ACT I
SCENE I A couple is seated in a vintage 1998 Honda Accord, driving back to San Francisco. The car looks nearly brand-new because it was a hand-me-down from her mother who only drove it to work and back, a total round-trip distance of five miles. The man is driving and the woman is in the passenger seat. The Chihuahua is in a carrier in the back seat (probably because he rolled is something stinky and no one will sit with him now.) Outside the windows, California rice fields whizz past, giving the mind a chance to wander.
NATHAN
You know what’s weird about numbers?
ALISON
Um. No?
NATHAN
You are exactly half your parents’ age when you turn the age they had you at.
ALISON
How’s that work again?
NATHAN
Like if your mom was 30 when she had you, you’re exactly half her age when you turn 30. And it never happens again. At all other times, the percentages are really skewed.
(A long pause passes, wherein the English majors ponder the absurdity of numbers.)
ALISON
You know what else is weird about numbers?
NATHAN
What?
ALISON
You already told me that.
I never thought I’d say this, but I’d like to get accidentally pregnant. I’d love to come home and find that the stork left a cute little bassinet on our doorstep.
Here’s a typical week for me. Monday, I pass a baby on the street and think, “Oh, he’s so adorable! I want a baby!” Wednesday I sit next to a screaming toddler on the bus and think, “Hmm…Maybe not just yet.” Friday, I go out with friends and come home at midnight. As I nod off to sleep, I think, “Where on earth does a baby fit into my life?” And then on Saturday, friends come over with their baby. The moment I hold her, I’m overcome with wanting a baby all over again.
I know the day is coming when I’ll just have set a deadline and go for it. But a big part of me wishes that it would just happen somehow. In fact, after years and years of praying for just the opposite, these days I would be OVERJOYED to just turn up pregnant one day.
Now I know what you’re thinking. There is a way to do this. Just go off the pill and see what happens. But you see, even that feels like a decision, and I don’t want to decide. I’m never going to be 100% ready. I’m sure there are women who have been ready since they turned 22 but I am not the person. I want to be a mom but I also don’t think I’ll be a natural at it. Nor do I even see–logically or logistically–how we squeeze a baby into these crazy lives of ours.
We have big-city dreams. We want nothing less than the moon and stars and any baby we have will have to love us straight through our faults. He will never have a giant backyard to explore. She will never have tons of brothers and sisters. He will probably have to endure compostable/cotton diapers. She will probably spend at least the first five years of her life living in a one-bedroom flat with us, possibly with a converted walk-in closet for a bedroom. It will be an unconventional life, but that’s part of the fun, right?
And so that is how I found myself lying in bed last night, half asleep, trying to remember if I had taken my pill–and if I hadn’t, if it really mattered all that much. After a good 30 minutes of soul searching, I rolled out of bed and opened the pack, only to realize that I had taken it all along.
Where: My in-law’s living room
When: Saturday
Why: Last week I posed a dental dilemma on this blog and the lovely Deidre read it and became concerned. Deidre is part of the extended Bransford clan and she even lives in the same small town as Nathan’s folks. Better still, she’s an amazing dental hygienist. Brilliant!
First she left me a very thoughtful comment on my post but the truth is that there’s really only one way to find out if you need a deep cleaning–and that is, a second opinion from a trained professional. She selflessly volunteered to pop by the house over the weekend and take a peek at my poor chompers, even though it was her daughter’s birthday!
And you can bet your bottom dollar, I said, “Yes, please!”
What ensued was a hilarious but incredibly helpful evening. The verdict was, I most definitely do need a need deep cleaning. Sigh! But at least now I can plop down my money with confidence. Even better, the lovely Deidre actually explained how I got to this most unfortunate place and why a deep cleaning is necessary. Honestly, she needs to be a teacher. It was genius.
Another important thing I learned is that I should never allow myself to be photographed while lying down ever again. It’s NOT my best angle.
But here’s to small towns, big families, and kind-hearted people who will come over in the dead of night to look at your teeth. Deidre, you are amazing!
“A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” is a short story by Ernest Hemingway. “Hemingway,” for the purposes of this post, can also mean “Alison’s favorite writer after F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
I know! I know! You’re never having me over for dinner now. We must part virtual paths here. I understand. Ta!
Anyway, for those of you still reading, in the short story an old man finds solace in sitting in a cafe–the clean, well-lighted place, if you will–while a young waiter gripes that the old man should go home so he can close the place down.
I’ve always read the “old man at the cafe” as a stand-in for “a writer.” If you’re a full-time writer or even working on a book in your spare time (like me), then you probably spend a lot of time alone. In our case, we spend a lot of time alone/together. That is to say, Nathan is typically sitting on the other couch, reading a client’s book or working on his own. We only speak every couple of hours and even then it’s usually to help one another.
While fulfilling on some level, writing is also extremely lonely. But, thanks to technology, lately, it’s gotten a good bit better. Here’s where I did my writing this weekend.
 The fountain! How it burbles! The sun. It's so shine-y! Nathan’s parents’ redid their backyard and we were all too happy to come up and put it through the writing paces. Our verdict? We considered strapping ourselves to the chaise lounges and refusing to leave. It was glorious pecking away in the sunshine, listening to the fountain burble. Even better, it was outfitted with MULTIPLE PLUGS and MEGA-FAST WIFI. Truly, it was Writer Nirvana.
The first book I ever wrote was composed after hours on an official Random House desktop computer. Why would I do such a thing? Well, this may strike you as a bit funny, but I didn’t own a computer.
Today, my books are composed on a laptop, sitting on my couch. Sure, I want to write outside but real estate prices being what they are, we don’t own a yard. We do actually have a balcony but it’s so narrow that you can’t really sit on it, which is why we lovingly refer to it as the “stand-cony.” (Side note: Yes, that name makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER. But somehow it stuck.)
That’s why writing outdoors in a private backyard feels like such a treat to us. And really, it should. Just think, ever since we writers gave up scratching on pads of paper, we’ve been confined to the indoors, pecking away at our typewriters and computers. Sure, in Hemingway’s time you could grab a pen and have at it while sunning yourself in a cafe in Spain, but somewhere along the line we lost that experience and writing became extremely isolating.
 Okay, fine! And I read a few magazines too. And had some wine... So here’s to WiFi! And to outdoor plugs! And to laptop computers!
It was so wonderful to work in a clean, well-lighted place and to occasionally stop my typing to watch a hummingbird at his busy career.
When people ask about my sister’s wedding, they inevitably have a lot of questions about the Amish. She’s not Amish herself, but I guess having a wedding in the Amish country is kind of like playing one on TV. What quickly emerges from people’s questions is that they are deeply confused about who the Amish are. And in truth, we were too before we visited.
But we Presleys are a curious sort and spent much of our inaugural visit to PA brushing up on what exactly makes someone Amish, Quaker, Shaker, or Mennonite. You might think these groups are very similar–and they are in some cases. However, in other respects, they couldn’t be more different than Lady Gaga and Abraham Lincoln.
Not wanting all this lovely research to go to waste, I made you the NIFTY chart below. Bear in mind THIS IS NOT A SCIENTIFIC DOCUMENT. It has not been peer reviewed and was mostly composed whilst I watched Top Chef (Goooo Tiffany!). Please leave your corrections/feedback in the comments section. Also, as a religious person myself, please note that I did not intend for the chart below to be disrespectful in any way. Teasing, perhaps. But not disrespectful. And I’ll expect all comments to adhere to that guideline also. Enjoy!
The Differences Between the Amish, Quakers, Shakers, and Mennonites
I’m one of those people who never, ever gets sick. I’ve been working at my current company for 3.5 years and in that time I’ve used exactly one sick day. Jealous? Don’t be. It’s a fair world indeed, my friends. I may be the healthiest person you know, but my teeth are basically falling out of my head.
I probably learned the word “enamel,” or, really, the phrase “dangerous lack of enamel” when I was three years old. While my brother and sister barely bothered to brush their teeth and subsisted on mostly Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Cereal and Coca-Cola Classic and have had nary a cavity between them, I brushed liked my life depended on it and avoided sweets. But to no avail. I started getting cavities as a young child and it’s pretty much been that way ever since.
The funny thing is, my teeth are kind like Lindsay Lohan. I mean, they look like they’re doing okay, but they’re really not. Really, they’re on a nasty bender in a back alley somewhere that probably involves Brody Jenner and a drug that hasn’t even been invented yet.
 Look at those chompers! Don't be deceived. They're rotten to the core. In fact, every night I have to put SPECIAL PRESCRIPTION-STRENGTH FLUORIDE PASTE IN TEETH TRAYS and wear them around the house. I believe it goes without saying what a lucky, lucky man Nathan is.
Anyway, I really love my current dentist and he’s done a lot to help me reach unknown heights of dental health. For instance, last year I had an entire check-up WITHOUT A SINGLE CAVITY. (Seriously, I always have at least one.) But there’s this one dental hygienist who I’ve become a wee bit suspicious of.
I’m not sure if they work on commission or what, but Ms. Perfectionist is always finding new and ever more expensive things that I *need* to do. At first I went along with it. What do you have if you don’t have your teeth, right? But now, I’m not so sure. The last time I was there, she showed me this “scare you straight” video intended for Non-Regular Flossers like myself and then she somehow talking me into something called a deep cleaning. A deep cleaning is where they numb half your mouth and really get in there. Then a few days later they repeat the process on the other side of your mouth.
I mentioned it to the dentist when he came in and he sort of shrugged. I thought it was a bit odd. It seemed like he might say, “Oh, you definitely need to do that,” or “Enh. Ms. Perfectionist. I don’t think that’s called for.” His noncommittal shrug puzzled me. Later I began to tell coworkers about the deep cleaning thing and quite a few of them were like, “Pah! They’ve been saying that to me for years!” My boss even said, “They tried to pull that scam on me but I got a second opinion and the other dentist said I didn’t need one at all.”
What??? I told this to Nathan and he said, “So, it’s like the chest X-ray of the dental world?”
Now I’m torn. On the one hand, I have TERRIBLE teeth so if anyone would need this, it’s me. And really, no price is too high to pay to HAVE TEETH. On the other hand, it’s really expensive and I would prefer to try flossing every night first.
Thoughts? Has anyone ever had this done? Any hygienists out there?
Where: Kitchen/Living room (Look, it’s San Francisco. One cannot possibly have a room that serves just one purpose.)
When: The hottest day of the year so far.
Why: There’s a Mexican place in San Francisco that taught the city to drink its margaritas the autentico way. In fact, they shared their recipe with Epicurious, which was awfully nice of them. There are just three ingredients: tequila, lime juice, and agave nectar. Agave nectar is made from the same plant as tequila and it’s similar to honey. 99.99% of margarita mixers are loaded down with high-fructose corn syrup, which is basically weight gainer in a cheap liquid form. Made with agave nectar, your margarita only has 190 calories and it tastes better too. They sell agave nectar at Whole Foods and a little goes a very long way.
Here’s to the warm weather! And to a very happy Chihuahua!
I am five pounds heavier, very tired, and extremely happy. Here are some of the best pictures from our trip.
 This is the giant stack of magazines I read by the pool.  This is the view from under my umbrella.  They have this thing called SUNSHINE there and it creates shadows. We stayed at the brand-new, uber eco-friendly Vdara. I CANNOT recommend it enough. It was smoke free (unheard of in Vegas) and, thanks to its lack of casino, quiet as a church, which was perfect for us. It was crazy affordable when booked as part of Flight + Hotel package on Travelocity and it had an eat-in kitchen! Oh wait, did I mention the free Wifi? And check out that view below. And you saw the pool? And the eco-friendly thing? Yeah, I’m kind of obsessed with it. Best hotel in Vegas, hands down.
 Our swank room at the Vdara  It was originally designed to be a condominium and it shows.  The view from our 25th floor If you’ve been thinking of visiting Las Vegas, you should go for it. The prices have never been better and this part of our country has been hit extremely hard by the economic downturn. The city is #1 in all the ways you don’t want to be #1. #1 in unemployment and #1 in foreclosures. Every restaurant we ate in, every cab that ferried us across town, everywhere we went, we were greeted like heroes, welcomed like old friends. This trip was exactly what we needed and it felt like a good thing to do for the good old U. S. of A. too.
ACT I
SCENE I A girl has just finished 30 crunches. She is lying on the living room floor, looking very near to death. Her husband is sitting on the couch, minding his own business.
ALISON
The one thing I really want to see in Vegas in the Sirens of TI.
NATHAN
What is that?
ALISON
You know, the Lady Pirate Show. I have this feeling it’s going to be extremely hilarious. Also, it’s free!
The couple Googles the “Sirens of Ti.”
ALISON
Three amazing things I just learned about the Lady Pirate Show. 1) Parental guidance is suggested.
NATHAN
Wow.
ALISON
Better still. 2) Strollers are not permitted in the viewing area.
NATHAN
Oh my.
ALISON
And 3) The Lady Pirates do not perform in inclement weather.
NATHAN
Um. Are you sure about this?
When I was 24, something very unusual happened. At the time, I was an editorial assistant at Random House and freshly minted graduate of Johns Hopkins’ Fiction program. My friend and I wrote a book together and we sold it. To our employer no less! And we used pen names! I had been dating Nathan for about a year. And in the seven years that I have known him, I have published a total of eight novels with my writing partner.
All of this is neither here nor there except to say that for a long, long time, people thought I was the writer in the relationship. I’m here to tell you, that’s only half the story. Even from the first flirtations, I knew Nathan could write circles around most people. In fact, I fell in love with his emails first, only meeting him in person later. (Yes, we were epistolary lovers for a spell.) And yet, for a long time, he didn’t consider himself a writer. In fact, the first real writing project he started was a screenplay and that wasn’t until 2006. He eventually ditched that in favor of a science fiction novel that never sold and finally out of the blue one day he started what would become JACOB WONDERBAR AND THE COSMIC SPACE KAPOW.
I can still remember the weekend he thought of the idea. It came to him very suddenly and he quickly got down a lot of pages. The idea at its very earliest was little more than, What if a bunch of kids blasted off into outer space and discovered a planet full of substitute teachers? From there, things moved fast. He finished the book, he got rejected by several agents and then finally found the right one, and a few months later she sold his book. In fact, he got his first offer when we were volunteering in Peru, working at a kids dormitory for a week. There we were at this tiny, ramshackle “Internet cafe,” which was no more than a converted garage in someone’s home, when he opened up his email and saw the news.
My sister and her husband were with us on the trip and I said across the crowded room, “Guys we have really big news!”
They turned to look at us and I could see the same question written all over their faces.
“No, we’re not pregnant. Not that!”
Today, Saturdays at our house are a ritual. First coffee, next typing, and then swapping computers to critique each other’s work. We suggest changes, celebrate the good bits, and, in general, egg each other on toward the finish line. He is a brilliant editor and he helps me every step of the way. I don’t know how I ever wrote without him and no one was more excited than me when he got a two-book deal. He worked for it. He earned it and more than anything, he deserved it.
And now I’m reading JACOB WONDERBAR for the first time. Obviously I’ve already read almost every single word in it, but when I did I was usually reading a particular chapter or section, thinking about a question he had asked me, maybe about how a plot line was coming together or if a character’s reaction to something was just the right thing. I have read it, yes. But not as a whole creature.
I’m here to report that it’s utterly and immensely enjoyable.
Each page makes me prouder still to know him, each hilarious line makes me so glad to call him mine, my partner, my editor, my husband. OBVIOUSLY I’m extremely partial and I shall do no such thing as apologize for that, but I think it’s a damn fine book and I can’t wait till it comes out next summer. It reminds me of SIDEWAYS STORIES FROM WAYSIDE SCHOOL in all the best ways and yet it’s totally fresh and exciting.
Congratulations, my darling. It’s really, really wonderful.
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