Eulogy for my Noble Dog

 

            Anyone who has ever met Wesley has been touched by him.  In fact, it was so common for people to stop their cars on the street to ask about him that it didn’t even seem strange to us anymore.  At times we had talked about investing in a set of autographed headshots for his many fans.  His unique appearance was certainly part of his charm.  He has been compared to Master Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a skeksi from The Dark Crystal, and Gandalf from Lord of the Rings.  One of our friends just called him Narnia.  But it was more than that.  There was something about his spirit, a certain gentleness in his eyes, that people responded to in a way that didn’t often happen with other dogs.  Or any other beings, really.  No one has ever forgotten meeting Wesley.

            Wesley began his life as a wild Irish rogue.  This little lurcher grew up as a Pikey dog, traveling across Ireland in a gypsy caravan.  Sometimes he was tied up to an old crate with a piece of wire, and the rest of the time he was racing through traffic, eating out of trash cans, and hunting rabbits.  His rescuers tried to catch him for six months, but he was so fast that they finally had to break down and buy him from the Pikeys so that they could treat his severe case of mange and take him to America. 

            I fell in love with Wesley from the moment I first saw him.  He was still recovering from his mange and had hardly any hair, but he was a handsome lad and so full of spirit.  On our first meeting he sprinted around the yard a few times, then ran right over to me for a belly rub. You could see that he loved life and wanted to live every full minute of it.  “Joyful” was always the first word that came to mind when I thought of Wesley.

            Wesley’s introduction to his new home was not easy.  He had never spent a moment in his life alone, so his initial separation anxiety was intense. The first two days he was with us he barked for hours, tore up two dog beds, and pooped all over himself.  I used to have to drive him to work with me and just leave him in the car all day because the car was the one place he felt relaxed and secure without me. Wesley stole food constantly, once snatching a freshly-iced birthday cake right off the table, another time eating an entire chicken carcass.  I would regularly find a combination of both treasure and trash hidden in his bed:  empty cottage cheese containers, my checkbook, a chewed-up Bluetooth, loaves of bread.  Once he ate a whole package of flour tortillas and didn’t poop for days.  It was not unusual to see Wesley scampering off with an open jar of peanut butter, or standing on top of the piano with a package of hot dogs in his mouth.

            In his youth, Wesley was always up for a scrap.   We were initially worried about this, but our trainer assured us that Wesley wasn’t dog-aggressive, he was just “Irish socialized.”  As the trainer put it, Wesley was basically running around the other dogs yelling, “Come on, everybody!  Let’s go blow some shit up!”  He was a known murderer of small animals and even tried to kill our own cat early on before he learned to treat her as one of the pack.  Even as he mellowed with age, he always carried a hint of the feisty rascal within. 

            Wesley loved being part of the pack.  He was devoted to his first sister, Lupe. Then after my first husband and I separated, Wesley and I moved into a duplex owned by the Dunmore-Hodge family, who welcomed us both into their pack.  Scott Dunmore is a gifted dog trainer, and Wesley spent as much time upstairs in their apartment as he did downstairs in mine.  On one occasion, Scott took a group of dogs out to try dock diving at a nearby pond.  Wesley was thrilled to tear along the dock with the other dogs and leap off the end.  However, as soon as he hit the water he gave Scott a look of instant regret as if to say, “Wow, I did not expect this to be so cold and wet.”  Scott fished him out, dried him off and warmed him up, and that was the end of Wesley’s dock-diving career.

            Wesley loved every person he ever met, and he was famous for leaning his full weight on you whenever you pet him.  He regularly hogged the couch and was not shy about putting his head in your lap whether he knew your or not.  He was incredibly  gentle and kind.  I once caught a toddler trying to pluck out Wesley’s eye as he lay patiently beside her.  He warmly and trustingly opened his home and heart to his new dad, his loving uncles, and any number of foster dogs, friends, and houseguests.  Wesley was a gracious host and a terrible watchdog.  One day I came home to find the house burglarized and Welsey lounging comfortably on the couch.  I have no doubt he had helpfully offered the burglars a fresh pot of coffee as they were ransacking our belongings.

            Sometimes Wesley could be aloof and he would sit like a pharaoh receiving tribute when you would come over to give him a cuddle.  One of the reasons we got a second dog was because I was worried that I loved Wesley too much, and it didn’t always feel like he had the same devotion to me.  However, I was proven wrong in that regard on the day he was attacked.  Wesley was in horrible pain, lying in a pool of his own blood, but as soon as he heard me pick up his leash, he stood up and came to me.  His wounds were so bad that I could not carry him, and so he slowly and painfully walked himself down a flight of stairs, in and out of the car, and into the vet’s office.  Simply because I asked him to.  On my last visit with him he stood up for me, ate from my hand, and shifted his body closer to me so he could put his head in my lap.  So while Wesley did not always carry his heart on his sleeve, no, I will never again doubt the devotion he held for me.  I will never again doubt that he loved me as loyally and as fiercely as I loved him.

            A friend once told me, “All animals dream, but dogs are the only animals who dream of us.”  Wesley’s life was an eventful one, and there were times over the past ten years that we were certain we were going to lose him.  He almost died of bloat in 2009, and last year a bad reaction to medication made us believe he was near the end.  However, he was always a fighter and he fought fiercely each and every time so that he could come home to us.  His people.  His pack.  We were always at the heart of Wesley’s dreams, and even in his last days, his dearest dream was to live and live and live so that he could return home to us.

            Wesley had the soul of a poet, the heart of a lion, and the iron will of Margaret Thatcher.  His gentleness, loyalty, and incredible courage will be forever unmatched.  Sir Walter Scott described his own deerhound as “a most perfect creature of Heaven,” and I can think of no more apt description for Wesley, my beloved and dearest heart’s companion.  Complicated and flawed, yes, but perfect, nevertheless.  No dog could be a greater blessing to his people than Wesley was to us.

            As human beings we always want to learn things.  We want to come out of an experience feeling wiser, feeling enriched.  We always say that our dogs teach us about things like loyalty and compassion and unconditional love, and all of those things are true.  But what else did Wesley teach me?  Wesley taught me about courage.  And grace.   He taught me to believe. To fight fiercely for what is dearest to your heart.  But Wesley also taught me that all things end.  That suffering is real, and unavoidable.  That our worst nightmares can and do come true. However, what I learned most from Wesley is that suffering, pain, loss…none of that really matters. Because everything that is worth doing will break your heart eventually, but you do it anyway.  Of course you do.

            And that, I think, is why dogs do dream of us.  Because dogs understand that we know they will leave us, that they will devastate us, that they will break our hearts, but they never doubt for a moment that we will love them even so. 
          And so it is in this spirit that I bid farewell to our Wesley, the most gentle, valiant, and gracious of creatures.  The joyful, blessed treasure of my heart.  Gypsy, thief, and soggy-bearded rogue. Dearest companion and cherished friend.  Our pack will forever mourn your loss, beloved one.  May we ever honor your memory. And when it is my turn to leave this earth, if our afterlife is truly a return to all those we have lost, I dream that it is you, precious one, who will come to lead me home.

           

Nine Years

            I recently came to the realization that I started trying to get pregnant nine years ago this month.  It is hard not to feel defeated when I realize that I have spent almost an entire decade putting time, money, and effort into something and still completely failing at it.  I hate the idea of having wasted my thirties on something so stupid and disappointing, but I feel comforted by the knowledge that at least I managed to rock my sexual prime in there somewhere, during the short but super-slutty interval between separating from my first husband and meeting my second.  Thank heaven I had some irresponsibility and wild abandon in there somewhere. 

            Coincidentally, my husband has spent nine years at his company pursuing his own goal:  producing a movie.  Like me, he has put in endless time, effort, and passion in the hopes that he, too, would be able to help create something.  And he hasn’t.   There are many times when hopes are high, numbers look good, a project is about to be greenlit…this is it.  He is sure of it.  And then the director has a conflict, someone doesn’t like the script, the studio gets a new head who hates the project.  Dream deferred, yet again. 

            As we both look towards the imminent arrival of another decade, it’s impossible not to ask ourselves the obvious questions.  At what point do you pack it all in?  When do you finally tell yourself that it’s time to try something else?  How much and how long do you sacrifice before you give up hope?  You don’t want to be the quitter who crawls away in failure, unable to stick it out.  But at the same time, you don’t want to be the sucker still standing at the door with a bouquet long after it’s clear you’ve been stood up.

            Living with hope doesn’t make things better or easier.  It’s awful, actually.  To be filled with the hope, over and over again, that this time feels different—that this time will be different—is exhausting.  Hope is supposed to comfort and sustain us, but hope unrealized fills us with shame.  It’s embarrassing to falsely believe in something.  It’s embarrassing to admit that you were wrong all along.  It’s embarrassing, almost ten years into it, to scrap your life plan and have to start imagining a different future.

            I honestly don’t know what this feels like for Eddie.  Admittedly, it is much harder to make a movie than it is to make a baby.  Being able to make a movie is basically like winning the lottery.  Any asshole can make a baby. (Just, you know, not this asshole.)  But in both cases the factors that lead to success seem entirely beyond our control. 

            Our friends are more optimistic.  They tell us stories about people who finally achieved success just as they were going to pack it all in.  “This is your year,” they say, “I can feel it.”  There are so many years that are supposed to have been our year that I have begun to dread New Year’s Eve.  We spent the last one in a Seattle hotel, eating pizza in bed and watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s like college students who had just been dumped.  I’m not saying it wasn’t fun.  But we weren’t exactly out there preparing to build an empire.

            And we’re happy for you.  Really we are.  We’re thrilled that you’re pregnant.  What a cute picture of your toddler.  And that is super-awesome news about your movie.  We know, truly know to the depth of our very bones what tremendous accomplishments these are.  We could never take your joys and successes for granted and we hope you don’t either.  You are right to see it as a miracle.  It is a miracle every single time.

            And foolish or not, we haven’t quite given up yet.  Eddie keeps hustling each day at his work.  I keep taking my prenatal vitamins, just in case.  And just this month we spontaneously decided to try a final round of IUI.  What are the chances of success?  Worse than terrible.  But stranger things have happened.  Haven’t they?

More Sundance Parties...Seriously?

Sundance Day 4:  Everyone is Just So Tired

            The cast has spent the day doing photos and press, so by the time we see everyone at the Rally.org party, they look a little wilted.  This is a small gathering, and after a long day of being “on,” the actors tuck hungrily into the buffet and talk quietly to one another, relaxing.  I am exhausted, too.  Eddie has to excuse himself to make some work calls, and  I simply don’t have it in me to carry on conversations with celebrities tonight.  Instead I sink down at the end of the table and shoot the breeze with Shannon’s husband, Dean.  It’s really, really hard to spend days on end chatting animatedly to people you don’t know.  I don’t envy actors.  No matter how excited and proud you may be of something, continuously demonstrating enthusiasm for anything is depleting.  Georgia King, who has only arrived in Park City today, heads home to put her feet up for a bit before heading out to more parties.

            Although the vibe is subdued, it is still a happy one.  Shannon dances and prances.  People laugh together.   Ricky tells wild stories and Jane hands me her phone so that I can text her daughter, who went to the same college as I did.  Emmy and I tell each other stories about moving; I explain what brought me to Los Angeles.  She says she feels the same pull to move to New York.  “You should do it,” I say.  I tell her we have lots of friends in New York and would be happy to help in any way we can.  We hug and want to talk more, but Ilan Eshkeri, the film’s composer, drags her away.  It’s time to go home.

            It’s only 8:30, but I’m ready for a bath and bed.  Surprisingly, Eddie is attending a midnight screening of Kink, so I try to keep him company for a while.  By 9:15 I give up and head back to the room.

Look who hitchhiked home with me.

            As we wait to board our plane, Eddie notices that both James Callis and Damian Lewis on our flight.  He also receives an email from our friend Patrick Fabian, who was filming in Park City this weekend.  The news is out:  Sony has picked up Austenland.  The film is due to release in the U.S. this summer.  Although I am not surprised it’s been picked up, I am nevertheless thrilled. So this is what it’s like when the process actually works. 

More Sundance Parties...Exotic!

Sundance Day 2:  The Second Party

            We head to Little Black Book’s mixer for young industry executives.  The party is in a suite in the Caledonian hotel.  I think it’s going to be fancy, but it’s a lot of shag carpeting and things with bears on them. Our coats get thrown into a pile in the corner and Eddie says hello to a few people he recognizes.  Whenever Eddie can’t remember someone’s name we play the game where I introduce myself in an effort to lure the other person into saying his name.  Then I secretly whisper the name to Eddie.  This only works about 50% of the time, since many people in Hollywood simply say, “Nice to meet you,” when you introduce yourself, leaving their own identities forever a mystery. 

            We are standing in a small group of APA agents and people seem a little bored, so Eddie brings up my outstanding shooting range performance.  Everyone perks up.  We are Americans, so talking about guns always interests us.  The talk turns to the difficulty of raising children in Hollywood, another favorite topic.  None of us actually has children, but we are all married and hope to have them someday, so we all anxiously share our potential solutions.  The consensus seems to be that moving to Santa Barbara is probably the best bet.  Either that or Sherman Oaks.

            Eddie has to take a call, so I find myself alone in a room full of hungry young execs who aren’t super-interested in chatting with someone who can’t directly help their careers.  As I am trying to squeeze through a crowd of people I meet Aaron, a young exec at Sony.   Not long into the conversation we discover that that he attended the same Boston school where I used to teach.  Although we didn’t overlap, we know teachers in common and this delights us.  As I am putting on my coat, I overhear him saying to his friends, “I mean, what are the odds?” 

            We head back to our friends’ house in Park City to quickly pick up our things so we can drop them off at our new lodging before the big dinner event.  Our friends are watching the History Channel and prepping ammunition shells.  It looks so relaxing that we are immediately drawn in, and several hours pass with me happily stretching out the brass as we talk animatedly about favorite books we have read, mostly history and presidential biographies.  This is by far my favorite part of the evening.

Sundance Day 3:  The Third Party

            Eddie drops me off at the High West Distillery, where Entertainment Weekly is hosting a dinner for Austenland.  While he is parking the car, I walk in and quickly realize this is a plated dinner with assigned tables.  I find Eddie’s name card at Shannon’s table but there is no seat for me.  I ask a lady in a furry vest, who looks flustered and says she will figure something out.  In the meantime, I sit in Eddie’s seat and wonder what I will do or where I could skulk if they can’t find any room for me.  Suddenly, the fur vest lady talks to the young woman seated next to me, and the girl gathers up her things to leave.  I discover that she has been asked to give up her chair for me.  I am horrified and insist that she stay, but she says sadly, “That’s OK.  All I did was arrange the transportation for the stars, so I don’t really need to be here.”  I think she might actually be leaving the party, and this fills me with a terrible guilt.   But short of making some weird scene or leaving myself, there isn’t really anything I can do.  Eddie arrives soon after and we enjoy a lively conversation with our tablemates, which include Jane Seymour, her sister Annie, and Sara, a young photographer from Entertainment Weekly.   Annie plays the role of “ugly maid” Patience in the movie, so they frizzed out her hair didn’t allow her to wear any make up for filming.  As a person who wears makeup daily, Annie was horrified.  She laughs as we praise her for her “brave performance.”

            The first reviews for the film have come in and they’re good ones.  Everyone keeps pulling out their phones to read the latest ones. There is a giddy buzz in the air.  Ricky wears his gorgeous suit, saying that if he had to clean it and carry it to Utah, he might as well wear it to something.  People wander from table to table, hugging and congratulating one another. Jennifer Coolidge, who wasn’t expected to make it, walks into the room and everyone breaks out in spontaneous applause. 

Tea with Famous Strangers

            Following the premiere, Austenland hosts a small tea for cast, crew, family and reps. It is a relaxed and intimate setting, and the cast is running around getting one another’s autographs on the small movie posters lying around.  We aren’t super jazzed about the poster design, but we discover that nobody knew they needed posters until yesterday, so this one was quickly thrown together and printed last night.  Classic Hollywood. 

See?  Boring.

            I made a promise several years ago, and it is here that I must fulfill it.  My dear friend Scott is a native New Zealander, and he made me promise that if ever I saw his hometown heroes from Flight of the Conchords, I would pass along his fondest regards.  Ignoring celebrities is much more my forte, but I gird myself and head over to Bret McKenzie for a quick chat.  Scott’s initial message to transmit has not been updated since 2009, so I make no mention of Bret’s performance in the movie we just saw, or any congratulations about his winning an Oscar last year.  (I later feel terrible about this.)  It quickly becomes apparent that neither of us knows where to take the conversation after this, and it limps along from charity stuff to asking what I do, which obviously gets us nowhere.  Finally, blessedly, he asks me where I live in Los Angeles, and it turns out we live in the same neighborhood.  With relief we talk about restaurants until Jane Seymour interrupts and I turn to chat with Eddie and Jared Hess, who are talking animatedly about a mutual friend.

            I am starving, so I carry a few tea sandwiches to our table, which is next to Stephenie Meyers’s.  Being gluten-free, I can’t actually eat the sandwiches normally, so I have to open them up and use my teeth to scrape off the filling.  I do this hurriedly, hoping no one notices.  This has garnered me approximately three tablespoons of food, so I just fill up on water.  I feel proud of myself for this, because it means I have followed the advice of my Sundance elders.  I think about my Mormon nieces, who worship Stephenie, and briefly entertain the idea of getting an autograph for them.  It is quickly jettisoned.  This is Shannon and Jerusha’s day, not Stephenie’s.  The focus should be on them.  Sorry, nieces. 

            Emmy the Great, who wrote and performed original songs for the film, does a charming set.  She is wearing an adorable cat ear headband.  After her set we keep awkwardly running into each other and smile shyly at one another as we pass.

            Shannon and her husband Dean come to join us and it is a thrill to see her so happy.  She says that her face hurts from smiling.  Shannon explains that as an author, you write books that people read and experience alone.  Your words enter someone’s mind silently and just sort of stay there.  This is wonderful, of course, but aside from letters from fans, you never really get the feedback of what impact your words have on someone, or how they felt reading a sentence that you worked particularly hard to craft.  Seeing your words in a film, and hearing the audience’s immediate reaction, is overwhelming in comparison.  Gratifying and moving and emotionally overwhelming.  Shannon remembers the give and take, the creative process of writing with another person.  Both she and Jerusha have the experience of thinking, “See, I knew that line would work!”  They are glad they fought one another for these lines.  They feel lucky that they work so well together.

            Later in the party we are talking to a group of people.  We look down to discover that almost all of us are wearing Sorel boots.  We laugh.  Ricky Whittle complains about dragging around all of the additional weight of winter gear.  “My legs are killing me!” he gripes.  Ricky reveals that this was his first premiere, so he packed a beautiful suit.  After arriving in Park City he did a google image search of Sundance premieres and realized his mistake.  He had to scramble to find an appropriately casual but attractive outfit to pull together.  He insists the boots are the most important part of the look, as it makes it seem “as if you didn’t try.” 

            With a few hours to kill before the next event, Eddie and I throw our coats back on and find food for me.  I am excited to check out the popup Udi’s Gluten-Free Table, only to find that it isn’t open.  In a haze of hunger, we wander into a barbeque place.  I order some kind of confusing potato skins with beans on top, and a margarita in a glass shaped like a cowboy boot.  I poked tiredly at my beans and lick the crust of salt from the glass rim like a farm animal.  I guzzle more water and remind myself to wash my hands more, although they are already so dry and chapped that my thumbs are forming cracks.  I mentally add hand lotion to the list of Sundance necessities and wonder why no one has mentioned it.  

Sundance Austenland Premiere

Sundance, Day 2:  The Premiere

Oh, Glory.  This is the good stuff.  Finally, a premiere.  This is the reason we are here.  Eddie’s client, the supremely talented Shannon Hale, is showing the film based on her novel Austenland.   Shannon co-wrote the script with Jerusha Hess, who made the film her directorial debut.   Instead of standing in line with the ticket holders, we are ushered into a special holding pen of sorts, where we relax and chat with Shannon’s family and her book agent, Barry Goldblatt, until a handler comes and ushers us into the theater.  We sit in a special reserved seating area for cast, crew, and family, so we are soon chatting with Jerusha’s parents and her husband Jared.  Further down our row is a shy, unassuming woman who seems close with Shannon and Jerusha.  We later discover this is Stephenie Meyer, part of the cadre of “little Mormon moms” who made this movie. 

In front us we see Jane Seymour quickly powdering her face before the photographers start shooting.  She is sitting with her sister, Annie Gould, who has one of my favorite roles in the film.  Keri Russell and Bret McKenzie are further down the row.  James Callis, Ricky Whittle, and JJ Feild sit a row or two behind.  Everyone is disappointed because Jennifer Coolidge and Georgia King are filming, so they have to miss the premiere.  It seems to be a tight-knit cast and crew.  Everyone is happy to see each other and seems a little giddy and giggly.

And then there’s the film.  When it was over, I turned to Eddie and gushed, “It’s everything I want in a romantic comedy!”  And it is.  I am very picky about my romantic comedies, but I unreservedly love this. It is so smart, and so funny.  Stellar performances, crackling dialogue, and wonderful chemistry and heart.  The audience absolutely eats it up, and we turn and see Shannon welling up with the immense joy that comes from hearing 1,200 people laughing the lines she wrote, the risky ones that she worried no one would get. 

When it’s over there is cheering, as well as a charming, goofy Q&A.  Jerusha is a gracious and confident speaker, inviting Shannon and Stephenie up to join her, as well as the cast.  Keri is shy and giggling and so it is Jerusha and Bret who take the lead.  Bret knows how to work a Q&A.  He’s funny and engaging and makes sure that everyone onstage gets a chance to say something.   Favorite moments of the Q&A:  Ricky Whittle’s audition story.  Jerusha’s deep embarrassment when her actors have to film kissing scenes.  And Bret and Keri are cousins?  A link to the Q&A is here.

We shuffle out of the theater and are normal people again, if a tiny bit more savvy.  We are learning to master the shortcuts.  Eying the packed shuttle stop, we walk a few blocks to a less crowded one.  I find myself chatting with an executive Eddie recognizes.  The conversation lags until I bring up real estate.  Angelenos always come alive when talk turns to housing or commuting.  I chide him when I discover he drives to work a half mile away from his house.  “You should know better,” I gently scold, then I feel bad.  Next to me Eddie is telling the story of a colleague who got scammed for Sundance housing last year.  After prepaying for his housing, he arrived to find that the address he had rented didn’t exist.  Other people on the bus chime into this conversation, in the same way people share their own versions of urban legends. 

Initially I was confused and frustrated by the entire concept of the festival.  Why would you host a film festival in the mountains in the middle of winter?  Why make it so difficult to get tickets?  Why all this unnecessary standing in line?  But I am starting to get it now.  In some ways, Sundance is a great equalizer.  Everyone stands in line, slogs through the snow, huddles under a heater to stay warm.  Even stars are hustling, trying to find financing or distribution for these films they believe in.  There is a sense of camaraderie that hardship brings, even if that hardship is simply slogging around with big boots and puffy coats. 

Sundance 2013: Day 1

Sundance, Day 1:

Because of the way Sundance is organized, nobody knows what has been selected until just a few weeks before the festival. By the time anyone realizes what’s going on, housing is already booked and there is a mad scramble to find a place to stay. Luckily, a friend from high school graciously invited us to stay with her and her family, even volunteering to drop us into town each day for various events. To start and end each day with this wonderful couple, their adorable son, and two enormous dogs is an incredibly grounding and relaxing counterpoint to the madness of the festival, and both Eddie and I find ourselves strangely emotional in our gratitude for this.

The night before the festival begins, Eddie takes me to his favorite restaurant in Park City, Chimayo. He has made the reservation weeks in advance, so we have a cozy little table next to the fireplace. We get to chatting with the waitress, who reveals that, like many businesses in Park City, Chimayo raises its prices during the festival, doubling their normal rates. We are relieved that our reservation was before the festival began. We finish our night with a final drink at the No Name Saloon, recommended by our hosts. The bar is a favorite of Park City locals, with great drink specials and a history dating back to 1903.

In the morning, our host Chris, an ex-Marine sniper, asks us if we’d like to go shooting with him at his gun club. Obviously, yes. What follows is an incredibly informative lesson on gun safety and proper shooting technique. With Chris’s patient teaching, we soon discover that I am, in fact, a naturally gifted marksman. Shockingly so. Shooting at paper targets is fun and I find the whole experience surprising similar to a tennis lesson.

We head downtown to the festival on a triumphant high with the realization of my newfound prowess with weaponry. I feel optimistic and ready to face the cold and line-standing, only to find that we don’t have to do any of that. In exchange for us picking up our friend’s pass for her, she allows us to use it until she arrives on Friday afternoon. This means we can buy tickets for films that are technically sold out, and it also means that we don’t have to get up at 5 AM to stand in line for anything. Not only does this mean that I actually get to attend the premiere of the movie that has brought us here in the first place; it means we actually get to see movies!  Many people come to Sundance and never see a single film, so this is hugely exciting. 

We run into Eddie’s client, a writer/director named Craig MacNeill, and his producer, Noah Greenberg. They showed a short film called HENLEY here last year, so they are now illustrious alumni. Their advice for first-timers: Drink lots of water. Use lots of hand sanitizer. And most importantly, don’t try to plan anything, because it’s impossible. Your best experiences at Sundance happen when you relax and roll with it. You run into someone on the street, your drinks run long, you suddenly get invited to a party. That’s when everything really happens. This is reinforced later in the evening when Eddie’s drinks with a producer he knows end up including me, a lawyer, and the producer’s writing partner. As we linger over drinks at Butcher’s, the producer tells us the story of last year’s Sundance, when he came to town looking for financing for a project, but could never get together with the potential financier. Finally, at the end of a party, the financier shows up at 4 AM, just a few short hours before the producer was set to fly home. Late night deals are made, the flight is cancelled, and the rest is history. “You just gotta roll with it,” he tells me, “Oh, and bring hand sanitizer."

Journey to Sundance 2013

Sundance, The Journey:

Sitting on the plane on the way to Sundance, I feel like I should be more excited, but Eddie has done a good job of managing expectations. He has referred to it as a “once in a lifetime” experience for me, because the prediction is that after I attend it once, I will never in my lifetime wish to return. From what I understand, it’s a lot of standing in freezing cold lines, digging through piles of coats to find yours, and getting sweaty from all the layers you are constantly wearing. Even LA on an off-day will be more glamorous.

We saw Tim Meadows in the security line and we figured he was heading to Sundance, but he’s not on our plane. I imagine celebrities are generally not big Southwest Airlines patrons, but who knows?

 I am a bit grumpy with Eddie. He should seriously not be allowed to plan any trips ever. How could he have planned his proposal to me so perfectly, but ignore any and all details when planning all subsequent trips? He is simply not trustworthy in these types of situations. Exhibit A: Eddie said he wanted to arrive early at the airport, so I planned accordingly, skipping breakfast with the intention of eating at the airport. Fast-forward to the 9:30 conference call he took before we left this morning, which meant we didn’t arrive at the terminal until just before 11, with an 11:55 departure time. My incredibly romantic Sundance brunch to begin our journey consisted of a McDonald’s chicken mcnugget value meal that I wolfed down hunched over in my seat in the few minutes before boarding. Do I regret this meal? Yes I do. Do I regret eating it so quickly? Yes in italics.

I should mention that Eddie hadn’t checked in for the flight beforehand. For some reason, he decided it wasn’t necessary, since Southwest doesn’t have assigned seating. Never mind the many gaping holes in the delicate web of this reasoning. In short, we checked in an hour before the flight, almost the last two people to board the plane. As a result, we are seated separately in two middle seats. Overhead compartments were all full, so our bags have been checked. Welcome to Sundance.

I’m seated between two photographers who are shooting the Chase photo booth at the festival. More of their fellow photographers are seated around them. Once I was seated, my seatmates eagerly continued their loud conversation across me, leaning forward and back to see each other around my head. I offered to trade seats with one so they wouldn’t have to talk across me, but they declined, explaining that one of them preferred window seats and the other preferred aisle. I, of course, cannot argue with this perfect logic, so I continue to be the centerpiece on a dining room table until one of them falls asleep.

Victorian Forfeits

Victorians love to play parlor games, and when one loses a game, one pays some sort of forfeit. These "hilarious" forfeits are the driving force behind the games, as is explained in the forward of the "Ninety and Five Forfeits" from the book Evening Amusements, which was given as a Christmas gift from Mrs. J.P. Haller in 1889.

The forward explains:

The most enjoyable pleasure of an evening's entertainment, or nearly so, is "Crying the Forfeits," as it usually concludes the holiday evening's gambols. The previous portion of the evening, as respects the games, being generally looked upon as a means for the collection of this description of mirth and glee, or bearing about the same relation to the forfeits that a preliminary drama does to a pantomime.

Here are some of my favorites from the list:

15. To act the part of a dumb servant. The descriptions says, "...the gentleman then asks her...questions...How do you wash?...All these questions must be answered by the lady by dumb motions, which of course cause great laughter."

19. To lay your whole length on the floor, and after calling all the company round you, to say quite loud, "Here I lay, the length of a looby, the breadth of a booby, and three parts of a loggerhead."

30. To perform the deaf man. "The person on whom this temporary infirmity is imposed must stand out in the middle of the room, and to all that is said must answer, three times following, 'I am deaf; I can't hear.' The fourth time, however, the answer must be, 'I can hear.'"

33. Hobson's choice. "The debtor is blindfolded and seated on a chair. The operating holding a cork burnt at one end, asks him which end he will have rubbed to his face...he must put his finger on the end he selects, and trust to his luck as to whether his face is blackened or not. This is a gentleman's forfeit only."

38. The perform the parrot.

39. To act the mute.

40. To enact the Grecian statue.

41. To act the death of the King of Morocco.

Value

I volunteered with a Hospice program shortly after graduating from college. I was connected with a family immediately after completing the training. My role was to help the oldest boy with his homework. He was nine. His younger brother was seven. Their little sister, the youngest in the family, was terminally ill.

I don't remember the name of the boy I tutored for over a year. I don't remember the parents' names, or the name of the younger boy either. I do remember the name of the little girl: Erin. When Erin was born, she was given only a few weeks to live. By the time I met her, she was almost four years old. Still the size of an infant, she could not see or hear or respond to most stimuli. She could not smile or stand on her own or roll over, and breathed only with the aid of equipment.

Erin's mother had gained over 100 pounds and developed diabetes as a result of the stress and of the sedentary lifestyle that caring for a terminally ill infant necessitates. With the type of equipment Erin needed, it was difficult to bring her places, and hiring a babysitter was out of the question. A Hospice nurse would come for several hours each day, and volunteers like me would arrive periodically to give the family a respite, too.

Shortly after Christmas, the older boy was showing me the family Christmas presents. "See," he said, showing me his new remote controlled car, "You can make it go around corners." As I praised his driving skills, I noticed a row of Barbies on one shelf, all in their original boxes.

"Whose are those?" I asked.

"Oh, those are Erin's. We give her presents every Christmas and birthday. Usually Barbies."

There is the family, carefully picking out Erin's Christmas Barbie. The trip to the toy store, the judicious examination of each sparkly dress before making the decision. The excitement on their faces as they slowly unwrap the package for Erin, holding it up to her half-closed eyes. "See? She's a ballerina. Like in Swan Lake! She's wearing little toe shoes."

One cold evening I arrived for my weekly visit, only to find that the mother had taken all three children out to have their pictures taken at Sears. Only the father was home. A tough, blue-collar guy, he hadn't said much the few times I had seen him. I knew that he was involved in the boys' sports, that he had worked at Safeway for years, and that he was good with his hands, having built a TV room addition onto the back of the house. We both apologized to one another for the miscommunication about the appointment. Then he invited me to have a seat in the shag-carpeted living room. Glass and china gleamed in the light from the Christmas tree that sat in the corner.

The sand-colored couch and the loveseat were set up in an L shape. We each sat, he on the smaller sofa, facing the sparkling tree. I could hear the TV in the background. "She wasn't always heavy, you know," he said suddenly. He walked across the room, picking up something from the shelf and handing it to me. He tapped a thin, blonde woman in the framed photo I was holding. The woman wore jeans and a white T-shirt. Her curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with puffy bangs brushing her forehead. She looked perky and fun. Someone who liked steamed crabs and beer, maybe, or going dancing with her girlfriends.

"It's been hard on us, her most of all. It's made her sad. Depressed, you know?" I murmured something and nodded, looking across the dim room. "She got real heavy," he continued. He sighed. "But you know, I still love her, as much as ever. She's still beautiful to me. It just makes me sad sometimes."

"Of course, of course," I said, uncertain of the polite response. My eyes roamed across the shelves to the other photos: a pretty blonde in a wedding dress, kissing her new husband's bristly moustache; two toddler boys holding Easter baskets; the family smiling in a formal portrait, the boys missing teeth, the mother holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms.

"We heard about this home, once, a really great place, for kids like Erin. We decided it might be good for her. For us. We wouldn't worry so much." He looked down at his hands. "She has a real personality, you know. A strong will. We can tell when she's happy and when she's cranky. We know what she likes and doesn't like."

I laid the picture of the young blonde woman on the sofa beside me. My hands rested on my thighs.

Looking up, his eyes sought mine. "It's just that, when she was away, I couldn't stand it. I missed her. She's a part of our family. When she's not around I miss her."

When the Journey Began

I wrote this on October 1, 2008, but forgot to post it. Tomorrow I leave for my new life in LA. I had decided to move out there last summer, sight unseen. This is from my first trip out there to make sure that I was making the right decision.

I am sitting in the LAX airport, waiting to board my plane back to Boston. I feel certain about some things after coming here, which is why I came here. So there’s a sense of accomplishment. One is that LA is the right place for me. I know that I will be happy here; I can feel it. I had lunch with an old college acquaintance yesterday, and once we sat down, he looked at me and said, “You love LA, don’t you. I can tell. You look really happy.” It suits me.
At the moment, I am looking to my right, at three women, all with short white hair. Two out of three of them have strong Texas accents, and all three of them are talking on their cell phones. The one with the strongest accent is the loudest. She is probably about 80 years old, short and stout. LA is just a place where she is changing planes to someplace else. She keeps scrolling down her contacts list on her phone, and calls one person after another. Over her green polka-dot blouse, she is wearing a safari vest. She is excited to be back, excited to tell about her trip.
For my trip to LA, I booked a little villa in Los Feliz; it’s basically a beautiful apartment with a door code that is programmed to my visit. It was in a perfect neighborhood, exactly where I want to live. I walked to the grocery store every day, cooked myself meals in the kitchen, and did laundry, listened to music and drank cocktails on the patio. Had people over, figured out how to get places, found an acupuncturist and got my nails done. Made it my home.
I thought a lot about what this trip was going to be for me. I knew I was going to get a feel for LA, and to start making connections. I was going to go alone, and then I wasn’t, and ultimately I went without any kind of plan or agenda at all. I had a few loose ideas of people I was going to see at different points, but it was mostly open time. I had to keep reminding myself to use this as an actual vacation and an opportunity to rest. This was my first vacation since I separated, and just being in a new environment with time to myself each day, warm weather, and sunshine was enough to focus on. I didn’t need to add to my sense of duty, which is already heavy enough most of the time. I tend to think of myself as a failure if I spend a day doing nothing.
Somehow, an agenda slowly formed itself and I had all kinds of interesting experiences, connecting with people I didn’t know well, and walking away feeling like I have friends here. Feeling like I was meeting good, good people out here.
I think I was really surprised by how different it felt to be in this new city. The whole pace of things, the way people carry themselves, it feels very different from Boston. People are friendly, and nobody is ever in a hurry. No sense of urgency, even on the roads. Sometimes I found myself sitting in the car, clapping my hands and saying, “Ok, this is business, people. Come on. Let’s make it happen,” as though my unseen speech and motivational clapping would somehow unconsciously inspire the other drivers to pick up the pace.
One highlight of my trip was going to a small stand-up show that a friend, Steve, was hosting. It was in a dark little club called The Room, in Santa Monica. One of the comics took the stage, kind of an angry guy whose jokes really weren’t funny, because the level of bitterness was way too present. For example, if the punchline of a joke is, “I’m glad you were molested,” I’m not quite sure I’m totally on board with that. But this guy went up, and he started his whole bit with “I tend to be seen as pretty negative, but if you don’t like my act, you’re perfectly free to move to some totalitarian country where there isn’t free speech,” and then suddenly this woman calls out, “Yeah, like America!” And then starts shouting out things like “AmeriKKKa,” and stuff like that, and the comic tells her to shut up, although I can’t remember if he called her a cunt right away, or whether that came a bit later. So he got into it with her, and she wouldn’t stop, and then the guy who was with her got involved, after the comic said things like, “I don’t care if your dad gave you herpes, or whatever your problem is,” and called her a stupid bitch and whatnot, and then the two people were yelling things back, sort of dumb and drunk things. However, they were pointing out the irony of the comic railing on about free speech, but then telling them to shut up. At first, it seemed like a bit, or part of an act, because the lines seemed so contrived. So everyone was sort of sitting and awkwardly looking back and forth between the comic and the hecklers, and wondering what would happen next. Eventually, the comic explained that this was not, in fact, a bit, but it was actually happening. Everyone felt surprised and at a loss of what to do. Eventually Steve and another of the show’s hosts decided to ask the hecklers to leave, since they wouldn’t stop, and the comic was starting to threaten to get involved physically, which also would have been interesting, some kind of brawl, or knifing, maybe. But they got hustled out with some protests, and then the guy tried to shake hands in an “all is forgiven” gesture with the comic, but he refused.
I think the difficult part is that I have very carefully told myself that I don’t want to spend the next nine months feeling that I’m not present in the life I am living now. I don’t want to feel like I’m in some kind of waiting room, or purgatory, just waiting to make it out west. I didn’t think that traveling to LA would make me feel like that, because I am actually happy in Boston. But that is how I ended up feeling, like I couldn’t wait to move out here, and really felt like I didn’t want to come back to Boston. In my mind, I am trying to think of the next possible time I can return to California. It felt sad to leave. I did a lot of sighing.

Confessions of a Mormon Missionary, Part 4: The Return

After her mission, she returned to her family in Salt Lake, and ultimately decided to leave Utah and settle in Washington, DC.

After I returned home from my mission, I moved back into my parents' house and started in on my senior year of college. I stayed very involved with the Church, and went to the Temple there quite frequently. Through the Church I became good friends with a young man who had also been a missionary. One Sunday we were in the Celestial Room, which is a room that is symbolic of Heaven, and this man asked me to marry him. It was completely unexpected. The Celestial Room is supposed to be the most special, serene place on Earth, but upon his proposal, I felt nothing but ambiguity, uncertainty, and fear. I just did not feel comfortable. My brain works more slowly than my emotions, and I was so surprised, I think I must have said yes. I spent half an hour after the ceremony getting dressed, wondering, "What am I going to do?" And I felt in my heart that what I needed to tell him was that I wasn't ready, and I needed more time.

When I went back out, he was waiting for me, and he pulled out a ring, and I sort of lost my grip on reality for a minute. I saw the beautiful diamond and I saw his sweet eyes and I just couldn't say no. And so I said yes. I had been all prepared to say, "Let's wait on this, let's think about it," but when he pulled out the ring I thought, "Well, jeez, being engaged sounds like fun. Let's do it!" Because I thought, "Oh, this is happy, this is what I've wanted!" I mean it was hard in Utah to have your younger brother get married before you do. I can't say that I hadn't been jealous, because that's what you grew up wanting, your own husband and your own family. And here was my opportunity to achieve that.

Even though I had accepted the proposal, it was not free of doubts. I think it took about two months before I was able to break it off. I don't think I would have known for certain that it was wrong had I not said yes. I think sometimes you have to make a decision and go with it. I think, had I said no, I would have been left wondering. Looking back, I was glad that I made the commitment for that short period of time.

It was around this time that I really felt drawn to return to the East Coast. It took about a year until the timing was right, but I really felt that I needed to be there. I believed in my heart that I was capable of doing things and I believed in my heart that there was something wonderful out there waiting for me. I think I also felt like I needed to be further away from my family, in some ways. I am still, to this day, treated as a child with limitations by my parents. I grew up in a household that it was best to play it safe and not try for things. If there was a chance you could fail, then don't even try at all, because the hurt you would feel if you didn't make it would be worse than if you hadn't tried. And so I grew up with a lot of inhibitions.

Moving back to DC and living on my own for the first time, I mean really on my own without the rules and structure of a mission, it was like a whole new world opened up. To try and promote myself, to go out and get jobs at places that my name wasn't known by anyone, and to apply for promotions and things like that, it really took a lot of courage and a lot of guts, because I hadn't had the experience or help in doing those sorts of things. And so I can't help but feel a little bit pleased with myself and those opportunities, even though not all of them worked out. But some of them did, and it was wonderful.

I think I grew up with a tendency, because my hand was always held, to expect to be taken care of. When there wasn't anyone to do it anymore, it was a different feeling, and I think I kept wanting that hand-holding for a while. I remember one hideous snowstorm morning in Washington where I'd spend the night at the house of a girlfriend from work. I needed to get to work, but she didn't need to be in until a few hours after I did. She lived out in the middle of Virginia, and I remember that I had to take a bus to get to the metro to get into town, and I had no idea where I was going. It was a complete blizzard, and half of the city was shut down, yet I did it. It took me literally two-and-a-half hours of tramping through the snow and waiting at the bus stop and at the metro. I remember feeling like, "I did it!" I was happy to be able to tough it out and make it happen. And I just loved the little things like that, whether it was personal or work-related, because I had never had those kinds of experiences, where I was in control and really had to depend on myself like that.

It was hard, initially. Everything had been removed from me: my piano students, my job, my friends from school, my family. I was essentially alone and learning to provide for myself in a very expensive city, finding a place to live, really finding a place in my world. I felt really alone and discouraged, but even though I felt scared, I wasn't about to quit. I may be emotional and have my quirks, but underneath it I really feel that I have a decent amount of strength there that really helped me make it though the hard times. In addition, of course, to my faith in the Lord and being able to turn to Him.

I got to know the Church on another level, living in Washington. It was amazing to be in a congregation in Washington, DC, because it really was so much more diverse. It was very eclectic, and it was technically a singles ward, so there were all these people , mostly between 25 and 45, many with advanced degrees, who had just incredible intellect and things to offer. It was inspiring and invigorating, and, even though I wasn't perfectly living the gospel standards at that time in my life, I don't think I had ever felt more loved and more cared for by people of the Church. Coming from the head-planted-in-the-sand state, where you're judged and criticized for any possible misstep, I was really amazed. And as that happened and as I developed more friendships, my confidence grew, and I just really felt like it became my second home with my new friends and my new life. I felt like it was possible for me to be the person that I tried to be, growing up and on my mission, and with the same expectations, but in a completely different environment, and without having to change who I am. I sort of felt like I had really come home.

Confessions of a Mormon Missionary, Part 3: The Mission

Newly finished with her training, she heads out on an 18-month mission.

Once I arrived on my mission, I was on a completely different schedule. You had to be up at 6:00 AM, and, of course, with some companions, they insisted on being up at 5:30! You'd have an hour of personal study, an hour of companion study. You had to be out the door, dressed, at 9:00 AM, on the streets proselytizing, teaching, working, whatever. And you would have one hour for lunch. Depending on the companion, you could come home, stay an hour. Otherwise, depending on the companion, you packed a lunch and you included your driving time to the park! And then you were right back at it. It was really rigid. The days were long, but at the same time, they went by really fast. You were always busy. I don't think I've ever worked as hard. You were grateful for bedtime. I didn't have insomnia on my mission at all.

The rules and the structure made it really easy to focus. Sometimes I would just get worn out and overwhelmed by it all, but it was impossible to lose focus. As a missionary, you were expected to baptize new members into the Church every month. There were minimum numbers of discussions that you were to teach, and so many hours spent tracting and so many hours spent studying, alone and with your companion. There were a certain number of scriptures to memorize. There was quota after quota. That was a struggle, because I just couldn't get into that. Every once in a while, I would think, "I just can't do this anymore," but only if I was feeling really down and depressed. You're in such a different state of mind. All you do is eat, sleep, drink, preach religion, and it's such a change of lifestyle.

Living the missionary lifestyle was a huge adjustment for me. I'm a little bit stubborn, and even though I was technically a "good girl," I still was a little bit of a nonconformist and liked to do things my own way and very much did not like being told what to do. It just so happened that my mission president was basically the strictest, most controlling man. He ran his mission field like a drill sergeant would, like an army. There were very rigid expectations and structures. There are standard mission rules world-wide, but in addition to that, mission presidents are able to add anything else that they feel is necessary. And not to be able to listen to music, classical music, that was my life...not to be able to listen to music was very hard. I'm very much a "spirit of the law" type of person, where the president was very much the "letter of the law." We clashed a lot.

There was one instance where my mother's boss was in Washington, DC, visiting with his daughter, and he wanted to come and visit me at the Visitors' Center. I had permission for that, that was no problem. Well, it worked out that he wasn't able to make it up there. He got in a time crunch and he called me and asked if I could come into DC with my companion and meet him, and he'd take us out to dinner. I couldn't go without permission, but the president was in meetings all day when I called, and so his assistant answered. Although I did have permission to see my mom's boss, I didn't have permission to go into DC, and if you went outside of your assigned area at all, which sometimes was quite small, you had to get permission from whomever above you. So I told the assistant that I had permission to see this guy and then I told him where I was going, as thought I had already been given permission. My companion and I drove to the metro, hopped into town, met him in Union Square, and had a wonderful time and a wonderful visit.

I was so afraid of getting into trouble, even though I had told the assistant where we were going. I didn't know exactly what the communication was, or how it was going to get back to the president. I was feeling so guilty that I basically blew it myself. The same assistant called me for another reason, and I assumed it was to chew me out because he had found out. He quickly realized something was up, and it just made me feel horrible. The president called me the next day and called me a liar and said, "I don't even know why you're out on a mission," just completely scolded me. I was devastated, absolutely heartbroken. He said, "Well, I hope you can go out and baptize some people!" Oh, it was so bad. That took weeks, maybe even months to get over, because I worked hard and really, for the most part, did what I was supposed to and enjoyed it very much. It's hard enough being in that environment and having to give up everything and having to be so perfect and to accomplish so much, and yet have an incident like that tear you down. We eventually made up and I ended up having a good relationship with the president, but it was not without struggles the whole way through. It was not easy.

THere were so many hundreds and hundreds of rules that it was just impossible to follow them all. So that was where being a "spirit of the law" kind of person really helped me. I remember the first few months of my mission, around Christmastime, my parents sent me and Andy Williams Christmas tape, which was my absolute favorite. We were forbidden to listen to music except on our preparation day. It was not my preparation day and I was just dying to listen to it. At that time my companion and I were living with a really sweet lady and I said something like, "Well, if you were to put this on and to turn it on, and if we were in the room, there's nothing I could really do about it!" So she put in the tape and I was just so happy.

Another time I had a companion that I just adored, and we were being transferred from one another and we were both really upset about it. We were supposed to be in our apartment and in bed by 9:30, but we just couldn't go to sleep. We were so upset and it was just a beautiful warm spring night, and so we just went out on a midnight walk. We just went for a walk in the middle of the night. We had a wonderful time.

You are with your companion, this same person, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and oh, that was an experience. I'd never lived away from home. I'd never had college roommates or anything, and I was not quite prepared for that. Sometimes it was utter hell. I had three companions, all in the first half of my mission, that were horribly self-righteous and mean, critical and demeaning. They were the "letter of the law" type. My first companion wasn't so much that type, but she was just really tryping hard to be strict and obedient and set a good example because she was training me, and I was her last companion before she went home. The second one was like a drill sergeant, just a bitch. We clashed from the beginning and that was a horrible month. She would call the president and complain about me, and twice she dragged me up to his office. Looking back, I want to forget a lot of it. It was really hard. I prayed for transfers.

On companion I had was completely anorexic, and she would say how she loved being thin. This was at a point on my mission when I was at my heaviest, and she monitored everything I ate. She had all these mind tricks and mind games, and for someone like me, who doesn't think quickly on her feet, and is more emotional than rational, that was a really, really difficult time. I just really felt abandoned and forsaken by the Lord during that time. I felt like, "How can God even really be there if this is going on?" I just felt really disconnected from it. In a way, I was doubting, because I felt that the Lord wasn't helping me as much as He should.

After that time, I remember reading the Gospel Essentials Manual, which is what new members of the Church use in their Sunday school lessons. And I remember reading through the first lesson, and it was nothing more than that God lives and He loves us and He created this beautiful world. We're all brothers and sisters. And I just had this incredible sweet feeling of peace that He does, in fact, exist. And everything was OK>

I had other sources of help and support, too. After the incident with my mission president, when he called me a liar, he made me go to counseling, and it turned out great. And working in the Visitors' Center was helpful, too, because, if you didn't like your companion, you still could have affiliation with other friends, people who also worked in the Visitors' Center. That helped a lot, it was a break. It was hardest when you were out in the field 50 miles away from anyone. But there were always people that I felt drawn to or close to in the ward that were helpful and were nice. There were always people to connect with.

I really felt much closer to God as a result of my mission. It also ended up being an opportunity to really live the gospel and the Mormon lifestyle, which, it sounds silly, I didn't really think about when I decided to go on a mission. That wasn't my intent for going. My intent was that this was an opportunity to serve the Lord and to help people. I didn't go thinking, "This is really going to give me an incredible spiritual foundation," though that's what happened. It's weird, because when you grow up in a Mormon society, there's so much that you don't learn, that you take for granted. And much of what you're missing is really basic, the essence of the gospel. It really did give me a strong spiritual base, and I also felt much more confident in myself after I returned home to Salt Lake. And my mission is certainly what planted the seed for me to want to come back and settle on the East Coast.