The weekend is over

We do birthdays up right in my family. When we were little it was a huge family affair, dinner and cake and neighbors stopping in to join the fun. We continue those traditions to this day, when we're in Michigan usually. Where ever else Angela and I are, birthdays aren't quite the same. We compensate by doing a birthday week or a birthday month, by claiming every trip somewhere to do something is exciting and special because, well it is. It's a good life we all live here and it's important to celebrate that life.

This weekend though, this birthday weekend of mine, was a little different. I didn't feel like celebrating. I didn't feel like doing much really. I was lost. Sad. Heart broken. Marilyn passed away on Tuesday and each day before and after that was a mess of tears, burned brownies, forgotten tasks, long phone calls home, and usually more tears or broken sobs.

The funeral was Saturday. We made the choice not to go home. So many factors played into this and I know it was not right or wrong but the choice we made. We wanted to be there. But we were not. Saturday was also my birthday. For the first time in years I wasn't looking forward to waking up that morning and celebrating.

Friday night we had a group of friends, new and old, from Angela's school over. It was a festive evening of food, drink, laughter, BBQing, and they surprised me with a lovely fruit tart at the end of the night.

Saturday I opened some gifts early and then Angela and I headed out of town. We had to get away from it all for a bit. So we traveled an hour or so north to Simi Valley and toured the Ronald Reagan Presidential Museum. It was something we'd been talking about doing since we moved to California. And so we did it.

We looked at the artifacts and watched the videos and learned a bit more about history. The coolest part by far was boarding and touring an actual Air Force One plane and a Marine One helicopter. That alone was worth the trip up there.

We ate lunch outside overlooking the beautiful gardens and valleys of the library and then slowly made our way back to the city. It was a very nice respite from the hustle and sad bustle of the week. And afterwards? We settled in for some pizza and some escape to Stars Hollow thanks to Netflix and The Gilmore Girls.

The weekend is over. Today it's back to regularly scheduled life. But the grieving doesn't stop. The celebrating doesn't stop. There are still texts and lunch dates and the goings-on of the every day. And yet? The grieving doesn't stop. I know all too well from my short time on this earth that it never does. And so? We can't stop either. To live with that grief every day is to live. To love. To know that I was loved in return. And so I'll do that today. And tomorrow. Through smiles and through tears. I won't stop.

Memories of Marilyn

One of my mom's tributes to her best friend of over 60 years who passed away less than a week ago. 

This reminds me of my best friend since 1st grade. Rest in peace, Marilyn. 
 
“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you.

When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful.

There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are.

The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colors seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all.

A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you.

You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon.

You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you.

You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life." -- Bob Marley 

And one from Angela.

The past year has been a difficult one for us Knapps, our family and our friends. We have suffered great loss and broken hearts. Sarah summed it up perfectly today when she said through tears, "I'm tired of being sad". It truly is exhausting. That being said, our support systems is amazing. Flower deliveries, extra long hugs (thank you Heidi and Laura ), kind words, and silent prayers have sustained us. I'm not done with my tears or my grieving just yet but happier times will come. The sun will shine and the darkness will recede.

New Life for the Pilot

The other night I sat in a bar just a mile from my home, sipped whiskey with fig-something or other in it (I told the waiter I trusted him implicitly) and listened as the wonderful producing duo I've been working with all year pitched me on what's next for me, my script, and possibly my career.

The takeaway?

My script, the one we've been re-developing since June, isn't dead. Far from it.

I learned why the network we'd been working with didn't buy our pilot (or any of the pilots they'd been developing) and was reassured, again, that it was definitely a situation all about them and not about me or my work. That helped. Well, that and the whiskey.

The producers came armed with a plan. A list of networks and studios to approach. A list of contacts at each. A solid "to do" list. And today? Before noon, the script went out out to several people at the first set of networks.

No, still no guarantees. Still no new news to report. But? Hope. Faith. Belief that eventually hard work will pay off and we'll find our way to the perfect studio to partner with so we can have some fun and make a TV show.

And again, I wait. I write. I keep at it. Because, as the quote above my desk reminds me "Hollywood has high walls but there are gates."

My heart. Broken again.

This morning I laced up my shoes in the dark and headed off for a shortened, early version of my daily walk. About three-quarters of the way through I noticed a woman up ahead, a hoodie wrapped around her, two dogs on leashes. I didn't catch up to her until the stoplight and when I did, I noticed the ensignia on her sweatshirt: the Revlon Walk for Women, the cancer walk that Angela and I have participated in several times over the last few years.

I thought about her sweatshirt as I pounded the pavement for several more blocks. And when we ended up at a stoplight a while later, and then crossed, I found myself waiting for her and her pups. I took off my earbuds and turned around.

"I just saw your sweatshirt and I wanted to say thank you, " I said.
"Oh, yeah, I walk for my grandma," she smiled back.
"My sister and I walked for our mom's best friend. She died yesterday of colon cancer and just seeing that on your shirt, it made me smile," I said.

She gave me her condolences and I hurried off, not wanting to burden her with my tears. I kept my earbuds out the rest of the way home, focused primarily on seeing my way through the tears.

Yesterday the world changed.

Marilyn. Mom #2. My mother's best friend. My touchstone. My heart. Broken again.

Right now there aren't too many words. Only tears. There aren't too many thoughts. Only tears. I'm sure I'll come up with some later. I'm sure I'll look at the photographs scattered around the house and recall the grand stories behind them. But not today. Today I mourn. Today I sit in stunned silence. Not really feeling fully what has transpired. Shock.

She fought. So long and so hard and with everything she could. She fought. We all saw it, even when she didn't want us too. We all knew the end would eventually come and while we're glad it wasn't five years ago like the doctors said it would be, we still all know it came too soon.

Dear Mom #2,

I love you. I still have a bunch of Hallmark cards to send to you. It's not fair. But then again, as you often said, that's tough shit.

I will always love you,

Sarah

Mom#2, Mom#1 & Me - Christmas 2013

A little piece of Paris on the walls of Abbey Place

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

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

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

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

The Sidewalk Squirrel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Put the cork back in the champagne

Be careful what you wish for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's next?"

Inspired cooking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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