Headaches and Heroes

I felt slightly heroic today when I spent 2 1/2 hours on a bus to get from our campout spot in the Bronx to work.  I felt slightly more heroic when I walked up 17 flights of dark stairs to feed our fish, then 17 flights down with my wind-up flashlight (and we all know how good I am at that!) to go to work.  Then I saw workers pumping rivers of water out of subway stations and read about the people who evacuated NYU Medical Center's patients using slides down 8 flights of stairs.  There's heroic and there's Heroic.

Tonight it took me almost as long to return to our Bronx campout, with a pounding headache (probably caused by my trying to make up my lateness to work by not picking up coffee and eating only protein bars and chocolate pudding all day).  Then I thought about buildings full of toilets that won't flush and handymen who will be cleaning up debris for days and bus drivers who have to stay alert for those 2 1/2 hour trips that I half-sleep through.  There are headaches and there are Headaches.

I wish this could be like a soap opera town, where once the natural disaster has done its ratings job for sweeps, the town looks as though nothing ever happened (though I saw first-hand how many crew Heroes it took to make that illusion).  The recovery here will last a lot longer, and I suspect that the memories of both the heroes and the Heroes, the headaches and the Headaches will last a lifetime.

Hurricane (What Else?)

If a blog is written but never gets posted because the power goes out, is it still a blog?

While I started writing yesterday's blog, before the big noise that turned our apartment black, I was nowhere near done. I have restarted several times since then, but the truth is, this hurricane thing has resulted in so many awful things happening to people I know, it's hard for most of my ideas to seem all that important.  But now that I'm in a place where I can actually post, I will share a few of my reflections on these last few days, perhaps in the hope that they will provide a laugh or at least some bit of normalcy for those people who have been reading faithfully every day.

Rain Day--
Monday, as we all sat home--no school, work, or subway--all I could think about was how much weight I would gain in a situation like this (remember, chips were part of my hurricane supply list!)

Night One--
A big noise, then darkness, so no post tonight (hey, even soap operas have been preempted in weather emergencies!)  And what's a little darkness?  We'll just go to sleep (of course, my kids see darkness as an invitation to stay up and talk--so maybe we won't just go to sleep).

Night One Continued--Sirens in the Night--
I was okay with the dark, but when I woke up several hours later to the sound of sirens--not a few sirens, but a constant stream of them, plus a constant hum of ambulances, I was not so okay.  Inside our apartment all day, I could see rain and wind, but somehow, the sirens in the night remind me that this really is an emergency.

Day Two--Cooking With Gas--
I felt almost decadent being able to light our gas stove with a match and cook most of our eggs and all the varieties of stuffed pasta from our freezer.  By mid-afternoon, though, when we've heard we may be without power for days, we have decided to jump ship to relatives in the Bronx who have power.  I feel slightly traitorous as we make our escape (when I'm not feeling nauseous walking down 18 flights of stairs to do it!)

And thus, this blog is posted.  No "wrap it all up with a bow." I guess the hurricane has blown away my focus along with all the trees.  Best wishes for power, safety, and good health to all.

Storm Prepping

We raced home today, so as to beat the possible closing of bridges and tunnels into New York.  With subways and buses being shut down and school closure already announced, it's hard not to take this hurricane seriously.  That being said, I have tried to prep, and I would like to share my short prep list.

1.  Go to Rite Aid to stock up.  On water?  No.  Batteries?  Nope.  Just toilet paper.  And chips.  Funny thing was, though the line was about 40 people deep, most of them weren't buying water and batteries either.  Mostly I saw beer and chips.  I guess New Yorkers just figure if they're hunkering down, they may as well have fun with it.

2.  Charge everything--not just batteries, but phones and i-everythings.  We may not lose power for long or at all, but if we do, my husband will still want to run his virtual farm (I know, we may lose internet too) and my son may go through app withdrawal.

3.  Make the kids do their homework.  A challenge with there being no school tomorrow, but there is no way I will be dealing with undone homework when we've had a 3 (or possibly 4) day weekend.

4.  Teach my kids to like tuna fish.  Okay, not happening.  But we have a lot of it, and in a power failure, it requires nothing more than a can opener and a fork.

5.  Clean the apartment.  Well, we're here.  And that way we won't trip over everything if there's a blackout, AND we'll have a clean apartment when it's over.  Again, not happening, but I can hope, can't I?

In the end, I just hope that a few days from now, we come out of this with electricity and with our car not sitting in a flooded garage.  And with our friends and relatives all over the place just fine too.

Burgers in the Car

Last night, we drove to Ithaca, a close to five hour drive, after a full day of work and school.  Thankfully, my husband ended up doing all the driving, because, though I was raring to go at the beginning, it was all I could do to stay awake by the time we arrived close to midnight.

My kids are good travelers, pretty much always have been, and this time, given our late departure and the length of the trip, we gave them a treat they've never gotten on a road trip--dinner eaten in the car.  I ran in and picked up burgers, nuggets, fries and lemonade, and we were off, my husband (who is usually rabidly against eating in the car) munching his burger as he drove, and the kids managing to eat their nuggets and fries ketchup-less (we drew the line there) and with virtually no mess.  As for me, I passed up my usual fast food salad or baked potato (too messy for car eating) and went with a mushroom Swiss burger, which was amazingly satisfying.  The whole thing was actually a lot of fun.

Will this change the way we travel in the future?  I doubt it.  Too many meals in the car would probably be no more good for our digestion than it would be for the smell of the car.  And normally, we travel when we have time to get where we're getting, so burgers in the car is unlikely to be a necessary thing very often.  When my kids lobby to do it again (as I feel fairly sure they will), I will explain it this way-- 

Sometimes in life, when circumstances are not exactly how we'd like them to be, we are called upon to make adjustments.  And, as far as I can tell, the people who succeed in life are not necessarily the smartest or the strongest, but those who are adaptable, who make lemonade out of proverbial lemons, who spend less time fighting about "what should be" and more time making "what can be" happen.

Tomorrow, we'll be driving home from Ithaca, at an hour when eating along the way won't even be necessary.  So definitely no burgers in the car, but hopefully a new-found appreciation for the fact that, if we try, there are all sorts of things we can do along the way to turn our lemons into lemonade (and have a lot of fun while we're at it).

The People in My Neighborhood

Sometimes I think about moving to Iowa.  Well, not Iowa specifically,  just to someplace completely different from New York, where we will have enough space and cereal won't cost five dollars a box.

My husband reminds me that I won't know anyone there, but in the moments when I want to escape, I don't care.  It's not as though I see most of my New York friends and family very often anyway.  Either I'm working too hard to have time or they're working too hard to have time.  And there's always email, right?

This morning, I realized moving to Iowa might not actually be all that easy.  It wasn't because my children said they couldn't possibly leave their schools.  It wasn't because I suddenly loved the trains or because today my friends and I were all suddenly able to see each other. What I realized today was that, though I may not have a lot of friends I see daily, I have an enormous number of neighbors I would really miss seeing.

There's the teacher who helped my son learn how to take a standardized test, and the writer on our floor who gives me periodic updates about the state of magazine publishing.  There's the French lady down the hall who's always willing to feed our fish (and says she sings to them while they eat) and the just bat-mitzvahed girl we've know since she was a baby. The super-polite kids who were little when we moved in and are now in college, and the architects whose three year old daughter's face makes me smile every morning.

Would I ever have lunch or dinner with any of these people? Probably not.  But in the ups and downs of life (and there have been a lot of those this year), they give me a home base, a frame of reference, a normalcy I can fall back on when everything else is chaos.

I am sure I would find very nice neighbors in Iowa, or Ithaca, or wherever I'd go.  And, things being what they are, there may come a day when we do move.  But for now, I'll happily just stay here and enjoy the people in my neighborhood.

Three Minutes A Parent

It's parent-teacher conference day, and for my trip from way West Midtown to my daughter's conference on the Lower East Side, I got 3 minutes (timed with a stopwatch) with each of her core teachers.  Which, by the way, makes me lucky, since the timeslots filled before many parents could sign up at all.

I have been dealing with short conference times for pretty much the whole time my kids have been in school--probably the longest ever was 12 minutes--so 3 was not really a surprise (and since I got to see all four teachers, plus the French teacher, it was really a 15 minute conference, just split up!).

I am happy to report that my daughter is doing fine--whatever concerns about homework I chatted about with other parents clearly aren't influencing how she is doing in class.  And while I was certainly happy to hear that her grades are good, I was even happier to hear her teachers call her respectful, responsible, and helpful to other students.  The academic skills are absolutely important, but the fact that she has life skills as well makes me think that maybe, in all the chaos, we have done something right.

So it turns out that 3-minute conferences were actually okay. And as I rode the bus home, I thought about how many things we do all the time in 3 minutes, from brushing our teeth to reading a newspaper article to making EasyMac to telling our children to "have a good day."

And if you were given the choice of doing something in three minutes or not doing it at all, what would you do?

Definitions

At every Children's Media Association event I attend, I introduce myself differently.  My name is always Tracy, but "what I do" changes pretty much every time.

When I first joined the group, I was still working at One Life to Live.  So, though I was aspiring to work in children's TV, I was very much working in soaps, so I was "Tracy--I'm an AD, Director, and Editor at One Life to Live but it won't last forever, and I'm trying to transition to children's media."

When One Life ended, it was "Tracy--worked as a director and Editor on soaps and sitcoms for a long time, and now that soaps have left New York, I am looking to work in kids' stuff."

After a while, the demise of One Life seemed like old news to be reporting, so I became "Tracy, looking for work in children's media."  And when I began spending many hours working on a children's book idea, I could actually introduce myself with something children-related, which was a relief. At least until reality editing came along and took the place of all the "alone-in-the-apartment" writing I'd been doing.

These days, there are times when Video Editor comes first--it seems to be the thing that people understand.  Last night, I think Writer may have come first (that's what happens when I'm writing my blog on the way).  And with my brain spinning about the sitcom pilot I'm frantically editing at home and the reality editing I'm returning to tomorrow, and the music video I'll be editing next, plus a new interest in my children's book idea, I suspect I came across either as someone who does it all, or as someone who has no idea what she wants to do.  Believe me, I heard lots of people with a variety of job titles at a variety of shows and networks, and a whole lot of people saying "writer wanting to work in children's television," but not many had a crazy list like mine.

So as I sit here today, editing the sitcom. and writing my blog, and looking over my children's stories in the precious moments while the computer renders effects, I can't say how I'll define myself today.  And until I take up residence in a dictionary, maybe that's okay.

Carving Out Time

I must write earlier.  I must write earlier.  I feel as though I should write it a hundred times on a blackboard, just to make it stick.  And as I tell my kids, no screens until the work is done (which is getting harder and harder as so much of their work is on the computer).

I started out spending the slow parts of my job searching days writing the blog.  Now there are many days when I'm scrambling to work out a blog entry at night, once all the at-home editing, child transporting, dinner preparing, and evening meetings are done, and I'm just not my best self at that hour.  There is actually a running joke in our home about the "momster" who replaces me at 10:00 each night.

That said, I must carve out a writing time, just as I have carved out gym time.

Carving out is hard.  In the last few months One Life to Live was in production (and we were going through the high school application process for my daughter), I remember feeling all the time that I didn't know which crisis to address first.  Should I be devoting most of my energy to the high school search, or to relishing the last days at work?  Or to a job search, or networking toward a job search?  In the end, I did little bits of each.  And in the end, One Life to Live still ended, my daughter ended up in a good high school, and I came out of it with no job.

Every day, there are so many things demanding our time, and I have found that the only way to have time for the "want to's" is to carve out that time for myself.  No one is going to release me from the "have to's," but if I am to write or blog or whatever it is that doesn't make money or keep the house clean, it is up to me to write earlier or whatever it takes to make it work.  In a way, not so different from the mindset I had as an AD.  If I was to make things better in the studio, it would be by taking ownership of what went on in the control room, not sitting by and just waiting for the director to do so.

So I am happy to report that today, even with a great deal of at-home editing and transporting children, I did write earlier.  And no one was hurt in the carving out of this time.

The Cost of Doing Business

In the last two days, I have burned through a $20 metrocard transporting my children to activities all over town.  Perhaps this would have been a good week for an unlimited card, but I haven't bought one of those since I was going to work every day, and you never know until you're midway into your heavy transit week that it's going to be that, and by then, it's just too late.

But this is actually not a post about metrocards.  What I realized in all my transport (which actually included a couple of cabs for when there were a few of us not going far or when it was very late at night) was how specific it all was to being a city family.  If we lived in the suburbs, we'd all be hopping in and out of the car, parking in ubiquitous free parking lots and driveways, perhaps sometimes dependent on traffic and always bearing the expense of gas, but independent of so many things that city life requires--

1.  $2.25 for each bus or subway ride, which is a bargain if you're going across town and way uptown, but annoying if you're going someplace that would be walkable if you'd left enough time or if it weren't late at night.

2.  Riding transportation that is often overcrowded and on which a stranger can destroy your child's carefully made art project, when you'd really rather be driving but would never be able to park your car in order to deliver your kids to where they need to be.

3.  Being out in the dark with the whole of the city, even when you'd rather be enclosed in your car, or better yet, just at home.

I could probably go to 10 with this--the point is, even something as simple as getting around has a price in the city, a cost of doing business.  You simply can't walk to everywhere you want to go, so one way or the other, unless you never leave home (which wouldn't go over too well with the kids), you're going to pay the price.

The day may come when we move out of New York, and I imagine it will be a huge adjustment for me not to have buses and trains and cabs right outside my door.  Perhaps the cost of doing business, at least transit business, is well worth it.    

 

Rules of the Game

Today, I accompanied my son to his first birthday party from his new school, a Quidditch party, yes, Harry Potter Quidditch, the idea of which made the difference in him wanting to go to a party where he might not necessarily know that many people.

Not wanting to leave him, just in case he might feel uncomfortable or out of place, I watched as coaches taught about thirty kids the rules of this game that has, in the last few years, jumped from the pages of the books to become a widely played sport.  I can't say I totally understood what I was seeing (I am notoriously bad at absorbing game rules--every time my kids get a new game, I ask them to teach me how to play), but it was great fun to watch thirty eight-year-olds run around with broom-like things under them.

I'll admit, part of my reason for staying at the party was to meet other parents from his new school.  As new an experience as it is for him, it is new for me too.  Turned out I was not so good at the rules of that game either.  Surrounded by parents who had clearly known each other since kindergarten, I felt largely out of place and completely inept at getting myself into the game.  Maybe if I had been running around with a broom-like thing, it would have been different.

You would think that after all of these months of networking and new work situations, I would be a pro at talking to new people and having topics of "general interest" (thank you, Cheaper By the Dozen) to pull out in such situations.  Guess what?  Just as I've discovered new rules in every work situation I've entered, apparently "new parent in a new school" has its own rules.  From a distance, I saw my son (who never talks about any of the kids in his class) talking to a lot of kids.  Maybe I should have him teach me the rules.  And we'll see, if he does a good job, perhaps I'll have him coach me for my next job interview.

Going and Stopping

Today has been full of so many different pieces, its events could (and might) generate four or five blog posts.  It has been hard to nail down just one, but here goes.

This morning, I went with my daughters to the bat mitzvah of a neighborhood friend we've known since all three girls were babies.  Well, actually, I've known her father since college--we weren't friends, per se, but we did cross paths.

So, though my girls were the official invitees, I stayed with them for the bat mitzvah service.  While I grew up spending large chunks of my weekends in temple, we are not regular service attendees now, but it felt right.  And there I sat, among many of the bat mitzvah girl's family and friends, enjoying not only the beautiful music and the prayers I've known since childhood, but more, the opportunity to stop and savor this moment in time.

At my own daughter's bat mitzvah a year and a half ago, my husband talked about the importance of having ceremonies that make us stop in our "rush from here to there to somewhere else" lives and think about the milestones we get to celebrate.  And there it was today, right in front of me--this child we'd known as a baby was becoming a Jewish adult.  I thought about how my second daughter would be doing the same a year and a half from now.  We said prayers about healing the sick, one of whom was the grandfather of a friend, and prayers for people who had died, which made all three of us think about my grandmother.  So suddenly, this bat mitzvah, which I hadn't even planned to attend, became this stop in my day that allowed me to process a whole bunch of milestones all at once.

I spend a lot of my days going--from work to children and homework to events to errands.  Big to-dos--birthdays, graduations, performances--tend to zoom by and be replaced by the next big to-do.  So today, I thank goodness that I chose to stop, because it gave me time to process and appreciate, and I thank our friends and their daughter for giving us such a wonderful reason for stopping.  I'm sure it went all too fast for them, as my daughter's did for us a year and a half ago.  But the stopping will have been worth it.  I know it was for me.

Credit

For the first bunch of years I worked at One Life to Live, I got an on-screen credit just once a year.  The special Christmas show, which included a minute and a half of credits rather than the normal 15-30 seconds, included the names of virtually everyone who worked on the show, from carpenters to set painters to security guards.  When I was a PA, one of my jobs was going to each department, getting lists of names, so that on this one day of the year, everyone made it into the credits.

When I became an AD, things changed.  Having entered the group of people with union contracts that guaranteed them placement in the show credits, I saw my name on the screen multiple times each week.  My grandmother, who never watched soaps, turned One Life on for the last few minutes each day to see my name.  I have to say, it was exciting.  And when I began to direct, and a handful of times was the director of record on an episode, I got a front end credit, which made me excited all over again.

All this time, there were several hundred people who worked there, as hard as or harder than I did, yet never got more than that yearly credit.  But it was a job, and I think, for most of the people, a satisfying one.

Now that I am in the freelance world, credit has taken on a different meaning.  These days, I don't think too much about whether I'll see my name on the screen--the credits I want to see are the ones on my resume, the ones that remind me and the world that there is life beyond soaps.

And what about credit for a job well done?  Over my career, I have worked with people who have taken credit and shared credit, people who were more eager to dish out blame than give credit to people who made them look good.  For me, there were certainly days when knowing I could take credit for helping something like One Life's "Live Week" or our bullying story go well was far more important than seeing my 
name on the screen.  So maybe it's not surprising that these days, I gravitate not just toward projects I think can make me a living, but toward projects where I think I can make a difference.  Because while seeing my name on the screen was a childhood dream come true, being able to take credit for my part in a worthwhile project will stay with me long after the screen credit goes off the air.

Makeup

At some point in going to my son's bus stop every day, I began to notice all these small children being led around by mothers who were wearing enough makeup to be on a magazine cover.  Why?  That was the only thing I could think.  (Okay, maybe there was an element of "How?").  Why would they spend so much time, so much effort, and perhaps so much money on making themselves up for the purpose of schlepping children around?  There I was, standing at the bus stop, wearing no makeup many days if I was just at home and meeting buses.

I have never worn much makeup--a little foundation and a little mascara and I'm out the door.  Maybe a little more makeup would make me look younger, or more eager, or more awake.  Maybe not.  In any case, there just always seem to be other things that I would rather spend my time doing.

So one day, as I pondered the mothers with the makeup, I thought about all the other things that makeup could mean for me....

I could spend time making up stories to tell my kids.  I could spend (and have spent) time making up new resumes for all the different types of jobs for which I apply.  I could make up a schedule for how our home will run if I am working (oh, yeah, I did that last week when I got the gig).  And I could analyze my personal make-up so that I could determine which jobs would match my personality best.

So yes, it might be true that a little more makeup on my face would make me look like a fitter mom or a brighter potential employee, and maybe I'll try that.  In the meantime, I've a feeling that my other "make up" jobs will be pretty helpful too.

Home Bases

So, back to working from home today.  Amazing how just seven days working across town made home a real novelty.  My home editing system is neither as powerful nor as uncluttered as the one where I was working for the seven days, but, by golly, I could work at it in my bare feet and as part of a schedule that included picking up my kids and picking up new ice cream for our freezer.

For the many years when I was working long hours almost every day, one of the things I always felt I was missing was the vibe of my home neighborhood during the day.  There is just something enjoyable about seeing things evolve in your home zone--whether it's a new grocery store being constructed or building neighbors you'd never otherwise see, or the handymen going about their daily fixing jobs, or people moving in and out.  It's all part of your home base, part of what defines the home you've been coming home to every night, and now you get to see it.  My husband, who works right near home (okay, across the street), probably doesn't make these distinctions.  What he doesn't see much on a daily basis is the world beyond our neighborhood--multiple buses and trains, shopping areas, crowds.

When I had my first child, I remember thinking how great it would be if I had one of those jobs that would let me work from home, baby by my side.  I quickly saw it wouldn't have worked for me then--the necessary separations between mom-hood and work would have been more than I could have handled with a small baby.  Now, with my kids in school, home can be pretty work-ish, at least for seven hours or so, and nobody cares if I'm not wearing shoes.  Something to think about--at least until I go back to going across town for the gig.

Expecting the Unexpected

At 5:00 when I wake up, I really believe I can do anything.  By 7:00, when everyone is up, some under duress (sad how morning-person-ness is not hereditary), I'm not so sure.

The thing is, even with the best of Dayrunners or iCalendars, you can never really, really know what your day will bring.  Today, I went to work, my head calm in the knowledge that I had successfully handed off things I couldn't do to people I trusted (because it was after 7, and I'd had that "can't do everything" realization).  Happy in the knowledge that our babysitter was back in our lives and in the knowledge that there would be money in our bank account.  And with all this happy calmness, I tootled off to edit pictures and voices and music.

Now, on my way home, less than 12 hours later, my gig is on hold (no editor needed until more footage shot), I'm taking back what I passed off, and our babysitter may have to disappear again.  (Let's not even talk about the bank account.)

I would like to say that expecting the unexpected is just part of the freelance experience, but the truth is, life was unexpected long before I became a freelancer.  Evidence the Thanksgiving weekend a few years ago that started with turkey dinner and ended with gall bladder surgery.  Or the directing assignment I had to give up when I got shingles.  Or the referral from a friend that got me the job at Cosby when no amount of cold-calling would have.  You never really, really know how a day or a week or a year will turn out until you live it through.  I'm still waiting to see how the rest of this year turns out.  What am I saying?  I don't even know about tomorrow yet.

Holding Patterns

I don't sit still well.  Just ask anyone who was on the plane with me the other night when we were 250th for takeoff from Laguardia.  Okay, I'm exaggerating.  We were 249th.  I practically climbed out of my skin before we were airborne.

Now, my husband might disagree.  He has seen me sit for hours at the computer waiting to see the next job ad I can answer or the next LinkedIn "person I may know."  And I do work as an editor, which means I often sit at an edit console for hours at a time.

The sitting still I'm talking about is figurative, I guess.  I don't view life as a race, really I don't, but I do find that when you combine the "want to's" and the "need to's," it really is almost impossible not to find yourself in mental and physical motion all the time.

Sadly, both job searching and freelancing are endeavors not necessarily friendly to a person in constant motion.  They may encourage constant motion--how many job ads can you answer in a day?--but do they reward it?  Not really.  Not only might there be little response, there is an ongoing sense of hog-tiedness.  A holding pattern.  Can I go after my next gig if I'm in the middle of one that may last six weeks but might be over in three?  Holding pattern.  Do I leave tomorrow free for myself and schedule child care for my kids because Employer X might call, even if most of the day has gone by and he hasn't called?  Holding pattern.  Can I think about a trip over a school break when my hope is to have a job by then?  Holding pattern.  I might as well be 249th for takeoff at Laguardia.

Lucky for me, while I'm waiting, in my head, I am writing my next blog, scheduling school pickups, and sorting the laundry.  (What, you've never sorted laundry in your head?)  No time for holding patterns here.

Leaving Behind, Looking Ahead

As we drove from our hotel near my grandmother's to fly home, I had a vague sense of familiarity and a realization that I might never travel that road again.  With my grandmother no longer there, what reason would I have to be in that place?  This realization hit my brother much harder--he has been a more frequent visitor, and a more consistent one.  Over the years, we have approached her condo  from many different directions and only once a year, if that.  He has driven that road, back and forth, each time, year after year.

There has been a fair amount of "leaving behind" in my little family over the past year.  For me, One Life to Live, and the extended family it gave me for so many years.  For my high schooler, the school she had attended since kindergarten and many of the friends there that she now rarely sees.  For my little guy, his neighborhood school.  And now, for all of us, my grandmother and that road to and from a Florida airport.

Leaving behind is hard, no question, but my hope, as I always tell my daughter (not sure if it ever helps, but I keep saying it!) is that in leaving behind, we can also leave ourselves open to look ahead. 

Over her 98 years, my grandmother somehow managed to do that over and over.  Moved to Florida long before that's what people did.  Sold bagels and coffee at the Jewish Center even if it meant getting up at the crack of dawn to pick up the bagels in time for the morning rush.  Discovered the Gap so she could send outfits to her great-granddaughters.  Sat in her motorized scooter, people-watching from her third-floor balcony, when she was no longer mobile enough to be out and about.

Bottom line, we can all find ways--sometimes big, and sometimes very tiny--to look ahead--to take new roads--when we are forced to leave things and people behind.

So I fly home, I move on, and I look ahead (which will happen mighty quickly with the demands of three kids, three schools, and laundry).

That road may not be taken again, but it will not be forgotten.

Airplanes and Boxes and Relatives, Oh My

It has been a busy day here in Florida, celebrating, in some way, the 98 years my grandmother lived and sharing stories with (well, mostly hearing stories from) people who loved her too.  We are a small group, some of whom I've never met before today, yet I am struck by how, because of my grandmother, we are connected.  They know stories I don't, they see family resemblances I can't, and I realize that I have just acquired a new set of connections.

I have also acquired a new set of stuff.  While I saw my grandmother far less than I should have, I knew her for so long, that all sorts of things in her apartment brought up memories--not sad ones, really, but memories of grandparents who drove from Florida to Virginia when I was young and brought their valises (translation, suitcases).  I am now the proud owner of two valises.  Memories of fruit put on clear glass plates on a clear glass table.  I am now the proud owner of clear glass fruit plates.  Memories of paintings I saw every time we visited.  Yep, proud owner of paintings.  Oh, and something I didn't really remember--practically a whole drawer full of videos and pictures of my kids.  I guess I wasn't quite as a delinquent an adult grandchild as I thought.

So after a whole lot of stories and a whole lot of time at the box-mailing store, I am heading home, old valises in my hand, new old stories in my head, new connections in my heart.

Thanks, Grandma.

Puppet in My Pocket

You may have noticed that I've been posting a tad bit later this week.  Turns out it's not so easy to work at a place across town all day, then come home, be Mom, chef, tutor, and mediator, and still get to a computer.  And tonight, I'm actually on an airplane taking what is essentially a 36-hour trip  It's been quite a week.  But no reruns here--that wouldn't be soap-ish of me, would it?  So here goes---

Earlier in this crazy week, in between 99 cent pizza and picture day, thanks to my membership in the Children's Media Association (formerly Women in Children's Media), I had the privilege of attending a puppet workshop with master puppeteer John Tartaglia--OMG, Johnny and the Sprites John Tartaglia!!  I got to stand in front of a mirror AND a camera, handling both a furry hand and rod puppet and this tiny, two-eyed "puppet peeper" I wore on my fingers.  For two hours, I may have pretended I was networking, but essentially, I was communing with my inner puppet (or my inner four-year old, take your pick).  I made those googly eyes maintain eye contact.  I stretched my eye-hand-ear coordination skills to make my puppets sing along with the music.  I even made up a voice to go with them.  It wasn't easy.  Clearly, a whole lot goes into making the puppets we all love into the characters we all love.  I have seen puppeteers work before, but that night gave me even deeper respect for what they do, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And guess what?! The googly-eyed puppet for my finger got to come home with me!  So I can practice.  Or entertain my kids.  Or maybe make someone in an airport think I'm crazy.  Or just get a good laugh when I need one.  And hey, we all can use that!




Sent from my iPod

Check out my website--
Www.tracycasperlang.com

Picture Day

Today was picture day in my son's class.  Form filled out weeks ago, check sent (for sizes of pictures we wanted and ones we didn't), background picked (thought about sunset or forest, picked basic blue).  Now, just the question of what he should wear.

My middle schooler's picture day was fairly drama-free this year--she wears a uniform, so there's not a lot of wiggle room.  And in the past, my son has frequently gone into picture day with very specific ideas about the look he wanted.  From a tuxedo--yes, really--the year he had gotten one for a family wedding, to a tie and sport coat last year.  Last night, the word I got was "jeans, my wallet with the chain (a tag sale treasure) and a shirt that looks cool with jeans."  As any parent who has bought school pictures knows, the jeans and wallet would be irrelevant.  A school picture is essentially a headshot, seeing nowhere near the waist.  So it was really up to the shirt.  And what shirt, in the mind of an 8-year old boy at a new school, would look "cool" with the jeans and still be something I'd want to see in my $40 pictures?  And what shirt would even fit--I've been realizing over the last week that my boy has grown since last wearing long sleeve shirts--most of his drawer is full of things that barely reach his waistline.

Before he ever got up, I took a deep breath and laid out two shirts with his jeans--one with a collar, one without--again, what do I know about 8-year old cool?

When he woke up and looked at my two choices, he rejected both, returning with a golf-ish shirt that looked as though it had been balled up in a drawer (and was the right fit two years ago).  And he wanted a stick-on tie to go with it.  I'm no stickler, really, but I don't need $40 pictures of my son in a red striped golf shirt and a stick-on tie.

Maybe he kind of agreed with me, because before I knew it, he was putting on my collared choice.  And asking for a real tie (and a sport coat, but he decided against that).  And on his way out the door, he added his Mets jersey as a jacket.  I told him he could keep the jersey on for the picture or not, his choice.  That seemed to make him happy.  So his $40 pictures will either look like a dressed up 8-year old or a sports player at a pregame press conference.

I can live with that.

99 Cent Pizza

Tonight, with more time than I expected between the end of working and the beginning of a Children's Media Association event, I stopped for a piece of 99 cent pizza.  (Well, actually, mine had broccoli, so it was $1.50.)

I am no stranger to 99 cent pizza.  The establishment near us has been a good friend, particularly in my months of not working.  On a night when we just couldn't face another home-cooked (i.e., Tracy-cooked) meal, $20 would buy us ample dinner for five plus leftovers to go in the freezer for weekend lunches.

So, why a post dedicated to pizza, specifically 99 cent pizza?  Because, as I stood in the tiny place, sharing the 6 inch by 3 foot counter with assorted other pizza eaters, I was struck by the sheer simplicity of 99 cent pizza.  A few ovens, a few employees, a tiny counter, and cheap dinner.  No waiting for a table or reading a complicated menu or worrying how to dress.  Which, it turns out, is how my new gig is so far.  I go, I work, I make changes, I work some more, and I go home.  Granted, it is only day 3, but the lack of baggage is amazing.

When I was working at One Life to Live, I was there for many hours daily.  That was just the way it was--wasn't every job like that?  (A friend who sold expensive shoes in a Southern city regularly reminded us that no, every job was not like that.)  But that was the way it was for me.  A creative team so intertwined in each others' work and lives that over time, it became a life, so much so, that when it ended, my brother told me not to look for a life, just look for a job.  To me, it has been hard to separate the two, hard to separate the complicated relationship between the work I  do and the baggage that comes as part of it.  But as I stood there tonight, eating my broccoli pizza, not caring how I looked and who in particular was sharing the tiny counter with me, I realized that sometimes simplicity is enough.  Sometimes 99 cent pizza is really all you need.

With A Little Help From My Son

By the time I got home from work and a post-work potluck dinner with the kids, I was pretty wiped, so my son offered to write my blog for me.  He started with "Hey, Tracy fans, guess what?  We've got a big scoop!"

So, in honor of his helping out, I am writing this blog about one of his favorite things.  Guess what that is!  (or just read on!)

Yesterday, at the end of my first day of work, I decided to take a cab home.  I'd earned it, right?  But before I knew it, my feet had carried me to the bus stop, where the bus came almost immediately.  Turns out this gig is a one-bus trip, bookended by just a few blocks of walking on each end of the bus route.  My son would call it magic.

And as I got on the bus, I realized how much I love the bus.  It's not that I have morphed into my son, who went from a four year old Thomas the Tank Engine fanatic to a bus connossieur.  There's just something awe-inspiring about this giant structure lit up in the dark, so you can read, or people-watch, or write your blog (yes, most of yesterday's was written on the bus ride home!). And when you're riding between work and home, it's like a mythical tunnel that transforms you from your work self into your home self.  Which, I have to say, I'm finding pretty useful after months of mostly just having a home self.  Even just two days in, I am finding that, just as not working brought up all sorts of feelings that weren't just about work, working ends up being about so much more than just work.  It's about taking the bus and making a lunch (and enough snacks to get through the day).  It's about making schedules and making them work.   And it's about having your son offer to help out when you come home tired.  

I guess day two was pretty good.

First Impressions

On the first day of a new job, I feel that it is important to make a good first impression.  Some thoughts--

1.  Be tall (an important thing when you are a smallish person like me).  So people will take you more seriously.  The tall wedge shoes I bought last month for a wedding.

2.  Be serious.  Black pants.  Enough said.

3.  Be colorful.  It makes you look creative.  Purple jacket.

4.  Be quirky.  Because if you can't be confident enough to be quirky, you might as well just stay home.  TV set earrings.

5.  Be warm.  Because people like warm people.  Plus, it was cold today.  And my COSBY fleece jacket is a reminder of where I've been and some of the great people I've been lucky enough to meet.

You know, it occurs to me that I dressed almost the same for my interview-turned-disaster a few weeks ago.  It didn't do much for me that day.

So if my first impression of their first impression of me on this new gig is any indication, I think I'm gonna do just fine.

When It Rains, It Pours

What I want to know is, why doesn't the raining and pouring get my apartment clean?

Okay, I'll back up a step.  As you know, this week, my daughter starts rehearsal for her middle school play, I start a new gig, and oh, at the end of the week, both my husband and I go away--to different places--and my in-laws are babysitting.  When it rains, it pours.

I wish that the rain, real or figurative, would clean my apartment.  Alas, the task has fallen to us for much of the weekend.  For months, virtually no one other than us entered our humble home, and now there will be babysitters, and in-laws, and, well, maybe no one else, but still.  And no me to be here at least picking up dirty socks and coffee cups.  (I'm not saying I've been doing that much cleaning during my working/job hunting from home days, but I can take credit for those two things).

I wonder, will there ever come a day when we can just maintain the neatness that we've set up?  There are certainly obstacles--five people in a Manhattan apartment, children who just want to collapse after a long day at school, a dad who collects more books that he will ever be able to read, and a mom who has been neatness-challenged for most of her life.  I can still hear my own mother saying "at least put the stuff in piles!"

Despite the obstacles, I am happy to report we have done a bang-up job--from my son getting ruthless in the kitchen cabinets-"Mommy, we really don't need all these cups"-- to me being in overdrive about organizing food and babysitter schedules in order to avoid phone calls from crazed school bus drivers and hungry children.  

I would like to think we can (after the "do I have to clean?" grumblings are done) view this as a celebration--a celebration of new things starting, new chances for all of us.  Chances we won't have to trip over stuff to get to.

Oh, look, it's raining.  Too late, rain, we already cleaned the apartment.

Previously, on Not Washed Up Yet

I announced that I got a job.  Well, a gig.  For a few weeks, I'll be editing for a new hour-long show.  It's funny how something can come up almost out of the blue when you've been taking all sorts of steps that seemed to be leading nowhere.

And out of the blue it was, the "hiring," virtually all by email, and start to end, set up in less than a week.

I'm excited--going to work every day should be a welcome change, and I will certainly like the change in my bank account.  But I would be crazy not to realize that it will be a big change for us all.  No more Mommy waiting at bus stops and making dinner each night (such as that was!)

Just as it took time to settle in to my being around more, to getting over missing our babysitters, it will take time (probably the whole 4-5 weeks of the gig!) to get used to what used to be "just the way it was."

On the soap, we talked about "front and back burner characters".  No one wanted to be a back burner character for long.  The work schedule might be great, but front burner was way more interesting, and characters who handled change and crisis on a fairly constant basis were certainly the ones people eagerly tuned in to see.  So as of Monday, I'm back on the front burner, attempting to handle more than is really possible in a day, including, of course, continuing to write this blog.  Stay tuned! 

Overscheduled

I believe I have just crossed the line into overscheduling mom.  I just carted my third grader on the downtown bus to pick up my middle schooler, whom I let ride the city bus with a friend, from a tutoring session for a high school test.  The tutor gave her homework, which will be on top of her regular homework and rehearsals for two plays that she's doing, plus piano lessons, and karate, and Hebrew school and...(okay, that's all for now, except for the cello lessons that await since we re-rented the cello when she couldn't bear to part with it last spring).

I really never set out to make my kids busy every moment, I swear (though there are moments when I'd like to do that to minimize their opportunity for "screen time," but that's a subject for another day).

Truthfully, I mostly just follow their interests.  It just happens they have a lot of interests.  All of which seem to come up at the same time.  And in a city where there's always something new to shoot for, it's hard not to want your child to be prepared for anything.  So here we are, negotiating how we will divide our hours, which things we might have to miss a few times, and how we will ever negotiate the travel involved (without subjecting everyone to more buses and trains than anyone should take in a week).

The intensity of this particular schedule will only last for six weeks, so one way or the other, we'll make it work--homework-wise, logistics-wise, and energy-wise.  And then we can come up for air long enough to think about doing it again.

Oh, and by the way, I got a job.  Well, a gig.

Tune in tomorrow for all the details.

A Snack and a Drink

Yesterday, I took my son for a snack between getting him off the school bus and taking him to Hebrew school.  True, I probably should just have carried a snack with me, but I was running errands on the way, so I just didn't.  And honestly, I thought it would be fun.  So into the local drugstore we went.

Drugstores are almost as stocked as grocery stores these days.  I could have steered him toward a banana and a bottle of water (good Mommy!), but hey, bananas are supposed to be a quarter, not a dollar.  A dollar for one banana!  And ever since my pediatrician told me I could give New York City tap water to my newborn baby, I've been pretty resistant to spending money on bottled water.

So, before we knew it, we were in the snack aisle.  My son has a big sweet tooth, so I was almost relieved when he chose chips over candy.  Relieved about chips? (bad Mommy!) Well, they are cheaper than the rice cakes.  And I was secretly hoping he'd give me a few.  I'd never buy chips for myself, but sharing?  I'll do that! (really bad Mommy!)

And now, for a drink.  As he moved toward the sodas, I thought, we could do juice, but that's sugary, and he probably won't be interested.  Diet soda?  Maybe.  And the soda is $2.oo?!  Caffeine?  Well, I certainly wanted some for myself, but for him?  We could go with diet caffeine-free, but wait, the store brand is half the price.  Half.  And the only diet in the store brand is not caffeine-free.  Will it kill him (or his Hebrew school teacher, who might have to deal with a buzzy kid)?  Maybe he'll actually get an otherwise exhausted but now engaged kid (bad Mommy justification!).  

Was I going to make this choice on price, sugar, or caffeine?  Because, let's face it, we make choices like that every day.  How much it costs you, how it makes you feel right now, how it will make you feel later.  The gym costs money and hurts now, but makes you feel good later if you can get into your jeans.  A job costs you getting up and out everyday, but (at least ideally) makes you feel satisfied and gives you money you can use later.

In the end, we went with the half price diet with caffeine.  And since, after all our negotiations, he only had time for a few sips before Hebrew school, I don't think anyone suffered.

Next time, maybe I'll pack that snack.

Checking In

One of the many challenges of a freelance life is making sure people know you're still alive and available without making them think you've been sitting on the couch eating bonbons.  So how do you do this?  Read on, and I will share a few of my approaches.

1.  Congratulate them on an award they've won, or something new they or their company are doing.  People love to be recognized, and it shows you're reading the trades and making the connection to think of them.  And maybe they'll realize they need a recognizing, reading, connecting person like you for their new thing, just as your email hits their screen.

2.  Announce something you're doing.  Maybe you're doing it as a favor for a friend, but it's still skill building.  And hey, people like people who do favors for friends.  And maybe they'll realize they need a skill-building, favor-doing person like you, just as your email hits their screen.

3.  Invite them for coffee.  Okay, this won't work every time, because how many cups of coffee can you have, but it's quick and simple.  And people like coffee (or at least tea).  And they like to be invited.  And maybe they'll realize they need a coffee-drinking, quick-thinking, inviting person like you, just as your email hits their screen.

4.  Do all of the above.  If you're lucky enough that they have something new going and you have something new going, wouldn't you love to have coffee with them and talk about it all?  And hey, they may realize on their way back from coffee that they need a new-new person just like you on their team.

5.  Do none of the above (and by this, I don't mean don't check in at all--that's definitely not the answer).  With a subject line of "Checking In," just say, "hope you are well," and move on.  Short, quick to read, and bearing your name.  And hey, who wouldn't like someone who hopes they are well.  And one of these days, they'll have a job for you, just as your email crosses their screen.

Old Friends, New Friends

During the course of today, I heard from two former coworkers, as well as some friends I haven't seen in years, but whom I had emailed about this blog.  In a phone call and multiple emails, it was as if I'd been transported back in time, even if the conversations were not face to face, and the people we talked about have aged considerably.

At the end of the day, I shared snacks and conversation with other Hebrew School moms, many of whom I'd perhaps seen but never talked to.  When I was working many hours each day, I never would have had this experience.  A babysitter would have picked up my kids, and I would have been racing home just to have dinner with them.  I would never have met any of the other moms, much less had actual conversations with them.

It occurs to me that one of the perks of this freelance life is the ability to straddle multiple worlds, and more importantly, actually be able to focus on each one.  When I was working full-time, I once said that I was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time--always running to be places, but being unable to focus once I got there.  Now, when I am picking up my kids, I can focus on them and the parents of other kids.  Now, when an old friend calls, I can talk and really focus on what we're talking about, since it is all news, and not mixed up with fourteen deadlines that have to be met.

I have encountered so many interesting people along this journey--each with his or her own story, many far more complicated than my own (What? Something more complicated than life on a soap?!). So, while my job search may not be as focused every day as I'd like it to be, I am immensely grateful for the gift I've been given--the ability to focus on friends new and old.  I can only hope that when full-time work is added back in, I'll remember what a gift this was.

Costume Drama

When I was pregnant with my son, I was also filling in as the Scheduling Producer at One Life to Live.  While that job was like spending all day every day doing one of those logic problems with all the little boxes (if Sam is next to Mary but can't be next to Joe and if Joe and Judy have to be next to each other--you get the idea), it was always dependent not only on information that I generated but also on the pieces of the puzzle that I could only get from other people.  So, in between the periods of chaos when I had to figure out how to shoot scenes around actor availability and sets being up, I had down time, at a desk, down time that I had never had as a PA or AD.  And that, my friends, is when I discovered eBay.  Whether it was baby items at a discount or little dresses for my girly-girl three year old or storybooks in Spanish for my first-grader who was learning Spanish, I became hooked.  So for a while, every few days, an exciting package appeared, like magic, on our doorstep.

My obsession lasted only a few months--once I had the baby, I was quite otherwise occupied--but over the years, I have returned from time to time to look for treasures or exciting deals.  Even my husband, not always a "deals" guy, bought our Wii system in an eBay auction (a transaction that had me hyperventilating as he waited until the last minute to bid).

This weekend, the not so girly-girl now 11-year old and I discovered the other side.  After the second or third eBay email about selling Halloween costumes, I thought, hey, let's give it a try.  She photographed, I uploaded, I wrote descriptions, she edited them ("Mommy, it's orange, not brown!"), and within a half hour, we were eBay sellers.  No setting up tables and posting signs and hoping for good weather for people to come to a tag sale.  No putting stuff out and bringing it in and then giving it all away when it doesn't sell.  Just a few clicks of a camera and a few clicks of the mouse, a seven-day auction, and a whole lot of laughs as my daughter and her brother tried on items they had long ago outgrown.

And what do you know?  The first item on my "to-do" list this morning was mailing two packages--we've already sold two of our items.  This may be the most fun we've ever had cleaning out our apartment!