Lessons in Letting Go

Today is my birthday but celebrating is the furthest thing from my mind. Today is also Ganesha's birthday (the elephant-headed god in the Hindu faith). He is the great remover of obstacles and so if I am wishing for anything today it is for Ganesha's assistance.

Everything right now seems to be telling me to let go. I did see the man I am infatuated with yesterday in the biggest red truck you have ever seen and though that was thrilling for a few moments, once again, we did not connect. A lot of that is my fault because I could've stayed but left. I am at a complete loss as to what to do and have decided it is not my place to do anything anyway. He knows how to find me so if he wants to, he will. And if he's reading this, he may take that as an invitation:)

I'm also learning that even though I work very hard to write great articles for the paper, once I hand them over to the editor, they go through changes beyond my control. Today, for example, a screamingly loud misspelled headline topped my front page piece. It wasn't even my headline but the public doesn't know that so it makes me look like I can't spell. When you're working on the inside of a publication it's easy to see how something like that can happen but it still isn't much comfort. This too is something I have to let go. In the scheme of things, it matters not at all.

There are things we can do to improve our process and the good news is, they've just offered me a full time position and invited me to participate in the production and editorial process. It's a great learning opportunity and I may be able to help catch these types of errors before they turn up on the newsstand.

In other news, the bleak reports my brother has been sending back from Tennessee have been getting better. They found the missing money (in a box, in a storage room, in the assisted living place), the insurance stuff is handled, my father is now in a special skilled nursing rehab unit where he is receiving excellent care and physical therapy. He's weak but determined to get well.

We all do our best and if things aren't always perfect, then so be it. This is why God gave us a sense of humor.

As far as writing is concerned, I'm doing a lot of it on a regular basis - news stories and historical pieces for magazines - but nothing screenplay oriented. I miss being part of the story team behind the movies because it's all about life on a larger-than-life canvas and much of it interpretive and deeply emotional.

A local theatre group has asked me to do a screenwriting workshop for them. I have the idea to do a "real time" round table workshop where we brainstorm and collectively write a script over a long weekend. I threw this idea out and they loved it. So when I catch my breath from moving, stepping up to full time at the paper and things settle down in Tennessee, this will be one of my next projects.

One writerly piece of advice I CAN offer is every medium has its own style and structure which defines the writing in many ways. So whatever medium you are writing in, be sure and follow the rules that apply to it - at least until you get a handle on it. Then you can throw the rules out, to a certain extent, and be creative within known boundaries.

Happy birthday to me.

Family Update

I am sorry to report that things are not so bright for my father. My brother flew to Tennessee to help him get settled in an assisted living place and has been sending emails out like a regular reporter. Dad is not rebounding as we first believed and, to hear my brother tell it, he's down for the count.

To add insult to injury, even though he's been meticulous about handling his affairs, the assisted living place has just announced they don't take his medical coverage, several hundred thousand dollars have gone missing with the move, the realtor who sold his house let the new buyer move in early and now there's a problem with the closing.

I'm dancing as fast as I can at the newspaper but am thinking now that the best thing for me to do is get the first flight to Tennessee if I'm going to see my father again before he dies.

Meet the Longhorns

Yesterday I came down the driveway on my way to a style meeting at the newspaper and there was unexpectedly greeted by some of my new neighbors. Meet the longhorns, a rather large, polygamous (and evidently very happy) family that lives at the ranch across the street. Aren't they beautiful? I nearly had an accident getting over to photograph them because I was so mesmerized. This is not the sort of thing you see everyday in L.A. Much to my delight, they didn't move away at all and in fact crowded closer to have a look back at me.

The horse was right there in the middle of them, taking nips at the bull's behind. It was a kind of comical - almost as though the horse was showing off. The bull's response was just to exhale sharply but even that made the horse jump a bit.




This mooing mama was somewhat wary. I told her I thought she was beautiful and just as I pushed the button on the camera she opened her mouth in reply. If you look closely you can see that her nursing calf never took his attention off of breakfast.

There's a lot to be said for life in the slow lane.

Human family update: My father and his wife have successfully made it to Tennessee and he underwent the cardio-version he so badly needed. We believe it was successful and he is now on the mend. My oldest brother is en route to Murfreesboro to help them settle in.

Thank you all for your prayers.

On Being a Wimberleyite

Actually, I'm at a loss for a blog post title but since I have recently relocated back to the village of Wimberley, this seems as good as any.

Cattle and deer now outnumber human neighbors by a large margin and a tin roof wreaks havoc with cell phone service. There is very little light pollution out at my place so it doesn't take much imagination to drift back on the currents of local memory and get a sense of what it was like living here a hundred or more years ago.

I'm also delving into a bit of historical research on the area and have been indulging in a cable channel bonanza of classic westerns. It's a long way from Los Angeles life and most times that just fine with me. My editor at the paper has also asked me to write a couple of pieces for the bi-annual magazine we put out and I have chosen to do at least one report on former Wimberley writer, J. Frank Dobie.

Dobie is known for being a left-wing radical, credited with saving the Longhorn breed and (what's most fascinating to me) collecting the tales, legends and folklore of the old southwest, Texas in particular. So I've just renewed my library card here and am checking out a pair of books compiled by the late great folklorist and storyteller.

I'm keeping my eye out for a certain red pickup truck too but haven't seen it anywhere since I got here a week ago Sunday. We must stop meeting (or not meeting) this way. No idea how that will happen but I'm thinking about drawing a large sign and keeping it in my car so I can flash it at him when next we cross paths.

That way I have a built-in device to counteract my automatic "flight" syndrome and it might be funny enough to break the ice. But what will it say? Howdy? Perhaps it will come to me. I'm open to ideas.

Meanwhile, my father has been in and out of the hospital and in rapidly deteriorating condition. He's so macho though he refuses to stay long enough for the heart treatment he needs because he insists on making the move to Tennessee right on schedule. My sister and I are praying for the angels to keep him safe until he reaches his destination later this week.

Sometimes, as my etiquette teacher once said, your strengths become your weaknesses. It can be hard to know when the winning formula that has saved you and kept you all your life, is not working in your best interest and has turned against you.

Heavenly Arrivals: A Cautionary Tale

This anonymously written comedy was mailed to me in-sync with all that’s been going on in my life by a friend lovingly known as “Hermann the German”.

Words from the wise...things are not always as they seem.

I think it would make a great comedy sketch for Saturday Night Live.

Thanks Herm.

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All arrivals in heaven have to go through a bureaucratic examination to determine whether admission will be granted. One room has a clerk who inputs computerized records of what each applicant did on his or her last day of life.

The first applicant of the day explains that his last day was not a good one. "I came home early and found my wife lying naked in bed. She claimed she had just gotten out of the shower. Well, her hair was dry and I checked the shower and it was completely dry too. I knew she was into some hanky-panky and began to look for her lover. I went onto the balcony of our 9th floor apartment and found the SOB clinging to the rail by his finger tips.

I was so angry I began bashing his fingers with a flower pot. He let go and fell, but his fall was broken by some awnings and bushes. On seeing he was still alive I found super human strength to drag our antique cedar chest to the balcony and throw it over. It hit the man and killed him. At this point the stress got to me and I suffered a massive heart attack and died. The clerk thanked him and sent him on to the next office.

The second applicant said his last day was his worst. "I was on the roof of an apartment building working on the AC equipment. I stumbled over my tools and toppled off the building. I managed to grab onto the balcony rail of a 9th floor apartment but some idiot came rushing out on the balcony and bashed my hands with a flower pot.

I fell but hit some awnings and bushes and survived, but as I looked up I saw a huge chest falling toward me. I tried to crawl out of the way but failed and was hit and killed by the chest." The clerk couldn't help but chuckle as he directs the man to the next room.

He is still giggling when his third customer of the day enters. He apologizes and says "I doubt that your last day was as interesting as the fellow in here just before you." "I don't know" replies the man, "picture this, I'm buck naked hiding in this cedar chest....."

Adventures in the News Trade

I must have set some kind of fast writing record in the last 72 hours. Virtually nothing turned up on the history of Lakeway online or at the library over the weekend. So I booked the earliest interview I could manage and drove over to the Lakeway Heritage Commission in my pretty white 300E and did my level best at investigative journalism. Two and a half hours later, I left armed with some intriguing oral histories, a 200+ page book (which constitutes the ONLY source of written history on the area) and about 48 hours until my deadline.

By 1:30 the next day I had read the pertinent parts of the book, written the cover story and sent it off to the magazine along with about 9 photos. Wow! Rising to that kind of pressure gives me enormous energy. After resting my brain (because research and creative writing also seems to use up a certain wavelength that needs replenishing before you can make another massive withdrawal), I drove over to Wimberley to drop off a few more of my personal things at my new place.

Being the good citizen that I mostly am:) I recently registered to vote and that triggered a summons to jury duty. This, I wonder if they know, has the affect of discouraging people from registering to vote at all because every single time you do it, it's like asking for that judicial "invitation" in the mail. I sent an email to request dismissal due to my move only to get the belated reply that first I would have to prove I had actually moved. By now I only had about a week left to comply. Not the most polite gesture but, like The Godfather, it's an offer you can't refuse.

I set up appointments for two more stories and photo shoots for Wednesday via phone, located the nearest DPS shop and penciled an address change on my schedule. On the way back to Austin from Wimberley my beloved Mercedes began to overheat. It got really bad and caused me to stop numerous times all the way home. Green water was spewing out all over the road and that's about how I was feeling inside as well. This could NOT be happening! But, of course, it could and it was.

Fortunately, I know a magic mechanic halfway between Austin and Dripping Springs. He can wave his wrench over a car and it comes to life. Yesterday morning I refilled the radiator and gently drove over to pay him a surprise visit (he had already gone home when I phoned the day before). My brother followed me over and lent me the use of his old Volvo for the day to drive back to Wimberley for the interviews. Since I was halfway to San Marcos, I made the trip to the DPS there and stood in line for what seemed like an eternity. At length, a rather unhappy looking girl took the world's worst driver's license photo you have EVER laid eyes on.

I pleaded with her to retake it - even as she pushed the computer key that sent it off to wherever those things go and she sliced my old driver's license neatly in half. She could've been a surgeon the cut was so clean and precise but the timing of it made it almost a violent act. She's a woman too. How could she be so cruel? She would never accept such a picture. Or maybe she HAD wanted to be a surgeon...

The DPS stop was the low point of my day. Or so I thought. I had no idea was what waiting just over the next hill. As great as I felt 24 hours earlier, it was like I had just ridden down the mountain at full speed and crashed in a gully. I left San Marcos feeling like a bad school girl with the shameful picture tucked in my wallet. I stopped again in Wimberley, lost all my written notes from the interviews, found them again and then made two hours of frantic phone calling to fill in the blanks.

As I drove home I began to have this gnawing vision of my car having been absolutely crushed by a gigantic truck. I tried to calm myself. It was probably just my imagination doing wild things with my growing sense of anxiety. The mechanic hadn't called. Maybe he was scrambling to reach the insurance company. He was a mage, but not that powerful. He didn't answer the phone but I kept calling until I got him. I told him I'd try to be there before five when he closes, like a bank, without mercy.

I was very close to my destination when the traffic came to a slow crawl and I could see it jammed all the way up the hill just ahead. That very hill was my destination. Maybe there really HAD been an accident and my mechanic didn't have the heart to tell me until I got there. I worried all the way to the top of the hill. Sure enough there had been a terrible crash on my side of the road. Police cars and trucks where everywhere, diverting traffic AWAY from the road to my mechanic's hilltop garage. OMG!

In a moment of panic, I drove around the cones and got just to the corner to turn when a Sheriff's Deputy shouted STOP RIGHT THERE in my direction. Now I knew I hadn't reached the bottom after all. I attempted to explain but the man was madder than a hornet. He demanded to see my driver's license. OMG! I could not believe it. Nobody should ever see that picture. He snatched it away, commanding me NOT to move (as if I was going to do that) and headed off to look me up in his computer. I am already somewhat famous in these parts so he'd find that out soon enough. Oh well.

Meanwhile, I called the mechanic to tell him not to close without me and learned that there had been a fatal accident a short ways up the road. It was no wonder the not-so-peaceful officer was mad at me. They had just peeled the victim's body from the remnants of his economy car which, you guessed it, had been virtually crushed by a giant truck. Let me tell you, being clairvoyant (and occasionally clairaudient) is not always fun or reliable.

Anyway, the deputy seemed to have cooled down somewhat after being in his car. This may very well be the literal truth. The poor man had been out directing traffic in 100+ degree temperatures trying to keep silly drivers like me from bumbling onto what amounted to a gruesome site and possible crime scene. Or maybe he felt sorry for me for having had gotten such scary-looking driver's license photo. He waved me off, promising to mail me a citation and I finally got back to my Mercedes.

The good news is, my car survived intact and is now running like a rocket. It was previously owned by a Mercedes mechanic and we think may have been modified with a cam (whatever that is). Leslie decided to keep it one more day, (he loves my car too) to make sure he fixed what was wrong. I got lost driving around the winding accident detour but was actually feeling grateful by the time I got home an hour or so later.

Emotionally and physically spent, I decided to let my subconscious work out the details of the next two news stories while I slept. I woke up at 3:30 a.m. wrote them without a hitch and had them in on time this morning along with the photos I took in Wimberley yesterday. While taking a nap, my new roommate called wondering where I was. We got that sorted and I plan to move this weekend.

So all's well that ends well. I may avoid checking my mail for a while but it could've been worse. They might have told me I couldn't get a new driver's license photo at all, ever again:)

P.S. I have named my Mercedes "Grace" - after my late aunt and in the spirit of now.

Life Update

This is my classic Mercedes. I LOVE this car. This must be what if feels like to be an enthusiast. Let's hope I haven't bought a world of trouble. It sure runs great.

Saw a fantastic independent film last week. Mao's Last Dancer. Absolutely brilliant and based on a true story. Tree of Life has finally made it to Central Texas but haven't seen it yet - although I DID take a picture of the 1941 Chevy featured in it for last week's cover story in The Wimberley View. Funny how things work out. It's a small world after all.

Still having fun writing for the paper - although human foibles have begun to peek out from behind the idyllic Wimberley facade. People are the same everywhere whether they live in Hollywood or a small Texas town. They are capable of great and wonderful things and just as often apt to be small and petty. Still happy to be moving to Wimberley this week. I'd rather be disappointed in people there than almost anywhere else.

Covered my first senate subcommittee meeting last week. That was interesting - if you like sitting in a subterranean chamber with a bunch of lawyers, disgruntled citizens and corporate sharks:) Conflict abounds. I much prefer the human interest and arts pieces. The photo to your right is my impression of the capitol dome. A giant eye on speed.

Meanwhile, gave another guest talk at the Austin Art Institute. That always makes me feel like a grown-up.

Today I'm working on a cover story for Lakeway Magazine. It's a "History Of" piece. Trouble is, Lakeway doesn't seem to have much of a history. It wasn't a town until 1974. The Apaches liked to hang out along the Colorado River and a guy named Jack Josey moved up from Houston and bought a ranch. That's about all I've turned up so far.

I wonder how the magazine would feel about a black comedy? What if...

Joe Green moved to the area to get away from the hustle of Houston and bought himself a ranch. He'd planned to raise chickens, corn and cattle but didn't count on the lack of rainfall. Joe shacked up with a beautiful Apache squaw and had a passel of illegitimate kids before she ran off with a Comanche warrior.

A hundred and eighty years later, the population is 9,013 (counting the little ones). There's a lake where Joe's hard-won homestead used to be. The great, great, great grandson of Joe Jr. IIIrd's wife (a gold digger from Dallas) has filed for divorce and half the ranch, what's left of it, plus child support for little Joe.

The closest anybody gets to the simple life is going to the Farmer's Market on Saturdays and watching reruns on TV. Every other Thursday, the Greens and a few other concerned citizens entertain themselves by fighting city hall and complaining about the drought. History? What history?

All with a Judge Roy Bean feel. Somehow I think not, but it WOULD be fun.

I guess I'm feeling a little cynical today:)