Gorilla What?

How easy it is. We find something we feel passionate about and become the worst form of ourselves. Not the version you would find at a family gathering or an intimate evening with friends. No, the worst version of ourselves comes out when we find ourselves challenged and we disagree- but we have the safety of a computer screen. I am not immune to stupidity.

I found myself- in the midst of all the opinions about who was to blame for a child falling into a Gorilla exhibit at a zoo- in a crazy thread between myself and a friend on Facebook. We both hid behind our computer screens and typed/shouted at one another about a Gorilla and a child. I am not eloquent enough, or timely, to really express what I think. This mom did a pretty good job. 

That being said, I was not the best version of myself that day. I was self righteous that day, opinionated, and confident in my opinion. It wasn't a wrong opinion, but it wasn't right either. I demanded if the person I was speaking to enjoyed judging people- all the while judging her myself. It ended with us not being friends on Facebook anymore - as if that is a testament to weather or not we're really friends.

At first, I told my husband that I felt really terrible for blocking this person, and for saying the things I said, truthful as they may have been. But he said something profound to me. 

"Don't think about it as if it's losing a friend. Think about it like letting go of a person who doesn't help you be the best person you can be. If you are your worst version of yourself with them, then is it worth it to be like that; even online?"

Wow. Thanks husband for holding the mirror up to nature. It wasn't that she was terrible. It's that I was terrible responding to her. Whatever our disagreements, they are completely irrelevant. To be the best person, and the best mom I can be... before I judge any other mom or caretaker, I have to take a long hard look at myself and find my own short comings. Because my own fault doesn't justify me being cruel.

So for being cruel, I apologize. I apologize to you, dear reader, because she may never read this. And because I may have at some point been cruel to someone just like you. I didn't mean to be, but I was. We all have those days we need to atone for. I'm trying hard to be a better person, I don't always succeed. But today, almost a week after a poor kid fell into a Gorilla exhibit, lets be kind to one another and remember that we're all human.

Family Friday: Celebrating Mother’s

My Mom, my and my Grandma Shirley at my Wedding

Sometimes, Mother’s Day is reduced to a flower delivery and whatever sparkly our consumer nation is peddling at the time. I may be in the minority, because while I love fresh cut flowers and chocolate, I don’t need them to celebrate being a mom. Once upon a time, I actually had nothing to give my own mom other than some pretty words, and I won a contest for them.

Now, as a mom myself, my view on mothers and particularly my own has changed quite a bit. I’m still every bit as grateful for everything she has done and still does. But more than that I am quite simply floored by her. I can’t fathom how she did what she did and still manages to have a smile. She was a single mom with a 4 year old and a new born for my earliest memories.  How does a mom with two small kids make ends meet and still have the energy to think about the future? But she did.

She’s not alone.  There are perhaps thousands of single mom’s in my own city. There are stay at home mom’s who have a spouse- but also have three kids under five and are at their wits end. There are work at home moms and go to the office moms. All of them still manage to care for their kids.

 

My mother and law and myself at Gasworks Park

We like to judge. There is a thousand different ways to parent and no way is right or wrong. If you’re kid gets a lot of screen time, it’s not the end of the world. If they get not a minute of screen time, also not the end of the world (though I really must learn your secrets Mommy Wan Kenobi).  Full organic homemade meals or drive through- the kid’s still fed.

The point is this: Be the best mom you already are. Don’t compare yourself to others, and certainly don’t let others tell you what you’re doing wrong. Take it as you will, but know that no one but you knows the absolute truth about what’s going on inside your home and parenting challenges.

I’d like us all to take a moment and tell a mom thank you. My sisters who are wonderful examples of moms I'd like to emulate. My friends who have taught me the "tricks of the trade" and made me a better mom. My mom who raised me with courage and love. My mother in law who has a generous heart of gold for me like her own daughter.

Thank a mom. If it’s your own, make sure to call her and say how much you appreciate her. If it’s a friend, send her a text to say you see her and all she does. Take the small breath of time to thank a mom today.

Introducing the little to my friends from Z Nation at the
State Capitol. Her concern was for their owies.

Movie Monday: In Those We Trust

A few years ago I made a short film, a steampunk western that was just about 10 minutes long. Lots of people asked if I'd be turning it into a feature, but I didn't have the resources so I kept putting it off. I finally got the script finished early last year, and I had it read at SIFF. 

SIFF reading with some rad talent!

All the Firefly fans in the room promptly lost their minds. (Don't judge, I somehow had not seen Firefly until they told me that my work reminded them of that. I'm now obsessed and lamenting Fox Studio's foolishness with the rest of you.)

But after all that work, I sort of lost the wind in my sails. Then, last summer, my younger brother died suddenly in a motorcycle accident. 

He was only 28 years old.

I made a vow to not wait anymore.

Jared surprising me with a speech at my wedding.

So I'm making a feature length Steampunk film. It has horses, a steam train, and even pirate ships. My producing partners somehow managed to lock all of those in already. Now, we just need YOU. People who know and love film. Who understand the adventure, and the endless possibilities built in that world. 

Check out what I'm doing here.  There is an incredibly diver team of all walks, races, genders and faiths. I would love for you to join us. We need YOUR help sharing it, growing our fan base and building this film from the ground up.

Family Friday: Breathing Room

Ok. I'm a filmmaker, and a mom. That means I talk about both, a lot. I'm excited by film, but the joy of time spent with my family is invaluable to me. I decided recently to try something new. Movie Mondays, Family Friday. I'll write a bit about one or the other and share on those days what's going on in our world.

The thing is, Film is how I support my family.  It's not easy, by any means. There are a great many days when I consider throwing in the towel. But then I see these two's smiling faces.

My Husband and I work from home, which a blessing and a whole lot of trouble. It's really hard to tell a three year old "no, I can't dance with you right now" and not feel that pang of guilt for not wanting to play.

But at the same time, she is a constant reminder of what's at stake here.

Recently we launched a campaign to make a movie this summer. That means we're spending even higher than average time on the computer. And it's not my favorite way to spend the day, even for a work at home person.

This past week, it's been unusually warm in Seattle (80 in April?) So we cleaned up the yard, and have been out in the sun every day, playing in the yard or letting her play while trying to be engaged on portable devices. But sometimes, you just have to put the Mac Book down and engage in reality.

So yeah, there are HUGE risks being taken, and a lot on the line for a film that means a lot to our family- in more ways than one. But today, we're engaging in Family. Taking time for us. Peace out for a bit.

See you again Monday.

Movie Monday: Mother's Love

People often look at a filmmakers life and say “You live such an exciting life.” I smile and say thank you. Even today, as I write this, I am in my pajamas and robe- I guess it’s entirely possible that it sounds like I live a cush life.  But the reason I am in my pajamas and robe is because last night I had a fever, and this morning I can’t seem to keep warm. I’m sick as can be, yet here I am. Writing away.

Thing is, you never see the work behind the gate.  The late nights, the tears because a project isn’t going the way you want, a client is maddeningly stubborn without any comprehension of what their asking you to do (or the cost of it.).  I’ve bled for my art more than once, literally and figuratively. I wear my war wounds proudly though. Because as the fabulous TedTalks speak Mel Robins likes to say: I have survived all of my worst days.

We had planned to share one heart felt short film with you today. A fellow filmmaker told us it was the most “Seattle” film we’ve ever done. I think he meant dark, but I like to think it has a lot of heart. It’s a domestic violence film based on real events. We didn’t want it to be just another indie film about violence and abuse. We wanted it to ask a question: Why do we blame the victim? It’s a conversation starter. We don’t have the answer. But we do have hope.

I am pleased to share today's Movie Monday with you.

The Long Good-Bye

I've been trying to think of how best to say good bye. It's been four months now, surely that would be sufficient time to understand how. But I still haven't. I still often think I should call him, I should email him. Maybe this Christmas...

But I cant. Because he's gone. 

I feel very lucky my daughter got to know my brother. This summer, through a series of circumstances in our lives, my daughter spent a magical month at Grandma's farm. My brother had recently moved home after some heart wrenching struggles with depression and life changes. She was a magical little blessing that restored his hope and taught him to see the good in the world again.

The best way to  describe Jared is that he was my younger brother. He was four years younger than me. He irritated me in the ways only a sibling can. But he made me smile as often as he didn't.  He loved his family very much, if he didn't always know how to express it. He was generous to a fault, which is no fault at all. He even let my daughter ride on his shoulders like her daddy does. He helped her ride horses even though he was horribly allergic.

He was 28 years old when he died. 

He was riding home from work on his motorcycle. There was nothing particularly significant about the day. It's a beautiful stretch of highway between Spokane and the family farm in Rosalia. The road was open, the stretch flat and the sun glistened on the freshly harvested fields. As far as we can tell, there is nothing to indicate anything other than accident. There is simply no evidence to ever answer the question why. Who, what, where and when can easily be pinpointed. But sadly, not why.

For his memorial, the family came together. The only other time that has happened was my wedding. My step-sisters helped me reserve the Lady Washington for the services. My step-brother came in with his boyfriend and helped me put together the reception at the beach.
Even my father was there with his new wife, which hasn't happened in a very long time.

That said, I think I'd like to honor him in some small way, help people remember him the way I do. I wrote his eulogy, which I share below so you can see what I do. He may have been 28, but it can be said of him what can not be said of many: he really lived. 

It goes without saying that this makes no sense. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense that today we gather to say good bye to my brother, and yours. Your son,  your friend.  I’d like to try and paint a picture of who my brother was.

Jared came into this world surrounded by long legged women in painted faces and fake lashes.  My memory of this is imprinted though the stories I have heard and the pictures I’ve gathered. I have a photo of him in a plastic box, cords this way and that because his lungs collapsed when he was born. But that’s not what I gather from the photos.  I see my mom’s face, and my dads. I see the love on their faces. Then there is a photo that I’m in I’m wearing a little house on the prairie smock, and holding me little brother. 

And it’s love.

Of course, like all siblings, that blissful moment of welcome is quickly replaced with “stop copying me”, “That’s MY toy!” or “he hit me!”.  I have very vivid memories of being so angry with him for copying my food choices at a restaurant that I insisted he order first so he wouldn’t copy me… only to be thwarted because, as it turns out, grilled cheese is not exactly a unique palette choice.

I also have equal memories of him telling stories of my life, exactly as I lived them. But to him, they were his stories. It didn't dawn on me until my wedding day why.  You see, we’d had some pretty epic speeches from the Best Man and the Maid of honor. Then comes my little brother. He always seems a little quite, a little nervous, but there he was. Well spoken, well written and ready to paint his own picture of the day.

He observed the world around him, looked up to people that he loved. It didn’t matter if they were family or not. And that’s one of the most beautiful things I find with this family. That we don’t see blood we see love.

Jared saw the love, though sometimes I know he didn’t feel it.  His picture of himself was a little fractured. But as Great Uncle Ernie Hemmingway says, we’re all a little broken. That’s how the light gets in.

I am sad today. I’m angry. I am more than a little broken.  But Jared was a light, even if he didn’t know it. He was a light that touched everyone here. He made us frustrated, he made us cry, he made us smile. He loved so fully and unconditionally.  I’m really grateful that Ondine got to know her uncle, my brother, our brother, as I knew him. Someone to go on adventure with, to see the world with eyes that didn’t know boundaries but saw family and love everywhere.

I love my brother, and I know that while the last few weeks have been pretty hazy, he’s been there. Whatever adventure he is on now, it’s just as beautiful as the open sea or the open road where joy swells in your heart.

 While my brother was not a walking Christian, he was saved at an industrial goth-rock concert. That's a thing, in case you were wondering. He was old enough to understand what he was doing though he very rarely set foot in a church afterwards. He was a spiritual person though, who loved people and didn't like to see anyone hurting. I found a poem and I will read it for you now, knowing that it speaks closely to his heart and who he was.

When I am gone, release me. Let me go.

For I have so many things to see and do.

You must not tie yourself to me with tears.

Be happy that we had so many years.

I gave you love, you can only guess,

How much you gave me in happiness.

I thank you for the love each have shown,

But now it is time I travel alone.

So grieve awhile for me, if grieve you must.

Then let your grief be comforted by trust.

Listen with your heart and you will hear,

All of my love around you, soft and clear.

Then when you must come this way alone,

I will greet you with a smile and say…

Welcome home.

We'll miss you Jared. Have a safe and beautiful new adventure.

Back Breaking Benefits

This has been an October full of suck. It's usually my favorite month but between family and friends illness, personal injury and mourning a family loss... I'm kind of done.

Yesterday I went for a follow up for my own trip to the ER, because you know once in a week was clearly not enough. It's the first day I feel well enough to sit in a car since last Friday (and maybe a chair for any period of time). The residual effect of the pain meds the hospital prescribed have left me on bed rest with an upset stomach for almost a week.

I call, and gently remind the receptionist at my primary care provider's office of my condition, tell her it's to follow up because of my ER trip... I have to say that three times before it clicks with her. Then we go in.

Despite the fact that I'd been there the week before for a condition that had worsened, and to follow up the ER visit, we have to wait. We wait a long time. And Ondine is starting to act like any other toddler. And because it's a doctors office there other crying babies. But these don't bother me. They actually make me smile, almost longing for when she was little and things were so much easier. Then I snap back to reality and remember it was NOT easy.

The one dad takes his son outside for a moment to calm him down. When he comes back inside I can't help myself. I shout at him.

Me: Oh my God, does he have a bilateral cleft lip and pallet?

Bewildered (slightly embarrassed) father: Yes.

Me: He's beautiful.

Bewildered (slightly less embarrassed) father: Thank you.

Me: My daughter had the exact same condition.

She goes running by. A beautiful smile, no scar. He doesn't seem to believe me. We start to chat back and forth, my husband and I start sharing our story.

I show him where she started, which was much worse than where his son is for the pallet and lip. I show him more photos of her journey, the device she had to wear, the tape on her tiny cheeks. We talk about the doctors and the NAM molding that didn't work for his son but Ondine would be the poster child for. His sons name is Evan and he has a secondary condition I don't remember. He will have many more surgeries than Ondine because of it, but I would never know to look at his precious smile.

Evan's dad asks us if people ever stared, or gawked. Yes.

I tell him how it took some time to get over myself and not give a damn what anyone thought. I can tell that it takes the guilt and frustration off his shoulders to know someone else was judged the same way, to know that someone else felt they had to explain their situation because it is no ones fault that they were born with a cleft.

His wife comes out on crutches. She tore her ACL. She and I make a fine pair in our struggle to take care of our children with our injuries. 

She sits to feed Evan using a familiar pigeon bottle prescribed for such patients. We tell her some of the same stories we shared with her husband. We ALL complain how tired we were with the first bottle we had to use, grateful when they prescribed the new one. 

We have read some of the same blogs from Seattle Children's site, and heard some of the same stories. It's actually makes me forget about my back and my wait time for  my appointment because it's such an honor to talk to another family who's going through the same thing we did.

We keep talking. No one should cry because other moms, with their perfectly healthy babies, make them feel judged- but we both experienced it. I tell her I only pumped until 4 months but then broke down in tears that I wasn't a good mom because I couldn't feed my own baby. She almost cried, because she didn't make it even that long and thought she was the only one. 

I can see the relief on both of their faces to see our before and after photos. There is nothing that a doctor or expert can say that will be the same as seeing first hand the before and after. There is nothing that can replace the anxiety with the assurance that everything will be alright as witnessing someone else who has passed through the fire before you, with you can.

I am really grateful I injured my back. You see, we were supposed to be somewhere else Wednesday evening. But somewhere else didn't happen. My appointment took too long.  And because of that we were able to share Ondine's Journey with someone new. I can't begin to tell you how the light I saw on their faces, in their eyes, when I told them "I know how you feel" and they knew that I could actually say so. 

There is nothing that takes away the fear of taking a child to a hospital completely, but I'm grateful I suffered a little so that these strangers would know they were not alone and find hope.

Midnight Rush

It's 20 to midnight. The Seahawks lost. My husband is sick, my back is out, and just I'm case today wasn't awesome enough, Ondine decided tonight would be a good night for a hospital run.

So were here, waiting for meds to kick in so they can stitch up her absurdly deep gash from her acrobatic flip over my lazy boy chair. Oi. Vey. 

With all that in mind, I'm so grateful for Seattle Children's Hospital. Their staff is efficient, kind and dedicated. It may be the night shift, but they're as bright-eyed as if they just got here. The nurses have tricks to get kids to calm down or focus on something other than the exam at hand and, just in case, there's helpful kids movies to watch for kiddo distraction.

So while I'm in really severe (read I can't hardly walk myself) back pain and my husband is having trouble breathing normal, at least we can take short stuff to this grade A hospital with top of their class staff to attend her owies large and small.

I love my emerald city, especially our fantastic Children's hospital.

Back Against the Wall, Now WRITE

It's funny how sometimes it takes a moment where you're back is against the wall before you really have to make a change- or choice.

That was us, not very long ago.  Try as we might, we simply could not sustain a constant flow of work. Meaning we'd have a really great month then three where we were pinching penny's.  One month where filmmakers were coming to us will all sorts of ideas (and budgets) and we helped them making the ideas a reality. Then zilch.

Then a very unfortunate situation happened and a client we had been paid our first fee by, who had large ambitions but very little understanding of how the industry worked lost his gumption when he finally realized that he was not going to nail the A-list talent he wanted without throwing down serious cash. The film was abandoned and all the work we had prepared for vanished. Or rather, got filed on a shelf labeled "well that was interesting" to be pulled out an admired anytime we get too big for our britches.

So we're back to having our backs against the wall. Work trickles in or it pours in, there is no in between. Filmmaking is not the glamorous party every night that people imagine it to be.

Then, as if by lighting strike, we both decided that it was time to stop waiting for others to hire us and simply make our own work. Because that's how we started out. We made our own work.

There's been this film, a short that needs to be a much longer film by all accounts everywhere we've taken it. And it's been a few places. Festivals, private screenings, more festivals, and finally settled on IndieFlix where all 6 minutes of glory can be watched again and again for whomever wants to.

A steampunk western. A Short. That should be a feature. Well, alright Universe. Let's get cracking.

Here I am in Spokane, on a "writers retreat" working on the script. Next week I'll be in Rosalia learning how to shoot black powder rifles (think civil war era) and revisiting my horseback skills. But today, Writing.


I'll see you on the flip side.

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