Stalling

I am trying to launch a new creative project, but I am stalling.

I came up with an idea in April of last year, and I've been working on it since then. I got a solid draft of the project up, and I got some feedback that was direct, honest and a little harsh. Not harsh in a bad way because most of it was true, but harsh in the sense that it wasn't balanced with enough positive feedback to keep me going.

I've workshopped lots of writing pieces before, and there is a simple pattern to it: You say what you liked, and then you say what you struggled with or didn't understand. A simple version would be "I liked the plot, but I don't understand why Mary would rob a bank. Perhaps a better explanation of her motivation would help..."

And then you give feedback back to the other person. This works because it is a two way street. You give the feedback you want to get -- you want to someone to point out your blindspots, but also honor the intention of your project. 

Without that mutual feedback, I got lost in the soup. 

In my stall, I have been needlepointing up a storm. These projects are infinite. I could take these on a forty hour flight and still have work left at the end. 

This is just a sample. I have way more craft projects in my stash.

The challenge with my new pet creative project is that it is loaded with uncertainty, unlike these needlepoint projects. Each stitch gets me closer to completion. Each stitch brings me a tiny sense of peace. 

With my creative project, I have no idea where each step will take me. Will it lead to garbage? Will it lead to something messy and confusing? Will it lead to something beautiful and wonderful and inspire people to see themselves in a way they didn't before? 

I don't know, and "I don't know" can be very hard to say. 

"Elle," or Is Seattle the new Hollywood?

This past week, I started watching Elle, the prequel to Legally Blonde, on Amazon Prime. My daughter loves Legally Blonde, the Reese Witherspoon movie about a fashion obsessed sorority girl who goes to Harvard Law School. When I saw the prequel, I was curious.

In Elle, Elle Woods is a junior in high school when her plastic surgeon father botches a nose job and they have to leave Bel Air and move to Seattle.

Elle takes place in 1995, and Seattle is a full-blown character in this streaming series. 

But why Seattle? Why didn't the Woods family move to San Francisco or New York or Chicago? Why move a pink loving girl to gray and grungy Seattle, with its anti-superficiality stance?

Why Seattle? I love seeing my adopted hometown played out on a show where the city isn't just a backdrop, but why?

Could it be because Amazon is based in Seattle, and pitching a show to Amazon that takes place there might scratch an itch for people choosing series for Amazon? I know Amazon video has offices in Southern California, but still the mothership is down the street from where I live.

Of course, no one show can completely capture a city, just as each person experiences a city just as they experience it. Nevertheless, I find the Seattle/Los Angeles clash interesting, and I think the show does a decent job of showing the Pacific Northwest. One of my favorite scenes is when Elle walks through the lunch room and one of the students points out the jocks table, the bank geeks, the stoners, the rich kids, etc., and they all look exactly the same. I had to laugh because it is so true, even for the adults.

So many shows and movies are made in L.A., but I never really considered how much of SoCal vibe slips into shows without my even noticing. Frasier took place in Seattle, but it could have taken place anywhere. The writers could have thrown a dart at a map and picked a place. Frasier could have been filmed anywhere. No one comes to Seattle looking for Cafe Nervosa. 

Elle is different. Cross country is a high school big sport (true). There is even a theme on the mountain being out. Only in Seattle do people talk about the mountain being out. Frasier has the Space Needle in the logo, but Rainier looms larger. 

The best part is watching Elle and her family slowly fall in love with this quirky town, as did I twenty years ago.

Will Amazon's influence mean more shows based in Seattle? Even if they don't film here, could we become a new branch of Hollywood?

I hope so.

Oh Mary! and Walter Mitty

Maya Rudolph is taking a turn playing Mary Todd Lincoln on Broadway in "Oh Mary!," a campy send up of the famous First Lady. It sounds ridiculous and hilarious and wild.

I've never aspired to be an actress, but I would love to play Mary and I haven't even seen the play yet. I want to be a one-show Broadway actress. I don't want to do Chekov. I don't want to do Shakespeare. 

I want to play Mary Todd Lincoln. 

I've been involved in politics, surely I can play a politician's wife? I'd pay to see Hilary play the role. She might be hilarious. 

This would be my Walter Mitty moment, where I dream of marching on stage with a black dress and head of curls, and playing deep physical comedy about a woman who wants to break free from her cage. I want to embody the unhinged First Lady.

That's all. I'll keep you posted on my Broadway dream.

Accepting the Offer

I am taking an improv class “Acting for Improvisors” taught by a veteran actor and improviser. She is great. 

I was in a scene last week where the location was an amusement park concession stand line. We determined that we were high school seniors, and this was an end of year field trip. I was hanging out with my new, nerdy boyfriend. 

“What happens to us after we graduate?” my scene partner asked. 

Instead of engaging in the conversation, I ran off to get my corn dog. 

“Lauren,” the teacher said, “You missed the offer. He asked what was going to happen and you ran off.”

First, that kind of shit happens in real life all of the time. People bring up a serious topic, and the other person changes the topic. 

Not "accepting the offer" has happened more than once in my real life. I remember when Jack and I were separated before the divorce, Jack asked me to go with him to Chicago to watch him run a marathon. We went to college together in Evanston, and we lived in Lincoln Park in our twenties. We were married there and had Ada. There is lots of history in Chicago, lots of happy memories. Even Ada reminds me of happier times. While her death was tragic of course, my pregnancy with her was one of the happiest times of my life. We were surrounded by the love of friends, family and co-workers when she passed.

I said no to the trip to watch the marathon.

If Jack had asked me to go to Chicago to walk down memory lane, I would have said yes. I said no to being a spectator in his life instead of a partner and a participant.

I am not sure if I regret that decision. I don't know if it would have changed anything or not, or if it would have gotten us to the same place.

I wonder how many other offers I have missed. Several times a week, I wonder about how I fucked up my marriage. I wonder how many times we missed each others offers.

Bernadette Gets a Divorce

My literary hero is Bernadette Fox from the comedic novel “Where’d You Go, Bernadette?” by Maria Semple. Bernadette once was lost, but then finds herself on a trip to Antartica. Prior to her escape to the bottom of the earth, she previously had a successful career, then an epic failure, then a kid with cardiac problems, and then finally, a marriage that was collapsing from all of the weight Bernadette carried. 

Semple released a new book, “Go Gentle” about a divorced woman who high tails it to NYC. I look forward to see how my favorite author navigates this challenging chapter of life.

The Boring Bits

When I get stressed, I love to do jigsaw puzzles. 

The past few weeks have been super stressful, like "maybe you should call a lawyer" stressful. Just plain bad. Literally insult to injury bad. Awful. Sheesh.

So I am doing a a cute cat jigsaw puzzle given to me by my friend's mom. She knows I am a jigsaw fan and was unloading one from her stash so she can make room for more. 

Anyway, it is a cute puzzle and I've been working on it obsessively so I don't have to think about the stressful thing and I'm also avoiding work on my major creative project which I need to get off my ass and do. 

So here is the puzzle. I just have the boring bits left, the sky-like, monochrome parts. 

The Apology I Made for the Thing I Didn't Say

Lydia came to dinner last night,

my elderly neighbor with

cognitive  decline.

She said she was hurt and sad

because I had said 

I didn't want her over for dinner

anymore.

Nothing could be 

further

from the truth.

Lydia is good company,

a good listener,

full of great stories.

She was crestfallen.

It must have taken a lot 

for her to tell me.

She was brave to

confront someone

who had hurt her

so badly.

"Lydia, I never said such a thing.

Never would I,"

I said.

It didn't matter. 

That was what she remembered,

no matter how many times

I told her otherwise.

It didn't matter 

whether I was right or not.

I didn't want her to think

I was a monster.

I apologized

for the thing

I didn't say.

"Lydia,

I take back what I said. 

I didn't mean it 

and 

I am sorry I hurt your feelings,"

I said.

I held her hand,

and she started to tear up.

I was forgiven, 

for something

I didn't do,

something

I didn't say.

And then 

we ate

chicken and rice.

Apple, Apple, I'm your Bitch

I've had my Apple Watch now for about a month, and I'll be damned if I am not doing what it tells me to do, like it is my boss, my master, my dom.

Today at work, it told me it was time to stand up, so I stood up. It tells me how much to exercise, how much to sleep and when to go to bed. It even knows my name, and says "Good Morning, Lauren!" It is polite and friendly and I obey.

I obey my watch, and I feel bad when I don't.

Sometimes.

Right now, I am disobeying. I should be in bed by 10:30 and I am not. I am sitting here writing a blog post instead. I feel kind of bad, but aren't I a grown up? Can't I go to bed whenever I want to?

In fairness, I programmed this watch to boss me around. It asks me how often I want to stand, and I tell it. It asked me how much I want to exercise, and I told it. It asked me when I want to go to bed and when I want to wake up. 

Is this new gadget my tech overlord, or is it helping me to stay disciplined? 

I don't know. I need to get to bed. I don't want to get a low sleep score tomorrow morning.

Red Underwear and Limoncello

Last Saturday morning at 6:15 a.m., I got a call from Claire-Adele: "I'm in Rome."

Claire-Adele was supposed to be in Bangkok this week visiting her father's family. She was scheduled to fly from New York through Qatar last Friday. The plane from NYC took off as scheduled. While she was flying, the airspace in the Middle East closed. After eleven hours in the air, the plane landed in Italy. She was even wearing her lucky red underwear, a good luck charm for safe traveling.

According to the Wall Street Journal, 264 flights were in the air on the way to the Middle East when the airspace was closed. The same article said that 10% of global air traffic goes through the Middle East. It is a major hub for flights between Europe, Asia and Africa. I guess that is why it is called the "Middle" East. 

At first when Claire-Adele told me she was wearing her lucky travel underwear, I thought "Well that didn't work." It is the opposite of good luck when your connecting flight gets diverted because of a war. 

But then, it probably was good luck. She is lucky that she wasn't waiting in the Qatar airport for her flight to Bangkok when the airspace closed. She could have been stuck on the edges of a war zone for weeks. 

Qatar airlines didn't have any information about new flights, so Claire-Adele decided to hunker down in Italy for a week, which of course is an awesome Plan B. When life gives you lemons, make limoncello.

Single Ladies

My neighbor Lydia has walked my dog twice a week for about three years. She is almost eighty years old and we live in the same condo building. She used to have an adored pup years ago, but no longer. Her walking my dog has been a blessing to her, me and, of course, Fox.

Lydia has taken a turn. Last week, we walked from our building to a coffee shop on the waterfront. She used to do this walk almost every day. When we got to the shop, she had forgotten her wallet and her phone. When we got back to the condo, she didn't have her key fob to get back into the building. 

I was terrified for her. What would have happened if I wasn't with her and she was alone? How could she have gotten back in to her home? Would she have been able to figure it out? 

I didn't think so.

If she can't remember her keys and doesn't know where her wallet is, I figured she isn't eating. Since then, I've been bringing her breakfast and inviting her over for dinner. Food seems to be the best medication -- she seems more alert now she's getting at least two meals a day.

The scary thing for me is watching someone navigate aging alone. Lydia has never been married and doesn't have kids. She has had a wonderful and exciting life as a single woman. She did it right. She is strong, smart and brave. And yet, she struggles.

I worry about myself, what will happen to me as I age alone? I have kids, but they don't live in the same state, just like I moved away from my family. Am I looking into a crystal ball, seeing my own future? 

My friend Jamie works with seniors, and she said reminded me that even with married couples, men die first and women are left to navigate the aging alone. Even if I was married or partnered, I will likely age alone.

The happy side of the Lydia story is that she is happy. She is content. She smiles and laughs and tells her stories.

Maybe aging has its upsides?

Apple Watch

I’ve always thought Apple Watches were stupid and ugly.

I thought they were for young, tech savvy hipsters who loved the latest gadgets. I had a coworker who was an early adapter for the Apple Watch, being all Dick Tracy and seeing how far away she could get from her phone and still get text messages and phone calls. 

No thank you. If I am far from my phone, I don’t want to get a call or a text. I don’t want to be that connected.

There is a second demographic of Apple Watch users that I now find myself becoming: Geriatric people who want to track every heartbeat and breath, who want to track their sleep and cardiac output. My dad and my aunt--two of my favorite people—wear an Apple Watch to monitor their health statistics.

Yeah, this is me. 

Ugh. 

I like watches. My engagement present from my ex was a fancy watch instead of a diamond ring. I loved this watch until I signed my divorce paperwork. Then, I couldn’t wear it anymore without wanting to barf. I found a beautiful watch made of white ceramic—the same type of industrial ceramic used to make tiles on the space shuttle. I have another watch with a mother of pearl face and simple leather strap.

Why would I want a black glass square that shows fingerprints on my wrist? Why?

Because monitoring my health is more important than beauty. Oh god…is this the meaning of aging? Giving up the ego of beautiful things to focus on preservation? Have I crossed into a new realm?

I ordered the “prettiest” Apple Watch I could find. I am going to wear this thing 24/7 and I want it to look good and be comfortable. It cost an arm and a leg, but I didn’t care. Actually, I did care. I cared a lot and was annoyed I was spending this much money on something I am expecting to hate. So I justified getting the coolest one so I can hate it less? There is a flaw in logic here which I overcame by throwing money at the problem.

I am hoping I don’t hate this new watch, but this one device is supposed to do too much. How can a sleep monitor be something cool that I want to wear to work and out with friends? I want something elegant that I can also wear while doing the dishes. My engagement present was great in that regard, but I never wore it to bed. It was too clunky to sleep with.

The watch will be delivered soon. I’ll keep you posted. 

Colors

I imagine

the women of Paris

put on

yellow

green 

pink

purple

red

sweaters

when they are 

home

alone