Joy of the Enforced Hiatus

Well, first of all, I had a really, really good time with my birth mom. It was everything I’d been hoping for at this stage in our lives. Relaxed, revealing, beautiful.

The hiatus part, mentioned above, has to do with the TV pilot.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I had to write like a motherfucker to get my revisions of the CLEVELAND TV pilot turned in, ASAP, in order to get my notes and feedback in time to revise yet again and send it off to a different producer in LA before my trip there in 3 weeks.

I might even go so far as to say “3 fucking weeks.”

And so I did it. Did the revisions. Was happy with them. Sent them off. They were happy to be received. However. The EVP of Production is now going on vacation and so cannot get me any notes or feedback until just prior to Thanksgiving…

Yes. Yes. Yes. Thanksgiving. 2 weeks from now. Which means I will have a handful of days, moments, hours, to make any additional revisions and send it off to the next guy before I literally arrive in front of him in LA.



What to do? I guess enjoy these 2 weeks of limbo and happily work on the novel some more. There’s nothing I can do or say that wouldn’t sound heartless, cruel, self-centered, mean, awful, etc. (i.e., ME: “You promised me you would get me notes in plenty of time. How dare you go off and relax somewhere???!!! How dare you imply that you read a ton of fucking scripts every single gosh darn day and that mine is only yet another one added onto the pile of your endless reading nightmare??!!”)

So, I have an enforced hiatus from re-writes and I will simply have to force myself to relax.

I guess, starting now.

Off I go to relax, gang. Have a wonder-filled Thursday, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting. See ya!

Me and my birth mother in a bar, over 30 years ago! (She does, indeed, make me that happy. It’s not the beer.)

Life Gets Lovely in the Hinterlands

The fall leaves are really at their peak now, gang.

Now that I have a new, upgraded, awesome iPhone, I wanted to take a quick photo of the whole area around that Mail Pouch Tobacco barn posted above (I didn’t take that photo – I got it off the Internet and the colors have been greatly enhanced by someone).  The barn is down the road from me, and it was just so breathtaking yesterday afternoon, around 3 o’clock.  Surrounded by such a multitude of trees in all their autumn-leaf glory.

But we have a new law here in Ohio that states that if any sort of traffic violation occurs (regardless of the severity or lack thereof), an automatic HUGE additional fine gets tacked on if the cop so much as thinks that you were distracted by your cell phone while the violation occurred.

I have a 100% clean driving record. But I figured that now that we have this new law coinciding with my new phone, trying to get a photo of the barn while driving (although I was willing to drop my speed from 90 mph to about 30…) would be the time that my whole life behind the wheel went suddenly haywire and I would get nabbed for being distracted by my cell phone while driving.

As much as I love you; as much I desire to regale you with every moment of beauty here in Crazyland, my clean driving record and my stupifyingly low insurance rates mean more to me than you do. I’m sorry. It’s just how it is.


My mother arrives tomorrow but it will be raining most of the day. I hope she still gets a chance to be regaled by all the autumnal splendor around here when she gets close to the outskirts of my town.

She loves the fall as much as I do. October is her favorite month of the year – it’s mine, too. (I know it’s November, I’m just talking about October for a moment here.) I was actually conceived in the month of October. I don’t know if she realizes this, or remembers it or anything like that, since my conception and birth are not her favorite moments from a long and often difficult life.

I don’t want to bring it up while she’s here because she was not a big fan of my dad’s – to put it gently. I think they “knew” each other, in the Biblical sense, for about 5 minutes, back when she was 12 and he was 14. And I am the exulted and magnificent result of those 5 minutes.  I know she loves me, as a person, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that loving me as a person outweighs having known my dad for 5 minutes – if she had it to do over again, I mean.

Meaning: Me, being in the world, versus not having to know my dad again for those 5 minutes and all the heartache that followed in his reckless wake. Including my grandfather forcing her to give me up. That was likely worse, though, than what my dad put her through.

And that is that huge grey area that we won’t talk about, if we’re sober: she really did love me once I was born, more than life itself, and then her own father stepped in and took me away, put me up for adoption.

A very long time ago, her father (my grandfather, who died 2 days after my weird accidental aspirin overdose wherein I nearly died, too) took me to lunch. As luck would have it, he took me to my very favorite restaurant on Earth. A really old, tiny German place, off the beaten path. And he said, “I hope you don’t mind going here. I love this place.” And, of course, I was stunned, you know? Because I loved that place, too. And then he was stunned that I even knew about it, because by then I lived in NYC and had lived there a long time.

We sat down at the table in the tiny restaurant and he point-blank told me: “I don’t care if you hate me for what I did. I know your mother hates me, but I still stand by my decision. I felt it was the best thing for her and for you. You can hate me if you want. But that’s how it is. Now let’s have lunch.”

It was hard to hate him after he said that. I don’t think I ever actually hated him, though.  I liked him well enough.  And I liked that he was at least honest. He even went so far as to say (regarding my great-grandmother’s house – his mother, the house he grew up in) “You’re not in the Will. You’re not legally entitled to any of this. It’s for my other grandchildren.” Which was fine, and true. Of course, then I was disinherited by my adoptive family, as well, so it was a very interesting emotional no-man’s land I was always finding myself in.

Well, all this stuff – as much as I would love to talk to my mother about it and hear her side of things for real, I’m not going to bring it up. She’s really private, and I just want her to have a nice time; not feel like she’s being emotionally invaded.

The only thing she’s ever really told me about what it was like while she was just this little girl, pregnant with me (before her mom found out she was pregnant and put her in the County Home for unwed mothers), was that she used to sit in her room all day and play Elvis records on her record player.

I thought that was so amazing because, not only did I turn out to be a little girl who sat in my room and played records all day, all by myself as she did, but I loved Elvis.  And he wasn’t even really from my era.

Okay. Enough of that. I wanted to add that yesterday afternoon, I was outside and a neighbor here in Crazyland was driving past and stopped her car to speak to me. I thought maybe she was lost – no one in Crazyland really speaks to anyone else in Crazyland. However, she said, “I really love that you are taking such good care of this old house.”

It made me feel so happy that anyone had noticed.

She was a much older lady, one of those people who had the lines in her face that speak of being a farmer, riding horses, being out on the land her entire life. They are much different from the lines people get from simply aging or from smoking a  lot. They are “weather” lines, or the lines of God’s Earth.

She said, “I figured you were here alone and doing your best. I just wanted you to know that I noticed what you’re trying to do and I really appreciate  what you’re doing. The house is looking really good.”

Wow.  It really made me feel great. I can’t wait until I can get the barn fixed. But that will probably be spring.

All righty, gang!! Let’s get Monday happening around here. Have a great day, wherever you are in the world! I, for one, am glad you’re alive! (I’m won’t go so far as to say that I want to do it with your dad, but I’m glad you’re here, regardless!) See ya. Thanks for visiting.

Sunday Morning in Crazyland!

It is a really gorgeous fall morning here today, gang.

I’ll tell you, Crazyland looks good in any season.  I open my eyes in the morning, look outside the window and even though it’s usually still dark outside, I say, “Man, it’s beautiful here.” It never ceases to amaze me. To thrill my soul. To make me so darn happy that I didn’t die a year ago last spring (my weird accidental aspirin overdose that weirdly occurred 2 days before my grandfather died out of the blue) and that I lived long enough to move to this blessed & crazy town and really experience it in all its wonder.

It’s the character of this quirky town – and all its ghosts that just sort of hang out and walk around.  Sometimes I stand at my kitchen window when night comes and it’s like I can actually see those ancient giants who used to live around here, 2000 years ago. (They were around 12 feet tall – some even taller.) It’s like I can see them literally coming down Basin Street under the street lights. I have to blink and look real hard to know for sure they’re not there.

Okay, well, I’ve had my Holy Communion for the week. This time, as a refreshing change of pace, I did not have a ton of stuff to apologize for. I actually had a pretty good week.  As soon as I gave up trying to stop using the f-word (constantly), my long list of sins became super short.

But, seriously, I did have a good week.  I feel extremely good about that revision I turned in for the TV pilot, and I hope to hear back re: notes maybe as early as tomorrow.  I’m not going to kid myself, but it sure would be nice if he said, “Wow, great job! No need to change a single, solitary WORD.” We’ll see. He does always have good insights, though. So if he wants a change, I know it will be a good one.

I did use quite a few flashbacks in the pilot episode, which is a big no-no. Frankly, though, Riverdale used tons of flashbacks and I thought they were so cool, so I went ahead and did what I felt my revised story was asking for. But we shall see, gang.

In the meantime, I’m gonna get crackin’ on all this cat hair around here! My birth mother is coming this week!

Okay, enjoy your Sunday! And thanks for visiting. See ya!

This old house, plus Cute Electrician

No, that old house is not MY old house, although it is down the road from me and I pass it twice a day. And it’s really cool.

My old house is holding up a lot better.

Below are 2 photos of some of my doorknobs that always give me a lot to think about. There are only a few doorknobs in the house that are original to the house.

The first – the doorknob in my bedroom. It is 117 years old. And it fascinates me to think about all the many people who have touched that doorknob. Who were they? What did they do while they were in my bedroom? Probably really happy stuff because my bedroom has the best vibrations of any room I have ever been in.

The next is my front door. Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that this front door has not been opened in, literally, decades. Probably around 40 years. It’s the original door, painted a zillion times so that now it’s painted shut, and the original doorknob. The doorknob is really rusty on the outside. But not the inside. I will regale you soon with what the inside of this door looks like because the lock is just too cool.

117 year old front door.

I like how I’ve made it look as if you’re welcome to come inside, but, truthfully, you could stand there another 40 years and I would not know you were even there. You’ll notice there is no such thing as a doorbell here.

In other news…

The electrician is making one final visit to the house this evening to finish all the stuff that I can afford to have him fix for now. But at least he assured me that my dryer will be working again.

His visit on Wednesday, Halloween, was rather informative. He told me in no uncertain terms that the way my main waterline comes in right on top of my main electric line is absolutely illegal. And that my breaker box has to be moved at least halfway down the wall, and all the wiring should be upgraded.

I’m sure you’re savvy enough to know that this involves thousands of dollars — about .75 cents of which I have. Mostly because 3 days of having an electrician here has wiped me out! Anyway.  Life goes on and he’s doing his best to seal everything up for now so that my beloved home is no longer a fire-trap in action.

He is the cutest guy. We talked a little bit the first day he was here. He has a little baby girl – he showed me photos on his phone. He’s 38.  We talked a little bit about me not having kids even though I had wanted them and how it was one of the primary reasons for my 2nd divorce. And he asked me how old I was now and when I told him, he said, in genuine seriousness, “Well, there are miracles, you know. It could still happen.”

It was too cute! I told him, “I don’t want that kind of miracle at age 58.”

The next night that he was here, we were talking about something else, and he said, “You know, you don’t look nearly as old as you are.” Whoa. Too funny. Then he added, “I meant that as a compliment.”

And I said, “Trust me, honey , I took it as a compliment.” Man, did he come on strong after that. It was actually too cool. I was so flattered. Because even though he refuses to accept it, I know that I am really OLD. He was not subtle, either. However, I’m old enough to know that when there’s a father and a baby there’s gotta be a mommy somewhere…

All righty!! On that happy note, as I await his return later today, I am hard at work again on the new novel Blessed By Light. So I’m gonna get crackin’ around here. Have a great Friday, wherever you are in the world, gang!! Thanks for visiting. See ya.