Happy 96th Birthday Grandma

Today would have been my Great Grandma Ruth's 96th birthday. All month I've been looking at her name on my calendar. I'm a card sender and I kept feeling the need to send her card out. But I can't because she passed away in January. I also still have her number in my cell phone and I still remember the last time she called me. I loved that she called in the evening, late in Michigan but early here, because we'd be home. She'd tell me the same story about growing up in Yorba Linda, California and living just down the street from the boy who would become President Richard Nixon every single time we talked. She called more after I moved to California, I think she liked that I was here where she grew up.
These pictures are of a beautiful glass serving tray I bought in June. Grandma always gave presents on holidays, it didn't matter that she didn't have a lot of money, that she was the one who introduced us to government cheese when we were little, she liked to shop and it showed. And once I left home and got a place of my own my gifts changed from shirts and wallets to things for my house. I have a beautiful crystal bowl that I adore. A chip and dip server that comes in handy. Vases and candy dishes and just all sorts of things that are practical but really very nice. She had a sense of style about her.

This past fall grandma had to be moved permanently into a nursing home. She had lived alone for as long as I had known her, my great grandfather died the year I was born, and even though she didn't drive she managed to travel and go out to eat and was really never at home. She had wonderful friends and lived in a nice apartment steps from my grandparents' home. But she was getting older and had some health problems and it was time. So this was the first Christmas we spent without grandma at the table. But we went to visit her a lot over the few weeks I was in Michigan. We took her things for her room, Christmas gifts (she loved yogurt covered pretzels and crossword puzzles), and just sat and listened to her tell the same stories over and over again. But then the day before I was to fly back to California we noticed a change. She was agitated and didn't understand at all why she was there. She wanted to walk and couldn't and it wasn't going well. I left her that day with a hug, a kiss and a heavy heart.

Angela and I flew into LAX late on a Friday night. Saturday morning the phone rang before sunrise. Grandma had passed away. And as I moved through that day, that weekend, that week, very numb I thought about how it was really for the best. She was a free spirit. She missed her home and her life and what she'd been reduced to was not what she had wanted. So she went somewhere better. Someplace where she could be with her beloved Kenneth, have a kitten and gamble the day away.

This glass tray is what I bought with the money I got in my last Christmas card from grandma. I hemmed and hawed over the purchase for six months until Angela grew very aggravated with me. It was only ten dollars but to me it was so much more. I'd look for that perfect thing to spend the money on everywhere we went and I went back to Crate & Barrel several times to look at this piece. It wasn't until my parents visited this summer that we talked and I finally made the decision. It was also then when my mom brought the roses that sit on the tray. They're roses from the arrangement that we sent to grandma's funeral. The funeral I couldn't attend.

It broke my heart knowing I couldn't go back to the funeral. We'd literally just gotten home and the thousand dollars it would cost just wasn't there. But I took comfort in the fact that we'd spent so much time with her at Christmas. That I'd actually hugged and kissed her goodbye instead of just looking at a wooden box.

When my parents visited they not only brought the roses but several other mementos my mom had saved for us. Angela and I both got a cross necklace and a cat figurine (grandma loved cats but couldn't have one). There's a small dish for rings that sits on the kitchen sink window sill that reminds me of her every day and a wooden cross above a bookshelf that keeps watch over the house.

So happy birthday grandma, I know that today you're wearing one of your favorite sweatshirts, watching your programs, working on a crossword puzzle, sneaking a piece of chocolate and enjoying the freedom you deserve. I love you.

Turning on the TV within me

Last Tuesday I headed west again, onto UCLA's campus. Yes, I left early and no, there wasn't traffic so I ended up sitting in the classroom with a good forty minutes to spare before class started. But I didn't care. I was excited. I was ready. And I was terrified.

See this fall I'm taking a course on "Writing the One-Hour Television Drama". For the last year and change I've been studying feature film screenplays and using television for my escapism, purely for fun. I study every movie I watch for the three act breaks, the cute meet, the big gloom, the characters, the everything. I can't turn it off. I read screenplays so I know what happens in most movies before I pay to see them. I watch them over to understand how they work. And now I get to do that with TV.

It must be the same though, right? you say. A little bit so but then completely different. Four one thing TV has a whole extra act in it, and the thing at the beginning, the teaser. Also, each week (at least for most non-premium cable shows) you have to reintroduce the characters and the main idea of the show for the new viewers. Because you pray each week you have new viewers. So it's different.

What else? Oh, let's see, the fact that I have to write in someone else's voice. I have to use already well established characters and plot devices and settings. It's a little more like mimicry than actual creation. It's basically a whole new skill set.

So back to class. I found out that we'll be dissecting shows each week, writing our own beat sheets (detailed outlines) of them, and then working on our own spec scripts. A spec script is a TV writer's calling card. It's what's used to say, "Hey, I can write X on CBS just as well as their writers and I could do the same for you at NBC." A spec will never be read by the show it's written for but it'll hopefully be read by agents and others who could give me a job. So it needs to be good. And written as if it could be shot which means it has to sound just like a X script and has to be something they've never done. No small feat. Especially when some of the shows we're looking at specing are 80 shows in.

In class we've started breaking down The Mentalist. I've never seen it but don't worry, soon enough I'll be an expert in all things Simon Baker and company. Then we had to pick our show to spec from a list. I chose Bones for two reasons. One, I've seen every episode, many times over in repeats, and two, I like that it mixes comedy and relationships with the crime procedural format.

So what's next? Well, I've spent the last week brainstorming ideas. And this is where I start to freak out. What do I know about crimes and murder and forensic anthropology? Not much. And that I do know? I've learned from Bones and CSI and NCIS and all those other crime shows.

So yesterday Angela and I spent a few hours in Barnes & Noble pouring through the true crime and criminology section. (Patrons walking by were probably very scared, especially when I got all excited about what fire does to a person's cranium!) I made a lot of notes, things I hadn't heard of before, and started formulating ideas.

My teacher told the story last week about how he pitched over 100 ideas to two producers before getting his first writing assignment on a television show. Tomorrow night I have to pitch 4 and then pick one. Right now I have 2 very loose ideas. They're basically sentences. But they're mine. And they're what I've got so far so I'll forge ahead.

What I'm noticing already is how much I like the brainstorming process, the idea of learning about new things. I've always said I wanted to be a writer so I could do a million jobs: be a politician, a movie star, a lawyer, a cook, a parent, anything and everything. And right now I'm getting to be a forensic anthropologist and a special agent in the FBI.

Also, if you have any ideas you wouldn't mind me stealing, send away. By tomorrow at 6:30 nothing will seem to out there!

A very nice by-product

For the past four nights I've been out and about in Los Angeles. Three movies and last night a Dodgers game (my first Dodgers game mind you). I had a great time at each and every event. Tuesday Angela and I saw a free sneak preview of the movie The Informant! starring Matt Damon. Then on Wednesday I went to the Hollywood premiere of Jennifer's Body with a friend. This was something because it was my first time inside Graumman's Chinese Theater (which has hosted the Oscars and beautiful inside) and it was my first time see a horror movie in a theater. And frankly, I haven't seen many outside the theater either. And then on Thursday Angela and I went to a free sneak preview of the movie Love Happens starring Jennifer Aniston.

But you know what made each night, each event, much more enjoyable than I would have ever imagined? The people. The conversation. The fact that I had to slow down, step away from work and writing and life for a few minutes (in the case of the movies, a few hours) and just wait. And each time I got to wait with friends.

Angela and I met Daniela through our friend Emily, at the Big Bang Theory taping. She arranged for our tickets, got us to the front of the line, and got us awesome seats in the studio. Since then we've communicated via Twitter here and there. Then Tuesday who's right in front of us in line at the ArcLight but Daniela! It was great. See to get into these free movie screenings you have to stand in line. It's first come first serve. We've figured out if the movie starts at 7:30 we'd better be in line about 5:15. Sometimes Ang and I take a book or magazines but usually you're standing and moving and it's hard to concentrate. So it was great to run into Daniela, and her friend Eric, because now we had someone to talk to for 2+ hours! How fun!

Then on Wednesday was the horror movie that Angela refused to attend, frankly she's freaked out by the commercials for the movie. So I asked my friend Angela Garber to go with me. And the best part of the night (though the movie was really really good!) was getting to spend a big chunk of it talking with Angela. We've spent a lot of time together over the past year but we're usually in church, volunteering for this or that, or surrounded by our throng of mutual friends. And it was very cool to get to hang out with her one-on-one for a while and just chat.

Same goes for Thursday even though it was just Angela (my sister again, she was excited for this movie) and me. We ate dinner in line at the theater in Burbank and it was nice to hear all about her day and her week at school. A lot of the time we eat in front of the television but this was a nice change of pace.

And that brings me to yesterday, to Dodger Day.

We had fun, though it was a bit more stressful than I anticipated, going to a major league ball game by ourselves. We found the stadium fine but parking was a nightmare and we ended up on the opposite side of the stadium from our seats (and they won't let you in the wrong entrance) but we did eventually find out friends. And enjoyed talking and laughing for a while. Yes, I wore my Detroit Tigers hat but yes I cheered for the home team too. We watched some of our friends form a human red AIDS ribbon on the field (it was Strike Out AIDS night, thus the group discounts), we watched some ho-hum baseball (they were tied when we left, ended up losing), we watched our friend Pauley take picture after picture with fans and sign count autographs, and then we left early. But it was fun. And it was very cool to see the view from the parking lot: Los Angeles at night.

All in all, I have to say, the best part of the week was the by-product of each night's activity: the conversations. Sometimes, when I sit alone at my computer for hours and days on end, I forget that that's really what life's about.

Art class

Yesterday was Angela's first day back at work and since it was a non-student day, I went with her. We loaded up the car with the few boxes she had narrowed her stash to, and her laptop/projector cart and away we went. And of course, immediately, she found out she was required to attend the staff meeting at 8am. Had she been invited or informed of this before? No. So off she went. And there I was, car full of stuff. So I went in search of her new room.

It wasn't hard to find, it was directly across the hall from her old room. Once I got inside I stopped. It was overflowing with stuff. And it was dark and musty. And to top it all off, every visible surface was covered in rat poop. Not mice poop but big, gross rat terds.

But you know what? It didn't matter. It was Angela's new classroom. It was where she'd do her thing, teach her kids and spend a good potion of every school day for the foreseeable future. So I got to work. I found the head janitor and asked for all the trash bags he had and that he call the exterminator. (Mouse traps and ant traps are against LAUSD policy, go figure, rat poop and ants are apparently not.) I turned up the AC, opened all the blinds (she has a beautiful view of the skyline and palm trees) and went to work.

The art teacher before Angela retired in June. She didn't tell anyone she was going, just the principal on the last day I guess, and walked out. She left everything behind. Can you imagine doing this at your place of work? At a house you are vacating? It's insane but is apparently protocol for most teachers. Because every time Ang has moved into a new classroom we've had to clean it out. (Lucky for me I had only one classroom in my tenure as a seventh grade teacher and the teacher before me in there was Angela!)

But this teacher had been around for a hundred years or so and was a hoarder. No, she didn't just keep a few old papers and mementos. She could qualify for an Oprah exclusive. Stacks of paper and posterboard five foot high, never been used. Gallons of rubber cement. Eleven staplers, most not in working order. About forty rolls of masking tape. Hundreds of pencils. Boxes of brand new colored pencils, crayons, pastels. More sticky notes and paper clips and razor blades and compasses than Staples has in stock. And that was just some of the good stuff.

We filled up two boxes and a bag and set on down the hall like Santa Claus. We shared the wealth and then took the rest to the school office's supply closet. It was ridiculous. But then there was the cupboard of fabric that was home to some of the lovely rats. Angela bravely pulled on gloves and went to work in there. And remember -- this was all for sub pay. Several teachers stopped to gawk throughout the day and some even cautioned her not to do too much as she might have to move classrooms and she wasn't being treated fairly. To that we continually reminded people that rat poop is gross and unhealthy. Who wants to work in a place like that for even a day? Who wants to see kids sit amidst that?

So we kept cleaning. I doused everything in 409 and we filled the hallway with trash. And more trash. And more. That teacher had never thrown out a used eraser or greeting card. But amidst the trash we found something cool: art supplies. We found almost everything on Ang's list, including hundreds of pipe cleaners in every color for the mobiles. Felt and construction paper for the collages. Trays for the water colors. Charcoal for the sketches. It was fantastic. The sad part is that past art students didn't get to use any of the supplies (from what I could tell - they mostly did word searches. I tossed thousands of copies of word searches, literally). The exciting part is Ang's students are gonna use them all up!

When we left last night after nine hours the room looked good. We'd moved tables around, collected chairs (her biggest class has 48 students!), laid out supplies for this week, and things weren't sparkling but they were certainly better. And today, as she left for her sixth first day of seventh grade, she said she was excited not nervous. And I think that's gotta count for something!

Because it's what she does

When we came home from Michigan this summer Angela made the decision to go empty out her classroom. She's been assured by her principal at the end of the school year in June that this wasn't necessary. She'd have a job come September. Well, August was here and she hadn't heard a peep. She hadn't heard from the principal or her union or anyone. The secretary at the school said that it looked like she'd be hired as a permanent substitute teacher but as much as we both adore the secretary at her school, she's not the one who signs contracts or makes decisions. So she went to pack up.

So she went. She wasn't there twenty minutes when she called me in tears. Then she came home for lunch that day and hemmed and hawed and didn't go back. And didn't go back. And cried again. And then I asked her if she needed me to go back with her and she did. So I went. We packed and cleaned and admired the newly waxed floors she wouldn't be walking come fall. I sang songs, loudly, as I carried stuff to my car -- songs I made up about how LAUSD stinks and songs about unemployment and respect. I had a good blues ditty going for a minute.

These pictures are just snapshots of what makes Angela one of the best teachers I have ever known. And I know a lot. Working in different public schools for over four years, having gone through public school as a student, and college, and grad school and now teaching college myself for seven years I know a thing or two about good teachers. Angela is one of them.

This is a box of books that won't get read this year. It'll sit in our garage, in a nice expensive tub we bought to ward off moisture, in the hopes that maybe next year they'll get used. Here's what LAUSD has decided instead:

They have an awesome teacher. A teacher who has a full teaching credential in Michigan (preschool through eighth grade, yep, she went to college a semester longer to get her early childhood endorsement so she'd be extra prepared, extra smart), and in Arizona, and a provisional credential in California for several more years. A teacher who spent a lot of money, time and effort last year to go through the National Board process to become nationally certified. To become nationally certified means you have a full credential in 48 states. It's a big freakin' deal. She had to take tests, create a portfolio, go to classes, etc. It was like grad school hopped up on speed.

So they have this very qualified language arts teacher. And apparently, because of some rules we still don't understand though plenty of people in HR have tried to explain them (not very well), she's still not qualified ENOUGH. She has to have a master's degree to get rehired. A master's degree in teaching middle school language arts? Nah, not necessary -- just any old master's in anything related to teaching is fine. A master's degree from a fancy school? Nah, any old online degree will do. As long as you have one more piece of paper, that's fine.

Now don't get me wrong. I am a huge proponent of higher education. I went to college. I have a master's degree. I have a second degree from UCLA I got just this year. I'm going back to UCLA in the fall to start studying television writing. But for me, I need the practical knowledge. I need the experience, not the piece of paper. Angela has plenty of experience but not the right piece of paper. It's ridiculous.

So here's what LAUSD is going to do. They're going to hire Angela back, oh, how generous you say! But no -- there's a catch. They're going to hire her back to be a teacher. To do everything she did last year. To be in charge of over 180 children throughout the day. To educate said children. But not in language arts, her specialty. They're going to hire her back to teach art. Yep, art. A subject she has never studied. A subject she does not have a credential for. A subject she has little affinity for. Isn't that just inspired?

But wait, there's more -- they're going to hire her back to be a teacher. To do teacherly things like keep attendance records, grade work, submit grades, participate in parent-teacher conferences, write lesson plans (because of course there's no set curriculum, that would be too easy!), etc. And they're going to pay her LESS. They're going to pay her quite a bit less. They're going to pay her as a substitute teacher. Yes, she'll get health care benefits (technically she'll pay for them just like any employee) but nothing else. No sick time, no retirement, no payment for non-student days, etc. Isn't that just fantastic?
So why, you might ask, is she going to do it? Why will she go to her school on Wednesday and teach art and be paid as a substitute teacher for her time? Because of these boxes. Because of all this stuff. Because she's a teacher. Because she cares enough to buy books and supplies and plan and worry and read and not get paid what she should. Because she's one of the best teachers I've ever met. And because no one else is hiring teachers. And don't tell me that you'd expect a neurosurgeon who's been downsized to just go out and get any other regular old job. Neurosurgeons are neurosurgeons. Teachers are teachers. There are brains that need fixing. There are kids that need educating.