CHRISTMAS IN THE E.R.

I am appalled with myself (and apologetic toward anyone still checking on here) for this immense gap in my posting here. Perhaps the title of this post gives a hint of a reason (or perhaps it is merely an excuse).

About 10 days before Christmas, I came down with bronchitis. Not that unexpected -- Sabrina and Lee had both had mild colds, and I get bronchitis out of a cold every 2 or 3 years. It really wasn't too bad -- the first few days, I was able to keep symptoms at bay with just strong black tea and chicken soup. But I was trying to finish responding to producers' notes on a script, and Christmas was coming, so I put off the blogging.

Then the bronchitis got a bit worse. I started with over-the-counter meds. I'd feel better for a day -- then worse for two. Not a good pattern, you can see. But by now we were up to the weekend before Christmas, and I had a lot piling up --packages to mail, shop, wrap, present-exchanging to arrange and show up for. So who had time to be sick (or to post)? I just kept pushing myself, even though I was clearly not getting better. Worst was a nasty gut-wrenching cough.

Someone suggested I try Mucinex, which I had never tried. Okay, why not? Turns out it has the same active ingredients as Robitissin (expectorant and cough suppressant), but at four times the dosage. Wow. It sure worked -- in a sense. It made my coughing much more, um, productive, but also more violent. But also kept them under control enough so that I could keep going, so all was well.


But I wasn't getting better. Lee was concerned that I was heading for a bout of pneumonia, as I had had three-plus years ago. Sorry. I didn't have time for that (or for posting here, as I had just no extra
energy to spare).

So I made it to the day before Christmas, when I had a shopping/lunch date with a girlfriend. We're sitting happily at California Pizza Kitchen solving the problems of the world when I have to cough. 'Excuse me,' I manage to say --and proceed to cough --and suddenly am engulfed in so much pain I can't see my friend sitting across the table. Everything goes white and bright and all I am aware of is pain pain pain.

I didn't tell my friend what had happened, though I doubt the rest of my conversation made much sense. But I still wasn't done with my shopping. Other than new ski gear, I hadn't bought a single item of clothing for Sabrina and I still hadn't bought the kids their Christmas ornaments for the year. I was at a mall with two hours left to shop, and incredible price reductions going on all around me.

I couldn't do it. In fact, I could barely walk. I stumbled to the nearest store, grabbed the most pathetic ornaments I have ever given the kids, and called Lee just long enough to grunt out something like, "Pain. Hurt. Don't know what I did. Can't finish." And then, through some absolute miracle of God, somehow I drove home.

I have no idea what really happened at Christmas Eve services. I was there, but I was wholly focused on trying to breathe through the pain (and let me tell you, Lamaze breathing was really no more helpful than other was I'm childbirth). We went out to dinner with some good friends and their in-town-for-the-holidays family, and somehow I made it. And we stuttered through some of our Christmas Eve rituals -- we lit the last candle on our Advent wreath, and opened one present each. But we skipped Jesus' birthday cake.

Now, as I struggled to get to bed, I was getting worried. I could barely move my right arm in any direction without enough pain to make me scream (literally). And I couldn't cough. It hurt too much. And I knew how dangerous that would be. If I couldn't cough out all the yucky stuff piling up in my bronchial tubes, I would get pneumonia.


I was up most of the night, and Lee probably was, too. I was up enough for my mind to take a blessed mental inventory of my medicine chest. And when I finally dragged myself up in horrid pain in the morning (where my phenomenally patient kids had been waiting for 2 or 3 hours already, I dug waaaay in the back of an old basket of pill bottles, and found two lonely Vicodin. Who cares that they were over a year expired? They got me through Christmas morning with the pain muted down to a dull roar.

And that's how I ended up at the emergency room on Christmas Day. When I came in complaining of shortness of breath and back pain, boy, did I get seen right away. It was only as I realized that they were rushing to get me an EKG and asking all kinds of questions that I realized they were checking to see if I was having a heart attack. Of course I wasn't, but I do recommend those complaints if you want to be seen quickly in an E.R. (It wasn't crowded; I wasn't keeping anyone from being seen who should have gone first.)

Everyone was incredibly nice. My doctor was a handsome young man in his 20s who reminded me of our friend Ocean up in Seattle (also a doctor). My nurse, Mike, rushed on every time I coughed to see if I'd brought up anything interesting. And after a breathing treatment with a nebulizer and a nice portable X-ray, they told me I did not have pneumonia --but that I did have a fractured rib.

I guess I don't know the power of my own coughing.


So they loaded me up with Vicodin (to blunt the pain of that rib and make it possible to do things like cough and sleep) and an inhaler (because the type of bronchitis I have is "asthmatic bronchitis" in which it's harder to breathe out than in, and because I told them I was headed for an altitude of 7000 feet, where there would be considerably less oxygen to breathe in the first place), and Prednisone (because I apparently I also had a touch of pleurisy, a disease which seems much too Dickensian to exist in 2008, but which is ultimately just an inflammation around the lungs).


And off we went to the mountains, so I could sit and read, and drive everyone else to the ski slopes, and play with my new iPhone, and cook, and take my meds, and recuperate.

Oh, and actually, finally, perhaps unbelievably, post on this blog after an unheard-of almost-three-week gap.

I'm back. Sorry for the delay. More to come now.

And let's hear it for Vicodin.

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS

Of course, it doesn't look like the Christmases one sees on Christmas cards. Not when you live in L.A.

Looking like Christmas here means sunny, in the low 70s. The rare trees transplanted from back East (the maples and such) are brilliant orange -- but since you only see one or two standing alone at a time, I doubt it has the same effect. And the sky is crystal clear -- You can see the mountains clearly etched on one side, across the ocean to Catalina Island on the other side.

Doesn't sound like Christmas to you? Well, at night there are lights on houses (not all that many lights in our rather Jewish neighborhood, but enough). Businesses have put up the obligatory tinsel and wreaths. And there are enormous sale signs in the window of every store.

Last year we barely celebrated Christmas. It was the most miserable Christmas of my life, that's for sure, what with being on strike, being uprooted in every way.

This year is different. It will be a downsized (and potentially miserable) Christmas for many. But, thankfully, not for us. We're working, we're at peace. It's a nice feeling -- and so appreciated after last year's horrificness.


It's finals week now, and I'll be turning in grades today. I delivered a book proposal yesterday. I'll finish printing and delivering my kids' school applications today. That means (aside from some pesky tweaks to our script for Paramount), I can spend the next two weeks focusing solely on Christmas.

Our tree is up (we drive about 50 miles to a Christmas tree farm to cut a live tree every year). It's not decorated, to be sure, but it's in the stand, being watered constantly, and three huge tubs of decorations are piled up next to it waiting for someone to be inspired. That someone will probably be Sabrina -- I just don't really like decorating trees. Maybe it's childhood memories of my dad's combined hatred of the task plus obsession with making it perfect. Maybe I just don't like being scratched by the needles. But Lee and I will perform our traditional "first-hanging-of-the-ornaments" -- we have a knight in armor and a lady on a white steed that kiss before they're hung (and we kiss), and then we relinquish the rest of the decorating to the kids.

My cards are out (I was the obsessed one this year, insisting on getting them out starting Thanksgiving weekend, as we are about to move and I wanted to get the new address mailed). I don't think I've ever done the Christmas-picture/Christmas-card/Christmas-newsletter/trip-to-post-office thing so early before, so it feels great.

We're not throwing a party this year -- not until we're moved, so we'll revive our Christmas party with a vengeance next year. That makes the season easier and more peaceful, too. No invites, no RSVPs, no caterer, no rush to decorate in time, no party favors... But I will certainly look forward to the revival of the party after a two-year gap next year! And with 2 parties last weekend and 6 parties this weekend, I don't think we'll feel deprived.

Now it's just the traditions and the presents. I haven't started shopping, though we know what the kids' "big" gifts are this year, so it's just a matter of going to the right store. We're trying to focus our presents on people who are unemployed (or underemployed) this season, with token gifts for everyone else. That makes the season easier, too. Also, sadly, it's easier to do presents for my mom this year -- I could probably wrap up things she already owns and she wouldn't realize the difference... We'll probably have to work hard just to make her realize it's Christmas.

I'm looking forward to the shopping, actually. I'll make a shopping date or two with a girlfriend, have some fun with it, enjoy all those drastic price reductions out there. And if I really want to cheat, I'll run over to Costco to buy their big box full of Christmas gift bags and not worry about all the wrapping!

Our traditions: We'll watch "White Christmas." We'll sing the Hallelujah Chorus at church the Sunday before Christmas (Yes, it should be "For unto us..." but somehow the other tradition is the one that took hold), and once again Sabrina and I will moan that we really need to learn the alto part instead of screeching through the soprano. We'll light our Advent wreath and do our readings and say our prayers every Sunday, and Christmas Eve as well. We'll go to Christmas Eve service, maybe over to a friend's house for dinner afterward. We'll each open one present (a small one) before we go to bed Christmas Eve. Sabrina and I will bake a birthday cake for Jesus (I am fully expecting that my dedicated chef will insist that Jesus wants a New York cheesecake this year -- her new specialty). We'll sleep in on Christmas morning. I will cook everyone exactly what they want for breakfast (one year Sabrina asked for chocolate chip pancakes, chocolate milk, hot cocoa, and ice cream -- that's what she got). Then we'll open presents. Then (a new, sad tradition) we'll go to Grandma's and take her her presents. Then (not a tradition, just a prediction) we'll probably watch our kids play Guitar Hero 4 all afternoon.

As much as I hate Halloween, I love Christmas. And this year I'm so grateful to actually have a chance to participate in it.

Two weeks to go! Happy Advent and Merry Christmas!

GIFTS FROM THE HEART

Our church has a new way to help others out at Christmas this year, and I think it's just awesome.

Gifts from the Heart is a catalog of gifts to help all sorts of non-profits and ministries here in L.A. and all over the world. The idea is simple: You chose a gift to help others. You know what organization you're donating to, and what gift you're giving. Then, if you want to spread the giving further, you can give that gift in someone else's name (say, as a corporate gift at Christmastime).


So on the high end, you could give 100 people a sit-down dinner at Immanuel Food Pantry ($350), or, on the low end, you could give a Bible to Youth with a Mission in India ($2). You can focus your giving on kids (gift cards to Toys R Us, car seats, and camp scholarships), on hunger (100 lbs. of beans or a month's worth of groceries), or on international needs (a gas light, a teacher's salary, food for a leper colony). You could donate toward shelter of various kinds (a day of rehab, door knobs for Habitat for Humanity, or house cleaning supplies), toward education (sheet music for a music ministry, flash drives or even a whole class for seminary students), or toward the special needs of women who need help (kids' toys, a stroller, even diapers).

It's a great program, so simple, and really perfect for this year. I know I'm going to do just fine this Christmas loot-wise (that long-overdue new computer is coming, and Sabkina keeps making barely-veiled iPhone hints -- "It starts with an I...."). But I'd rather dispense with the random "stuff" that ends up under the tree and help someone who doesn't have all the luxuries I am blessed with. I don't need another pair of earrings or a tin of peppermint bark -- but some kid who lives closer to downtown than I do might need that backpack for school.

Gifts from the Heart is a great idea. If you want to give to the less-blessed this Christmas, please consider clicking here to make a donation.

MOVIE THOUGHTS: BOLT

We wanted to see Australia. Our kids wanted to see Bolt. We went to see Bolt. And we were glad we did.

Bolt is, as you may already know, the first movie from Disney Animation since the Pixar crew took over there. As such, it's a funny blend between the two camps. It's certainly not the finely-crafted work of art that movies like Wall-E or The Incredibles or Toy Story 2 are (with Wall-E, by the way, holding firm as my favorite film of the year so far). But it's not a piece of disposable dreck as we've seen all too often from Disney Animation (Treasure Islane, anyone?).

The influence of Pixar is evident in Bolt's solid and confident storytelling. This is a movie that knows what story it wants to tell and makes sure all its pieces work toward that goal in harmony. Even little bits just there for humor (the pigeons, for instance) come in a clean three-part structure, so that at no time do we wonder what's going on or start rolling our eyes or checking our watches.


Voice acting is good -- so often with celebrity voiceovers, I find myself paying attention to the actor rather than the character. But not once did it occur to me, "Oh, that's John Travolta," or "Oh, I'm listening to Miley Cyrus here." Animation is also well-done, though not dazzling in any way.

The movie did so many things well that it would be easy to miss the fact that it's really not about very much. The concept -- a dog who plays a superhero on TV, thinks that he actually has all those superpowers, and then learns the truth when he's thrown unexpectedly into the real world -- isn't a new one (shades of Truman Show and Galaxy Quest for starters), but it's one with incredible potential to explore questions about truth, reality, facade, and belief... Questions that just don't come up in Bolt.


This time of year, I find myself thinking in terms of grades (it's finals week next week at USC, and grading sheets are sitting in my box as I type this). How do you grade a script that is absolutely competent in every way, well done in terms of all its craft (particularly the incredibly difficult craft of story structure), and yet doesn't quite reach its potential to be so much more than it is?

I can't give Bolt an A because of that failure to live up to its potential. It's not fair to expect everyone to turn out The Incredibles.

But sometimes a good, solid B+ is just fine.

MOVIE THOUGHTS: TWILIGHT

Yes, I saw the movie. I took Sabrina over Thanksgiving weekend, so she wouldn't be the only girl at school who hadn't seen it.

Twilight almost has to be reviewed twice: Once for fans of the books, once for everyone else.

For fans of the books, it absolutely delivered. It follows the novel's (lightweight) plot faithfully, with a bit of amped-up action at the end. Edward broods and glitters. Bella broods and yearns. All the other characters are there, too -- the awkward dad, the spaced-out mom, the cluster of overly normal friends, and the stylish posers that are the vampires. But none of them matter. Only Edward and Bella matter.

Or should I say, only Edward matters. At least that was true for the row of teenage girls sitting in front of us who GIGGLED every time Edward was on screen? (One tries to remember -- was I ever that ditsy? I'm too young to have been part of Beatlemania, and really don't remember ever giggling at some movie star. It was funny to watch.)

The movie talks to its fans. The angst of the teenage world, the unimportance of parents, the repressed sexuality, the longing for the person you know you shouldn't want. It's all there, and all communicates well. To the fans, that is.


What about to the non-fans? Well, then you have a very melodramatic movie about a young girl who falls for a most inappropriate young man (well, he seems young) who, to his credit, knows he's inappropriate for her and tells her so, but -- not to his credit -- continues to encourage her love. Some good filmmaking -- the action is well handled, as is the bane of modern movies, the searching-for-information-on-the-Internet scene. A consistent moodiness which works well. And lots of yearning in place of much actual plot.

I can't imagine a lot of non-book-fans going to the movie. And the fans alone were enough to make the movie a hearty #1 its opening weekend -- though not enough to hold it at #1 over the apparently-dismal Four Christmases this weekend.

That last fact should give us pause. The movie's not a stinker, and it delivers to the fans -- so why weren't they out in force to see the movie over and over?

I think it's because Twilight is ultimately a literary phenomenon. As with Harry Potter, you just can't capture the book fully in movie form. With Harry Potter, it's the subtleties of story and character that get lost. With Twilight, it's the internalization of the sensual longing for this "perfect" young man -- sensitive and caring and gorgeous and mysterious and rich and someone your parents would disapprove of and he wants you so bad and yet he holds himself in check.

If you've read the book, you bring all that internalized angst and yearning and sensuality to the movie with you. If you haven't read the book... maybe not so much. And, if you have read the book, seeing the movie will probably just make you want to read the book again, so as to experience all that yearning again... but maybe not see the movie again.

...As for Sabrina... having not read the book, she was glad to see the movie (though she hid her eyes at the final action scene). But she sort of wondered what the big deal was, and she pronounced the movie a little too "adulty" (a new word, which I really like -- I think it has the same relationship to "adult" as truthy has to "truth").

If you loved the book, you've already seen the movie. Otherwise, you probably won't want to bother.