I was reminded by a friend that hiatus season as begun. A time when all TV workers are given a 6 week break. After working strenuous hours for 10 months, life can resume as normal but for a short while. Might seem like a dream to be on vacation for 6 weeks but don't let that fool you. For the independent wife and mother, this is not as easy as it seems.
Although my husband doesn't work in TV, there are times when whether on a movie set and gone for extended periods of time or even during an extremely busy week that I can experience the same thing.
How does a wife who literally becomes in charge of everything, living like a single mother, give over the reins? Whether it's just for a weekend or for 6 weeks. I'm slowly learning and the process is not easy. The process should have blaring red lights that say,"Caution When Entering." However, those signs are never made for times when vacation or time off are involved.
The first few days that my husband is back entering into normalcy is rather unpeaceful. I would love to know a marriage that isn't! The respect that I've had for my husband while he is away is completely different than when he is actually in the room. This isn't to say that I don't respect him when he's gone. But there are a lot more aspects of respect that are needed when he is actually physically with you. I need to ask more questions, involve him in the decisions, help him in understanding that changes that took place while he was away.
We read a great book together, from which I'm still learning from, called Love and Respect. I never really understood respect the way it is described here in this book. The author details 6 values that our husbands hold: Conquest, Hierarchy, Authority, Insight, Relationship and Sexuality. Now look at the list again and you'll see the difficulty I might be going through as a wife in Hollywood. My husband is out on his conquest, establishing his hierarchy and sexuality is never far from our bedroom. However, his authority, insight, and our relationship on a daily basis aren't always there. I certainly try to lead our home when he is gone with an authority I know he wants since we share the same values. I do miss his insight and counsel and end up seeking others, making stupid mistakes or waiting on decisions until he is available. Our relationship does get affected and a rebuilding needs to happen when he comes home. It is in no way an easy process but the hard work of re-establishing our marital relationship as husband and wife is worth it!
The unity, love and peace it brings to our marriage and family is above all the most important thing to me. So the re-entry back into life for my husband and how I handle it is something that does not blissfully mean "vacation".
So while you may be enjoying your episode of Glee every week during the springtime, there is a different kind of episode happening in homes all over LA.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Memories of Artichokes
"Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here." Sue Monk Kidd
Family is rare in this city and more so those that love each other. The above statement made me realize that I have memories tucked away in corners that rarely are visited upon. So, with time on my hands as the baby sleeps, I eat my lunch and visit.
Retold for my Grandma B who is always tenderhearted. My Mom who gave all her wisdom to me. My Aunt D who taught me how to laugh.
~ It's a warm spring day and my mother has decided to share the day with her own mother over lunch. We pile into the brown Suburban and find ourselves weaving through the back woods of Rhode Island. Lunch at Grandma B's house is no small thing. There's always something on the stove cooking and egg biscuits with colored sprinkles in the jar. She greets us at the door with wide open arms. Immediately, the smell of parsely, garlic and olive oil greet us. But the most distinct smell is that of artichokes. Today will be a good day.
We gather around the long oval table. The sun's rays pour in through the french doors. The table is lined with the week's newspaper, each place setting has a bowl and a napkin (maybe more) and warm loaf of homemade bread sits in the middle of the table.
Artichokes aren't for everyone and so the only people around this table our my grandmother, mother, mentally handicapped aunt and me. The conversation around the table is about the day, what's growing in the gardens, and what is going on in our big Italian family. There's a flow to the conversation as we scrape the yummy bits of artichoke leaf and throw the remaining on the table. There are no manners while eating artichokes. The only utensils being used are our fingers and no one cares if you talk with your mouth full. However, there is a certain point at which the table becomes silent. It's a rare thing around an Italian table but when a person reaches the heart of the artichoke...it's a sacred moment. Especially, for the person who reaches it first. This time it is my aunt. The juices are flowing down her hand in golden hues and as she takes a bite, the table erupts.
"Is it good? What did it taste like?"
She laughs and smiles and with a grin so big, says, "It's REALLY good!"
The rest of us begin our own food orgasms as we bite into the heart. Nothing ever tasted so good and all of us around the table begin to say the 13th letter of the alphabet. The end is near and yet because we're not ready for the journey to end, we take the bread and break it into pieces and soak up the olive oil and juices that the artichokes cooked in, scooping up whatever leftover breadcrumbs fell off the artichokes. A quietness again comes over the table but this time it is because the journey is over. Our bellies are full. We'll do this again next year when the artichoke is about to bloom. ~
...As I sit today at my own table, having my own artichoke, cooked to perfection just like my grandmother would have done ("Katie, you can never have enough olive oil"). I sit and reminisce about those moments. There aren't many things these day that bring together generations that love the same thing. These are the women I broke bread with and will forever love the memories they hold, the stories that were told and the lessons I learned from these woman.
Family is rare in this city and more so those that love each other. The above statement made me realize that I have memories tucked away in corners that rarely are visited upon. So, with time on my hands as the baby sleeps, I eat my lunch and visit.
Retold for my Grandma B who is always tenderhearted. My Mom who gave all her wisdom to me. My Aunt D who taught me how to laugh.
~ It's a warm spring day and my mother has decided to share the day with her own mother over lunch. We pile into the brown Suburban and find ourselves weaving through the back woods of Rhode Island. Lunch at Grandma B's house is no small thing. There's always something on the stove cooking and egg biscuits with colored sprinkles in the jar. She greets us at the door with wide open arms. Immediately, the smell of parsely, garlic and olive oil greet us. But the most distinct smell is that of artichokes. Today will be a good day.
We gather around the long oval table. The sun's rays pour in through the french doors. The table is lined with the week's newspaper, each place setting has a bowl and a napkin (maybe more) and warm loaf of homemade bread sits in the middle of the table.
Artichokes aren't for everyone and so the only people around this table our my grandmother, mother, mentally handicapped aunt and me. The conversation around the table is about the day, what's growing in the gardens, and what is going on in our big Italian family. There's a flow to the conversation as we scrape the yummy bits of artichoke leaf and throw the remaining on the table. There are no manners while eating artichokes. The only utensils being used are our fingers and no one cares if you talk with your mouth full. However, there is a certain point at which the table becomes silent. It's a rare thing around an Italian table but when a person reaches the heart of the artichoke...it's a sacred moment. Especially, for the person who reaches it first. This time it is my aunt. The juices are flowing down her hand in golden hues and as she takes a bite, the table erupts.
"Is it good? What did it taste like?"
She laughs and smiles and with a grin so big, says, "It's REALLY good!"
The rest of us begin our own food orgasms as we bite into the heart. Nothing ever tasted so good and all of us around the table begin to say the 13th letter of the alphabet. The end is near and yet because we're not ready for the journey to end, we take the bread and break it into pieces and soak up the olive oil and juices that the artichokes cooked in, scooping up whatever leftover breadcrumbs fell off the artichokes. A quietness again comes over the table but this time it is because the journey is over. Our bellies are full. We'll do this again next year when the artichoke is about to bloom. ~
...As I sit today at my own table, having my own artichoke, cooked to perfection just like my grandmother would have done ("Katie, you can never have enough olive oil"). I sit and reminisce about those moments. There aren't many things these day that bring together generations that love the same thing. These are the women I broke bread with and will forever love the memories they hold, the stories that were told and the lessons I learned from these woman.
Friday, April 2, 2010
A Salt Shaker? Who? Me?
I was reminded last week of an old story about a woman who longed for home. She was moving to a new place she did not want to go. While on the road out of town she looked back at all she was going to miss. I can imagine her crying while walking on the road maybe even complaining to her husband. The memories of life, family and friendship flowing through her mind. I'm sure the longing in her heart, soul, and mind wanted to stay. Her tears of salt overwhelmed and consumed her and she herself became a pillar of salt. Her body left to drift away in the places of in-between.
Never home and but never moving forward.
The lessons I take from this woman are:
1. I need to live for today. There is no tomorrow and yesterday is gone. Today is what I have. What memories can I make today? What can I find today that lifts my spirit? Is there something in today I can be grateful for?
Never home and but never moving forward.
The lessons I take from this woman are:
1. I need to live for today. There is no tomorrow and yesterday is gone. Today is what I have. What memories can I make today? What can I find today that lifts my spirit? Is there something in today I can be grateful for?
2. I can't look back. There are moments and times in the past when I've thought, "My life would be better if________(fill in the blank.) When the expectations of a girl look so much more appealing than the life of the woman I now lead. It happens though, right? My expectations of how I thought my life was going to be is very different than what is. How do we reconcile those differences and move forward? Sometimes it isn't hard. The differences were a good change than what I thought and expected. But others...well. However, dreaming is only for the future. An act that is supposed elevate the soul to a place of passion that leads to doing. There's nothing I can do about the past but be at peace with it.
3. What am I pouring out? Am I pouring out bitterness and resentment or joy and gladness? How are the people around me being affected by what I pour out?
These are the thoughts running around me today. The thoughts that wake up me while the house is still. The questions that are never really answered but new for each day.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Coach Katie
Everyone needs a cheerleader. To raise the pompoms, smile, and cheer us on. To be excited for the really small and/or really big things in life. But sometimes we need a coach too. Someone to hold us by the shoulders, look straight into our eyes and speak words of affirmation, encouragement and belief into us.
This week my husband needed a coach. Someone to tell him to get out there, forget the odds, the past, and move on. It's not something I do often because I find my husband needs more
understanding than a pep talk. And honestly, I need more empathy. But this week was unlike others and required a stronger presence.
However, in the past, this conversation was strange and confusing. I sometimes wanted to throw in the towel too. I didn't always want to be here. Going from writing job to writing job. Living in a very populated city with a kid. Trying to beat the odds.
But somewhere deep down in the belly, this gusto of belief, success, and the hope and faith I talked of earlier came out of me. It suprised me and as the words left my mouth, I began to believe the very things I was saying.
I'm grateful that over the years I've had time for the belief to build up and created a sort of resevoir for future times I might need to put on the coach hat.
Because there are times for silence, understanding and prayer but also times for words. And those words need to come from somewhere!
This week my husband needed a coach. Someone to tell him to get out there, forget the odds, the past, and move on. It's not something I do often because I find my husband needs more
understanding than a pep talk. And honestly, I need more empathy. But this week was unlike others and required a stronger presence.
However, in the past, this conversation was strange and confusing. I sometimes wanted to throw in the towel too. I didn't always want to be here. Going from writing job to writing job. Living in a very populated city with a kid. Trying to beat the odds.
But somewhere deep down in the belly, this gusto of belief, success, and the hope and faith I talked of earlier came out of me. It suprised me and as the words left my mouth, I began to believe the very things I was saying.
I'm grateful that over the years I've had time for the belief to build up and created a sort of resevoir for future times I might need to put on the coach hat.
Because there are times for silence, understanding and prayer but also times for words. And those words need to come from somewhere!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Breakfast is served!
For a long time I was in denial that my husband didn't have a 9-5 job.
It was what I was used to growing up in a blue collar town in rural Rhode Island. Everyone was home safe in their places before it got dark. You always shared the evening meal together and were able to
connect as a family once a day.
Moving to LA has meant having to break the standards that so many Americans, including myself, are used to. For the longest period, dinner time would be aggrivating for me. More so, when we started a family. The baby is hungry, dinner is getting cold and my husband still isn't home yet. Phone calls would ensue which only created more frustration. Families are supposed to eat together! But when my husband is coming home at 7:30pm or doesn't at all because of evening meetings, you can't have the normal life.
This life is not normal!
I finally had to come to my senses and wake up to the fact that
I lead a different kind of life and that means the rules change for me and my family.
Dinner is always made and there will always be enough for all us. But if my husband isn't home by 6:30pm, then the rest of the family is eating. This home still needs to run on some sort of system and organization. It took some getting used and still I sometimes find myself frustrated at my husband. (Even though, I should be frustrated at the industry for having such weird hours! They go in late and leave late.)
My husband and I did decided, however, to make breakfast more special. The morning is less rushed and we make the time more family-centered. It creates a great start to the day and when dinner together might not happen, at least we shared breakfast time. Knowing that my children get to spend time with their father, talk about the days adventures that will happen, and share some laughable moments from the day before means a lot to me. This time is needed for our family and it's about being able to not only make the time but find what fits your lifestyle.
Pancakes, anyone?
It was what I was used to growing up in a blue collar town in rural Rhode Island. Everyone was home safe in their places before it got dark. You always shared the evening meal together and were able to
connect as a family once a day.
Moving to LA has meant having to break the standards that so many Americans, including myself, are used to. For the longest period, dinner time would be aggrivating for me. More so, when we started a family. The baby is hungry, dinner is getting cold and my husband still isn't home yet. Phone calls would ensue which only created more frustration. Families are supposed to eat together! But when my husband is coming home at 7:30pm or doesn't at all because of evening meetings, you can't have the normal life.
This life is not normal!
I finally had to come to my senses and wake up to the fact that
I lead a different kind of life and that means the rules change for me and my family.
Dinner is always made and there will always be enough for all us. But if my husband isn't home by 6:30pm, then the rest of the family is eating. This home still needs to run on some sort of system and organization. It took some getting used and still I sometimes find myself frustrated at my husband. (Even though, I should be frustrated at the industry for having such weird hours! They go in late and leave late.)
My husband and I did decided, however, to make breakfast more special. The morning is less rushed and we make the time more family-centered. It creates a great start to the day and when dinner together might not happen, at least we shared breakfast time. Knowing that my children get to spend time with their father, talk about the days adventures that will happen, and share some laughable moments from the day before means a lot to me. This time is needed for our family and it's about being able to not only make the time but find what fits your lifestyle.
Pancakes, anyone?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Hope and Faith
Last week was a milestone for me. It was the first time in two years that I felt as though I was hoping for my husband again. 2008 was a year of lost hope. A time when projects fell to the floor even though you could see the finish line, when things were "stolen" and somehow disappeared from your grasped. Due to the overwhelming amount of faith that was put into those projects, I came out on the otherside - beat down.
Why hope? What's the purpose of faith if this kind of stuff is going to happen? Do you not see what we're going through? Where are my angels?
Why hope? What's the purpose of faith if this kind of stuff is going to happen? Do you not see what we're going through? Where are my angels?
Over the past year, my husband has been working on projects (either alone or with partners) and I really didn't think anything of it. "Sure, go do it. That sounds fun." Not thinking that in 2010 those projects would actually see feet and almost feel as though they are running. Or that they would possibly supply any kind of income.
So, as new projects build and escalate to something so much more than I expected, last Thursday I carefully stepped out said, " Ok, I'm going to hope for this. I have faith that this will work out. Not necessarily to what I want it to be but what He says it will be." Not to mention, it's nice to see positive action happening. Rather than the usual, which is either nothing or the constant negative "no" being said.
I guess I must be a sucker for hope and faith. "Could this be the year of redemption? A time when the hard work will finally be paid for?" Whether or not it is, it's refreshing to be able to come up and find a pocket of air to be able to breath from.
It's a Team Effort
There's a jealousy that comes over wives in this industry. I know where it comes from...I've had it too. "Why are you working so much? Spend time with ME. Do you have to do that now? Is this more important than me? " In fact, I once called his computer his mistress. He hasn't forgotten even though this was years ago and I've apologized. But it tells me/you something about I how felt. I wasn't on his side. I didn't see things from his point of view. I also realized it didn't get me anywhere. It didn't make me closer to my husband. Didn't pave the path for better communication or more intimacy. It only created more road blocks in our marriage.
At the time I would show support by reading his scripts and giving him a list of spelling errors, listening intently to story ideas and the day's trials. What I didn't realize was that my attitude was showing him the most support, and back then he felt pretty alone.
Our attitudes mean everything to our husbands. They carry our attitudes around with them when they leave for work, worry about us all day and come home expecting what they left that morning. And usually, they find it. Now as a wife who was home with a 2 year old, stuck in the same 2 bed apartment that seems to be getting smaller as the days go by, I get it. My attitude was not great. I saw concrete from every window and smelled second hand smoke coming through the walls from my tobacco addict neighbor. I thought I wanted city living and clearly at that time I was wrong. But too late now. I gave my word and can't go back on it. A sense of hopelessness came over me. Which leads to a long list of horrible attitudes. I'd put sticky notes where ever there was a blank space. Reminding myself to look up, face the day differently, be grateful for what you do have. But something just wasn't right. It didn't click like I was hoping it would.
(We do have a meeting every 3 -5 yrs to discuss whether we are making progress and should continue pursuing this career. It's very helpful and I would encourage others to do the same.)
Then in 2006, I met woman from FL. She prayed over me and said," Have no fear but power, love and a sound mind. Return to the playful woman you used to be. The woman your husband fell in with love." There were other things that were said that made me understand that it wasn't this woman speaking but someone much Greater. This conversation gave me something I was missing. A reassurance that the man I married would not leave me for his job but that he was working hard and overtime to provide FOR me. Because that's what jealousy ultimately comes down to - fear. I was given a breathe of new life that day.
Two is always better than one. It's how I approach his career now. I realized that my voice was needed in helping him make decisions. We go to parties together, network the room together. I get to put on heels and hang like eye candy on my husband's arm. It's fun! My notes on scripts have become more critiqued. I'm finally getting how to read a script. It's so much different than a book. When does the story start? On what page? Is this a well developed character arch? Should there be more? Move this scene. The character would never say or do that.
We talk before our day starts. "What's going on today? How can I help?" and vice versa. We talk in the middle of the day whether it's through IM, an email, a phone call or just over lunch together. We talk after the day has ended.
There is this constant communication that is happening. I know of all the big dogs in town and where they work, what opening weekend movies have grossed, and why Public Enemies didn't work. I know he remembers the same stuff about my life. When the baby last went poo, our oldest child's achievement in school, or that I said I would call a friend and still haven't done it yet.
It's about our team effort now. Fighting the treacherous path up a rocky mountain together. Because that's what this feels like most times. But it is so much better fighting together rather than alone.
At the time I would show support by reading his scripts and giving him a list of spelling errors, listening intently to story ideas and the day's trials. What I didn't realize was that my attitude was showing him the most support, and back then he felt pretty alone.
Our attitudes mean everything to our husbands. They carry our attitudes around with them when they leave for work, worry about us all day and come home expecting what they left that morning. And usually, they find it. Now as a wife who was home with a 2 year old, stuck in the same 2 bed apartment that seems to be getting smaller as the days go by, I get it. My attitude was not great. I saw concrete from every window and smelled second hand smoke coming through the walls from my tobacco addict neighbor. I thought I wanted city living and clearly at that time I was wrong. But too late now. I gave my word and can't go back on it. A sense of hopelessness came over me. Which leads to a long list of horrible attitudes. I'd put sticky notes where ever there was a blank space. Reminding myself to look up, face the day differently, be grateful for what you do have. But something just wasn't right. It didn't click like I was hoping it would.
(We do have a meeting every 3 -5 yrs to discuss whether we are making progress and should continue pursuing this career. It's very helpful and I would encourage others to do the same.)
Then in 2006, I met woman from FL. She prayed over me and said," Have no fear but power, love and a sound mind. Return to the playful woman you used to be. The woman your husband fell in with love." There were other things that were said that made me understand that it wasn't this woman speaking but someone much Greater. This conversation gave me something I was missing. A reassurance that the man I married would not leave me for his job but that he was working hard and overtime to provide FOR me. Because that's what jealousy ultimately comes down to - fear. I was given a breathe of new life that day.
Two is always better than one. It's how I approach his career now. I realized that my voice was needed in helping him make decisions. We go to parties together, network the room together. I get to put on heels and hang like eye candy on my husband's arm. It's fun! My notes on scripts have become more critiqued. I'm finally getting how to read a script. It's so much different than a book. When does the story start? On what page? Is this a well developed character arch? Should there be more? Move this scene. The character would never say or do that.
We talk before our day starts. "What's going on today? How can I help?" and vice versa. We talk in the middle of the day whether it's through IM, an email, a phone call or just over lunch together. We talk after the day has ended.
There is this constant communication that is happening. I know of all the big dogs in town and where they work, what opening weekend movies have grossed, and why Public Enemies didn't work. I know he remembers the same stuff about my life. When the baby last went poo, our oldest child's achievement in school, or that I said I would call a friend and still haven't done it yet.
It's about our team effort now. Fighting the treacherous path up a rocky mountain together. Because that's what this feels like most times. But it is so much better fighting together rather than alone.
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