Draft one and done!

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

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

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

And best of all?

It's not the end.

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

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

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

A pilot in development

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

My first television pitch meeting - check!

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

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

And that happened today.

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

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

I was ready.

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

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

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

And I wait.

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

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

This is it! Paris here we come!

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

Devon loves us!

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

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

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

One week from today

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

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

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

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

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

Vegas, baby!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wibbs

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

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

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

Cormac, Hal Ackerman (UCLA), Marianne

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

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

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

Pepe Update - He Lives!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So close!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pepe 1, Humans 0

Just a little update on the Pepe situation.

Pepe is still king of Abbey Place.

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

But no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pepe Saga

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what I found this morning at 6am.

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

Paris Update

"Paris is always a good idea." -- Audrey Hepburn

And I have to agree. This trip Angela and I have been planning has just been such a cool part of our lives. I'm a firm believer that people need hope to cling to or bear hug and for us, over the past year, it's been Paris.

Yes, we have jobs, we have other things going on in our lives but Paris has always been there, in the books sitting on the table or the ever-growing pile of stuff to pack, or the sparkly new tennis shoes being broken in, or the daily reminder on my iPhone.

Yesterday Ang and I spent the afternoon culling our closets and our shopping bags and figuring out exactly what we're taking to Paris clothing-wise. Here's the result:

• Two pairs of jeans each
• Two pairs of Nikes each (we wear the same size so score!, four different pairs to mix and match)
  
• A pair of Lands End Starfish pants (think dressier yoga pants) each 
• A pair of jean capris each
• A pair of sandals each 
• Seven scarves (three we bought new and then the rest we had; I'm taking one I got for a high school graduation gift and we're taking one from Grandma Cows)
• A pair of sleep shorts and tank top each
• Three lightweight hoodies in a sweater material
• Four three-quarter length cardigan sweaters
• A combination of three-quarter length boatneck tees, short sleeve tees, and sleeveless shirts that we can both wear
• A pair of sunglasses each
• A backpack and a purse each
• Two new brightly colored beaded necklaces we got this weekend and a few other jewelry pieces

We have to pack everything we're taking in two rollerbags and two backpacks so we've been very selective. Luckily, Angela and I wear the same size in almost everything so all tops can be worn by both of us so we can mix and match a lot more than if we wore different sizes.

And while we were deciding what to pack, we tried on every outfit to make sure it worked and fit properly, and we took pictures so we'd remember what went with what and to make mornings easier if need be. Here's Angela's plane look:

Starfish pants, grey Nikes, red patterned tank top, white hoodie, seafoam scarf - perfect!

And here's just one of my sightseeing looks:

The scarf was a Christmas gift from one of Angela's students this year and it's so fun! And yes, we watched a YouTube video about nine times in order to learn new ways for tying scarves!


We still have a few things to do before we finally get to pack our suitcases. We're trying to decide if it's worth it to drive to San Luis, AZ to get the Global Entry passes we've already paid for but can't get in Los Angeles until later in the summer. We have to reserve our time on the London Eye and maybe the Eiffel Tower and schedule high tea in London. We have to finalize our daily plans and figure out exactly which bank cards to use and how much cash to take and where to get it. But the To Do List is diminishing. And that's so exciting. So freaking exciting.

Hope

These are pictures I took, of the same cross, on Maundy Thursday and then a few days later, on Easter Sunday last week at my church. To me, they represent what I hold on to most tightly every single day.

Hope.

Every day I get up hoping that the day will be good. That I will find my purpose for the day, for the hour, for the moment. That I will smile. That I will be moved to tears. That I will experience the joy that comes from knowing deep down in my bones that my Lord died but rose again.

And to me, that doesn't just mean I believe when I go to church, or during Lent or on Easter morning. To me, that means that I have hope in every part of my life, in every part of my day.

And yes, a lot of the time it's hard to hold on to that hope. Particularly when employment ends (as it did, again, for me on Sunday) or when bad things happen to people I love. When I'm unsure of which way to go next, which path to take. When I do my best to move my body and eat well and the scale doesn't move. When I get rejection after rejection.

And yet...these crosses stay with me. These images, ingrained in my head by a lifetime of faith and learning, keep me going. Keep me getting out of bed each morning, often when the sun's not yet out, strapping on the running shoes, moving out the door, then settling in at the desk. These images keep me praying and believing. They keep me writing and cooking. They keep me hopeful and optimistic and sure that in the end, all will be well.

Several weeks ago I turned a script over to someone at a production company. Since then, I've had to fret and stew and wait. My work is done for now. I have no idea if they like it, it they've even read it. And yet? I have faith, I believe, that for some reason, this is my path.

I am beyond blessed not by the things I have or the life I live but because I have faith. I have hope. To me, there is nothing more important. It is what got me through two weeks of nursing duty, knowing Angela would heal after her fall. It is what got me through the great sadness of losing so many family members in the past years. It is what gets me through every day here in Los Angeles, knowing, trusting, believing, that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Many Christians say Christmas is their favorite holiday and I am usually right there with them. But this month, this season, I can't help but think that Lent, and particularly Holy Week, might ultimately win out. About how two such stark and opposing images of such a powerful symbol can bring about immense emotion.

For me, it's all about the hope.

Grandma Cows

Yesterday Angela and I were talking to my parents about what color they're going to paint their house this summer. My mom wants us to look at some color samples online and help her narrow them down. Angela pipes up and says, you know who would've been great at this? Grandma Cows.

And it's true, she would have been. She knew something about interior decorating and design that always was just right for the situation at hand. She helped my mom pick out wallpaper, make wall hangings, move furniture. Heck, she had enough practice in her own living room. We rarely went to Grandma and Grandpa's house when the furniture was in the same spot twice. And we'd stop by daily. Daily.

She'd get up every night almost, move things around, rearrange till it felt just right. She had superhuman strength. Grandpa was never involved in this, in fact, he was lucky if he knew where to sit the next morning.

Grandma Cows would have been 90 today. Ninety years old. I have a hard time reconciling that with the woman who just last summer was eating cookies, drinking been and fighting with the cable company so she'd get her Internet working. She had to keep up with Facebook and email you see. She almost never posted on Facebook but she saw everything. And I loved waking up in the morning to find an email she'd sent the night before when she couldn't sleep. More often than not I'd call her instead of reply. She loved to talk on the phone yet almost never called. She didn't want to bother me. So instead, I called often. Especially when I was driving. I'd pass the time telling her what was going on, what I was cooking that day or where I was going. What I was writing. What I was watching on TV. She loved to talk.

Several Christmases ago when we first got a Wii, she came right over the day after Christmas and bowled with us. And regaled us with tales of all her strikes when she'd played on a league years earlier. To me, Grandma was ageless, she was just grandma. Always the same. Always making potato salad and baking rolls and smashing the strawberries for shortcake.

She wore the same housecoats or shorts, would walk outside in her socks and never once tried a shirt or a dress or a pair of pants on in a store though she shopped all the time. If it didn't fit, take it back. Or hang it in the closet, it might fit later.

I'm not sure I'll ever forget my last week with grandma, my last day. It had been a long summer, grandpa had been sick for a few years but the end really took it's toll on her. She was a trooper though, making it through the funeral on her own two feet. We spent a lot of time with her that week after the funeral, just sitting, talking, sharing stories. She told us the same stories we'd heard hundreds of times and new ones, sprinkled with a good dose of fantasy we guessed. Grandma was the ultimate fisherman even though it was grandpa who went out on the boat every summer: her tales grew and grew as the days went on. 

That last day we spent with her was perfect in that it wasn't. It was a normal day, like so many we'd had with grandma over my lifetime. It was five days after grandpa's funeral and my mom, dad, Angela and I arrived in two separate cars at her apartment at 8am. We stopped on the way and got donuts from Quality Dairy. There's something grandma loved most in all the world and that was a donut. She had the coffee brewing and we settled in to hear a few more stories.

Soon Sue arrived and Mom and her got to work on the thank you notes we were there to write. But grandma didn't get busy right away. She had to deal with some neighbors. See wherever grandma lived, and during my lifetime she lived in at least seven different places, she made friends. Fast friends, good friends. And her last apartment was no different. People stopped by, to check on her, to say hello, to offer a hug and a coffee cake. She was happy in that apartment, so happy.

Angela and I were watching the grandneighbors that afternoon back in Howell (grandma's apartment was in Lansing) and then we were going on to a Tigers game that night. We had to leave the gathering early. I remember grandma insisting that she walk us all the way to the door. And she did, outside, even though her legs were swollen and she was tired. She walked us outside and gave me a hug and said she'd see me soon. She knew I was going back to California in a day or two and we both ended up in tears. But happy tears. Oh so happy tears. We'd spent the week together. We'd spent a lifetime together. A few miles didn't matter. Nothing did really. Over my life there'd been disagreements and knock down drag out fights and it didn't matter. In that family, you were always family. We spent one Christmas disowned by grandma. No Christmas. Presents delivered by a quiet grandpa. And still, we went back, eventually.

That day, as I walked to my car, wiping the tears, I had no idea it'd be the last time I saw her. Not a clue. As my mom liked to say, Bette had been dying since the day she met her (over 40 years earlier). She had made it through heart attacks and strokes and cancer and so much else. Nothing could keep her down. We were sure she'd outlive us all. And yet, she didn't. One week to the day that we buried grandpa she had a massive heart attack.

I didn't see her while she was in the hospital. I had many conversations with my dad about whether or not I should fly back to see his mother, his mother who spent too many days at the end in bed. She hated being in bed. She'd much rather spend her time at the computer playing solitaire, reading a book a day (she's the one who helped instill in me a love of reading - she gave me my first Danielle Steel book in 8th grade, Palamino, and it changed my life), baking a cake every morning or checking out the neighbors from her front window seat.

And so I didn't go see her in bed. I couldn't do it. It was hard enough seeing grandpa in the hospital and I only did that once. I wanted to remember her as she had been - walking if not running through life.

The relationship I had with my grandmother is unlike any other I've ever had. She's the person I would call on the phone after school and tell about my day back when phones had cords and you had to memorize a person's number. She's the person who had me stay at the farm for weekends on end, reading and baking and just being, each summer. She's the person who loved driving and would pretend we were in the Batmobile whenever we were going down M-59. She loved to yell that we were throwing out nails to stop the bad guys. She's the person who made everyone in my family read the novel I wrote. She the person who bragged on me and supported me and was sure that someday, every one of my dreams would come true.

She's also the person who hurt me more than anyone in my life had hurt me before. She was volatile and mean and spiteful. And yet? I loved her so much. So very much. Because she was real. She was funny and smart and strong and mine. Oh so mine.

Grandma, I hope today you and Pat and Grandpa are having the biggest party up in heaven. I hope you run into Grandma and Grandpa Knapp and remind Grandma that you were married to Bill first. I hope that you run into Grandma MacDonald and play a little croquet and have a good fight about the rules, just for old time's sake. I hope you get a donut and a beer and a long chat with good friends. And most of all, I hope you know how much I love you and miss you. Every. Single. Day.

Travel Update

Whenever I take a peek at my countdown app I am shocked. It seems like just yesterday it was 85 days. And now? Sixty eight days. Just over two months! Until Angela and I go to Paris! I seriously can't believe it!

We're still doing preparations every week. Mostly gathering supplies, shopping, talking ideas. Over spring break we'll spend some time solidifying our daily itinerary and making sure we know just what will happen over there. We've made almost all of our reservations and I'm feeling like we're really getting ready!

We've gotten most of our toiletries around, it's weird - most of the traveling I've done in the past six years has been to Michigan. And all I take there is a few things. But to Europe? We have to take everything! We've done some road tests - I discovered a mini contact solution bottle lasts me just about two weeks. A three-ounce bottle of shampoo does not. (Yes, I did the studies!) We've found inexpensive adapters, we've gathered some new storage bags (giant ziplocks for shoes, packing squares for undies and socks, 99-cent pill boxes for small jewelery).

So we're getting there. We've found Amazon Prime to be our friend. We've decided to stick with brightly colored Nikes in four hues that fit us both and a pair of sandals each. We've tried different hiking socks to figure out which are best. All that's left? Find the perfect jeans/pants. No sweat...

I can't wait. I keep thinking about the pictures I'll take, the journaling I'll do, but most of all -- what I'll see. These places I've imagined and dreamed about almost my whole life. I just can't wait.

Paris. Sixty-eight days. AHHH!