my entire life. And that next Sunday we'll sing Joy to the World, all the verses.

Christmas is my favorite time of year. I come from a long line of decorators and bakers and gift givers. And I love that. I absolutely love that.