Helping

Today, we're making chicken soup.

(photo by John Sandel)

Script Kitchen

UPDATE: 

John and Tara report strong response to Script Kitchen, so they'll open a Sunday class soon. Date and time TBA. Questions? Want in? scriptkitchen@gmail.com

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Tara Samuel and my husband John Sandel finalized plans yesterday for the screenwriting class the two of them will begin teaching in--wow--just over a week. We're pretty excited around here.

Script Kitchen will include 7 students in 6 weekly classes, "focusing on story structure and how the hero determines the tale." John and Tara believe we all know deep down how a good story is supposed to work. (You know when a story doesn't work, don't you?) In their class you'll find out how much you know and how to apply it to creating a screenplay, full length or short.

I'm sorry they're not teaching novel writing. Next time, maybe? I learned everything I needed to know about story structure from John.

There are still a couple of openings. Here's the info:

In the picture, Tara is not taking dictation. I gave her the notepad as a prop because all she had was that little ole' apple and John had a whole bowl of chili. We offered Tara some chili. Really we did.

Oh My Darlins

My neighbors already know this picture is an old one. Our clementine tree is dormant this year. We've got about a dozen of the little orange fruits, if that.

It happens. We don't like it much, but we manage. For the first time since we moved here, I bought clementines at the grocery store. I didn't know what to expect. People have always told me ours are the best. But the store-bought ones weren't bad at all.

That burst my bubble.

Feetsies

 

photo by John Sandel

SOMEbody's been at the trash.

Boz by Request

photo by John Sandel

Yesterday, Dive gave me license to indulge when, regarding the blog, he commented, "As long as Boz appears on a regular basis it definitely has the right stuff in it."

So here is your Weekend Pupdate:

These days, our old pooper gets pooped a lot easier than he used to. Some days he seems "tetched in the haid," as my country relatives used to say. I don't think he's senile. I think he just needs to take his time to ponder things, like whether to walk all the way to the curb, or which way to turn at the end of the sidewalk. Maybe no turn. Maybe just stay right there.

For a while he was getting me up in the wee hours to go outside. But he sleeps through most nights now, and through most days, too. He's tired.

Getting old wears a person out. 

Dog Wrangler

John and crew have been shooting his short film, Strong Love, at our house. My job is "dog wrangler."

During the two days of shooting last week I made myself scarce and took Boz to Burbank for play dates. But at 4:30 in the afternoon it's time for Boz to eat. Dinner has to happen because he's got a tummy like a clock. I could take kibble with me in the car, right? Not exactly. This puppy is 14 years old, with a gastrointestinal system like a 19th century sewer. He gets hamburger with his pills. So I brought him home for meals.

After dinner and a long walk, Boz and I closed ourselves in my office and he napped while I worked. Sometimes, between shots, we'd take a break. Dogs just have to be in the middle of things. I don't think he even liked it but he had to be there. (Thus the need for a dog wrangler.)

Two more days of shooting are set to happen in a couple of weeks. That's bonding time for the dog wrangler and her pal.


Be sure and vote before midnight tonight for your favorite of this past week's entries in the Camelot Where You Are photo contest! (Poll at upper left.)

The Reveal

Homemade sound studio!

I made it myself.
With help, of course.
As I told you yesterday, my sister made the blanket.
The walls are a three-sided, fold-up sound booth from an old friend.
The chair is a family heirloom (it's small, and I needed small).
I snagged the music stand from an old day-job when the company was getting rid of stuff.
The microphone was a gift from long-time friend and voice artist Teri Clark Linden.
John got the mic stand on eBay. I sandbagged it with the kind of ankle weights one uses for working out. (Apparently I'm not using them for that at the moment.)
The lamp came from the garage. I can't see the laundry and I don't care.
The headphones are from my radio days.
My friend, actor and voice artist Karyn O'Bryant, taught me how to use TwistedWave.com, the recording program. Remember when Adele and I went to see Karyn in the play?
That's a beach towel on the floor, to help muffle sound. All the beach towels in the house belong to Boz, so I have it on loan. As you can see, Boz monitors my use of it.
That's all. There's no room for anything else. There's barely room for me.

John got a shot of me in my booth, wearing my appropriate Spongebob Squarepants T-shirt.

The sound quality is pretty good for a booth I made by myself.

My first project: the Belinda's Birthday audiobook, which will be about 8 or 9 minutes long. I've already recorded it and will edit this week. I'll let you know when it's available because I am THAT excited about it.

As for Camelot & Vine, if I record the audiobook I'll probably do it in a bigger studio. Because Camelot & Vine is longer than 8 or 9 minutes, and Boz gets impatient for his towel.

What's Inside

Something has landed in my dining room.

Yes, that's a couch pillow on top. And a blanket my sister made for me, covering the whole surprise.

I should refinish the old secretary desk, but it's been in my family for so long I've come to love its scars. I once had a cat who sharpened his claws on the drawers. Long before that, I scratched a picture of a princess inside the desk. Or maybe my sister did that. I think I did it with a paper clip, but that was the 1960's and I don't remember. I have two sisters, so that gives us three little girls to blame.

None of this explains the Mother Ship in the corner. Tomorrow: the reveal.

Hello, Goodbye

John and I often joke that we live in Paradise. We love our street, our neighbors. When we were shopping here we didn't know the recession was coming. We had big plans for a someday mansion, and we thought this would be our interim home. Just in case the mansion didn't work out we picked a home we could love, but we figured we wouldn't stay here forever.

During our nearly seven years here we've become friends with the people who share the block with us. We've watched their families grow. Sure, we might hear of a development on Facebook. Then we get to walk across the street and check it out for real.

Change happens, though, it always will. Over our tenure we've watched one family morph from Single Man Purchases Home to Young Couple Remodels House to Family With Two Children and this week they're Beloved Family Moves Away. We hate to say goodbye to them, yet even this loss is laced with joy. Hello to a family from the next block who went from New People with Little Girls to Dear Friends We're Always Glad to See to YAY, They Bought the House. And get this: the deal was facilitated by (say it with me) a neighbor on the block, also a good friend, who happens to be a real estate agent.

There was an early birthday party. An ice cream social. A brunch. Much goodbye-ing and also hello-ing. At the brunch, while the children played on the Slip 'n Slide and the parents chatted and drank mimosas, I was captured by a nostalgia for the very moment I was in, missing it already: I sensed the children grown and gone, the young dads already middle-aged, the moms greying, my own self bent with years, my arm hooked in John's. And I thought, I am so glad we picked a home we could love, because this is our someday mansion, and I hope we will stay here forever.

Zen Monday: #204

Nobody likes Mondays, but I hope a little Zen will brighten yours.

It's the day when you tell us what the photo's about, so please leave your comments.

The Writer's Voice entry, "Camelot & Vine"

When Casey Clemens slams up against her 40th birthday her Hollywood acting career is floundering, her married boyfriend is cheating on her with his wife and she doesn't like herself any more than anyone else does. Then a freak accident lands Casey in the sixth century and she inadvertently saves the life of her hero, King Arthur. To protect herself, she tells the king she's a magical wizard from the future. (At least it's partly true.) King Arthur's thrilled. Britain is being attacked from all sides by invaders and he could use a good wizard. He's got Myrddin, but Myrddin's more scientist than sorcerer. Casey learns from Myrddin, makes friends and begins to like her new life. She's a good actor; for a while, her lie is her secret.

King Arthur's powerful ally Lancelot harbors his own secret: his affair with the king's wife, Guinevere. A wizard who knows and sees all is inconvenient, to say the least. Lancelot gives Casey a choice: leave or die. But Casey's stuck in the Dark Ages, unable to leave, surrounded by enemies and struck by a realization: she's in love with King Arthur and she's not going anywhere--not yet.

Camelot & Vine

 The day before my fortieth birthday was my last day as Mrs. Gone. For nine years, every American who turned on a television knew me as their wacky neighbor with the solution to their household cleaning problems. They're Gone! That's right! Gone! cleans everything! Which it didn't. I bought it once (not that the Gone! company would give me a free bottle) and never bought it again. That didn't mean I wouldn't endorse it on national television for a cut above union scale.

Being a product spokesperson was good work. I owned a sunny condo in the fashionable Los Angeles suburb of Toluca Lake. I drove a relatively new BMW coupe. The cleaning lady came on Tuesdays. I ate take-out and never cooked. I went to yoga occasionally, and occasionally showed up at acting class. I auditioned for and sometimes got parts in low-budget films.

I thought of it as an acting career until the day before my fortieth birthday when, on the set of my latest Gone! commercial, the director shouted, "That's a wrap!"

As usual, I handed over the product bottle to the props guy, returned my earrings to the costume girl and, avoiding the candy at the craft services table, strode directly out the studio doors.

The director followed me to my trailer. "Casey," he said.

"Bill. What?"

He dug his Nike toe into the studio lot asphalt. I waited. He cleared his throat and stared at his feet, like a kid who's afraid to tell his mom he got a bad report card.

Sunday Morning Cup & Pup

I was going for a picture of steam. I like the bonuses I got: bokeh leaves outside the window, streams and spangles of light inside, and a post-breakfast pooch all curly-uppy on his bed in anticipation of the arrival of the sun, which is his, to heat his tummy.

Today

Today is mine. I get to have it.

Most days we pitch in, assist, participate, help out, work hard, share responsibilities. But today is not most days, and everyone deserves to have a day that is not most days.

Don't Bring Around a Cloud

UPDATE:
LITFEST PASADENA POSTPONED UNTIL MAY 12th.
With what's being called "100% chance of rain" Saturday, I guess it had to happen.
The links are still good! However, I promise to keep you informed.


John and I have a two bedroom house with a den. The den is my office, the extra bedroom is John's office and we share the master bedroom. (The dining room is Boz's bedroom. He keeps office hours on the front porch.)

I tell you this not to give you a home tour but to give you an idea of how many places we have for stashing and stacking books: shelves in the offices; the coffee table as well as built-in shelves (okay, we have some DVDs, too) in the living room; matching nightstands in the bedroom, each with a shelf for books, not to mention--okay, I'm mentioning--the books lining the tops of the dressers; plus the boxes in the garage full of books we haven't found shelves for. But we will, because we need to make room for more books.

Which brings me to the first annual LitFest Pasadena, Saturday, 9am to 5:30pm at Central Park, just south of Castle Green. Come on down! Admission is free. There'll be writers, panels, booksellers, booths, a children's area, fabulous food trucks and more. The full LitFest panel schedule is here.

Can't wait to see you!

Rain, you say? Yes, well. Ahem. There's a chance of rain.

Oh no! Wait. No. Oh joy! Wait.

Well, I hope the rain waits 'til Sunday because everyone's worked so hard. But we need our rain around here and we take it when we can get it. If rain happens, check the Pasadena Star-News online for contingency plans.

Attitude Sickness

I haven't been getting out with the camera much lately. Two main reasons: crowd avoidance (Tournament of Roses) and canine coverage (Boz gets his stitch out Friday, the cone will come off and all hell will break loose).

I have a wealth of photos in my archives, and I've used a few. But I still like to shoot. In fact, sometimes I just have to grab the camera and go for it. The photo safaris I've been on have been simpler (no sherpas). The trekking is less rigorous. I don't have to climb very high and I don't even have to carry little packets of dried food.

It gives the phrase "inner landscape" new meaning.

Zen Monday: #176

Zen Monday's the day you experience the photo and give us your thoughts rather than me telling you what I think the picture's about. There's no competition, no right or wrong. We're here to have fun.

Well. At least some of us are. 

Zen Wednesday: #2

It's only happened once before. Zen Wednesday. Today we make history.

I think today I won't explain. I'll let you explain.

Smitten

I'm lying on the dirt in the back yard, looking up at our clementine tree. The branches hang low to the ground, heavy with fruit.

This year we had a lot of rain, plus I fertilized. There will be more fruit than ever.

The "cuties" at the store have been genetically altered so they don't have seeds. They taste like cardboard compared to our clementines. I know. I've eaten cardboard.

I'm getting cocky about this tree. I hope nobody smites me for it. I suppose if that happens I'll end up lying on the ground under a tree. I hope it's this one.

Burnt

Growing up in Illinois there were days when it was so cold you couldn't go outside, or if you did, you bundled up in extra socks and waterproof boots. You added layers under your hooded parka, a scarf around your face to protect your nose and eyes. Then came mittens--not gloves--because you needed your fingers to generate heat and keep each other warm.

In the southwest we have days when you shouldn't go outside, but they're at the opposite end of the thermometer. You don't bundle up for such weather but if you must be out for a while you do cover up: you need a brim on that hat, plus sunglasses to protect your vision, long sleeves and preferably long pants to preserve your skin, and sunscreen on the remaining exposed dermal inches.

Our temps came back into the 90s yesterday, down from over 100 degrees, and it felt like relief. It got so hot this time I could go outdoors without a sweater even at night. (Now that I love.) We'll be back to the high 80s by Wednesday--in other words, back to normal.

This camellia will survive. But it's a good argument for sunscreen.

Imaginary Horses

It's the middle of August and southern California might be the only place in the country where the weather's beautiful. We used to be the ones with the insufferably hot summers, but the last two years our summer days have been almost--almost cool. Folks are loving it. Me--you know me, I wear a sweater.

Sundays on our block are a good time for the kids to get out and play and for the adults to hang out and talk about whatever, you know, the usual stuff: how to solve the world's problems, who has the nastiest grill, whether or not we should get matching block t-shirts with our names on the back.

I used to wonder why adults did that. Talk, talk, talk was all they ever did. Boring! How could they just stand around and jabber? Why didn't they ride imaginary horses like the rest of us?