Soooo.

Well, then.

Everybody get an education yesterday? I thought you might.

And I, who knew it was coming, was still amazed to see body parts had to be blurred out, on daytime tv.

sigh. Sign of the times, I guess. Remember when Rob and Laura Petrie had twin beds?

Now I've had a lot of time to get used to this, and once I accepted the fact that there wasn't a darn thing I could do about that first segment being on the show (I tried, I tried), it became sort of funny.

You have to laugh at life. It'll kill you if you don't.

And I'm a laugher. Ask anyone.

So if you're still horribly offended by the fact that Frenchboro and The Ranch shared Oprah's attention, give it some time.

Around these parts, we've begun to joke about it. 

(ok, ok, you know me well. We've been cracking wise for some time. But we're beginning to do it publicly!)

And so, in the interest of commemorating the event, to remember the fun we had putting this show together, to memorialize the party at my house where I squeezed 31 people where four feel squashed, The Big Guy is making me a sign for the house:

The Lobstah Ranch.

Yeah, Baby!

And if the price of lobsters goes down to 2 bucks a pound again this year, The Big Guy is going on the menu at giveaway prices!

Now let me show you what I delivered today.

Because, on Frenchboro, you never know what will come in the mail!

No, not Rob! In the box!

Hmmm, what IS that?

Baby chicks!

Donny got baby chickens! Rob couldn't wait to pass them off to me; he endured an hour of peeping on the ferry ride across!

I totally want a chicken now.

Just one.

Our 15 minutes of fame

I'm ever just slightly annoyed.

Of all the things I've accomplished in my life, the lives I've saved, the successful non-profits I've run, and so many other things...it's sort of pissing me off that the one thing I'm going to be on television for is where I live. (And, of course, it's not me- it's all of us who live here;  some of these folks have successes in their own lives which deserve to be celebrated.)

If I'd known this was going to be my 'claim to fame' I wouldn't have tried so hard all my life!

('Yeah, right!', says everybody who knows me.)

Fingers crossed that my book will be finished, and published, and well received, and then Oprah (or Oprah's People) will email me once again, this time asking me to come to Chicago....

In the meantime, the AP have picked up the news.  (Seriously? Must not be a whole lot going on in the world.)

Buzz from Maine

Buzz from Massachusetts

Of course, the big buzz is the first segment of the show. The part we've been trying to keep quiet.

On the Down Low.

You'll see.

edited to add:

      Check out the Frenchboro Links on www.Oprah.com!

The wonderful people at Harpo Productions have put together some extra videos of the island and some of our people, and a link to our website, which contains links to our businesses and travel info!

How awesome is that??!!

Reminder-Oprah tomorrow!

It cracks me up to look at my calendar, and see the word 'Oprah' written there on Wednesday's square, like I know her and she's coming to visit or something.

So tomorrow the show airs. There is some 'buzz' afoot.

We will talk more about this AFTER the show. And you shall see why I've been recalcitrant about this whole affair.

Be forewarned: the first segment of Wednesday's show is about a Place Of Ill Repute. 

Yeah.

You may want to occupy the youngsters in another room for the first 20-25 minutes of the show.

I have been Putting Things In Order.

You know what I mean. The kids, the house, the Post Office; everything has been neglected for the past, I don't know, feels like forever.

You know it's bad when I don't pick up needles for weeks on end. 

But the house is nearly straightened out.

The kids are almost back on schedule.

And today I made great progress on the Post Office.

So I picked up Branching Out. 

I'll show you what happened tomorrow. 

Changes!!

The Oprah Winfrey show has changed the air date of our segment to:

Wednesday, April 29th!

You can check the list of shows at Oprah.com.

There is quite a bit of info on her website. It's worth checking out.

Sorry for the confusion with the change- I'll keep you posted as I find out more!

So, What do you DO all day? Make Websites.

     I can't tell you how many times I've been asked this question.

And it makes my hair stand on end.

Sadly, the very last time the question was proposed, it was from a fellow islander.

Who has lived here for...don't quote me, but I think it's 3 years.

Maybe it's just two.

Me, I've been learning a few new tricks.

Here's my latest:

www.FrenchboroMaine.com

and the one before that:

www.FrenchboroBakery.com

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit on my butt for a week, and knit something if it kills me.

Ciao!

Show Time!

I have received word that The Oprah Winfrey Show will air our segment on Thursday, April 23rd.

There will also be a link to an informational page on the Show's website, www.Oprah.com.

You know, everything you never wanted to know....

So, back in the real world, the school had a field trip last week. 

We went to Westbrook  (near Portland, Maine) to see an operatic performance by the Boston Lyric Opera. It was awesome; the kids loved it.

In fact, the whole trip was awesome. The kids were incredibly well-behaved, the hotel had a pool which we all but slept in, there was a Dunkin' Donuts right around the corner, and we went to a Sea Dogs game. 

The opening game of the season. (They lost.)

And before we headed home, we hit the Portland Children's Museum,  which was also a blast.

Everything went smoothly, if you can believe that I went on this trip and had no Maalox Moments. We couldn't have had a better time. Well, unless the Sea Dogs won. 

I do have a funny story for you.

At the Museum, we were invited in to a lecture. The staff were excellent, and gave two very good presentations on 'adaptations' and "dinosaurs'.

These young women were, it must be noted, rather 'crunchy'.

(That would be The Big Guy's descriptive word for all things eco/green/hippie/hemp-wearing/granola- eating. He's way PC like that.)

     So, the first crunchy girl invites us into a room for a quick lecture. There were some displays around the room. As soon as we entered, little Jayde, who is 5, spots a small square of what was unmistakably fox fur. I spotted it too. She and I have discussed our great love of fox fur, and foxes in general. We both bolted for the fur. We fought over the small square. She wanted it for a blanket for her Pet Shops. I just wanted it.

     Crunchy girl, mistaking our enthusiasm for dismay, quickly pointed out that all of the items in the room came from formerly living animals who died of natural causes. They were not harmed for our use, but because they are no longer living, it's OK for us to study them, in the name of science. 

She may have had tears in her eyes.

I knew what was coming.

I backed away into a corner of the room to wait for it.

It didn't take long.

Thing Two spotted a moose antler. He asked if he could pick it up. "Yes, we encourage you to feel what is part of nature".

Yeah, he says, hefting the antler. The one my Dad shot had horns way bigger than this.

She paled considerably.

But, she was very professional, and rallied quickly, moving into her lecture. She talked about owls (and it was really interesting), with a smattering of other animals thrown in.

I saw it coming again. I felt like Raven. (That's sooooo Raaaaveeeeennnn...)

Tammy saw it too. She had her hands over her face, and was making weird gagging noises. 

I was pretty sure we were going to be thrown out. I was having flashbacks to high school.

And Ms. Jayde and Thing Two began listing the animals in the room that their parents had shot.

Choking back laughter, I scanned our group of children. Every single child there had at least one parent who hunted. Most of these kids have helped drag deer out of the woods. Mine have helped butcher. (Not my idea. But I guess it's good to know where your food comes from.)

Crunchy girl did awesome, held it together, kept her thoughts to herself...honestly, she never even made a negative face. I was quite impressed. I'm sure she was horrified, but the fact that she was able to show complete tolerance for a lifestyle so arbitrary to  her own, well. I'm really impressed.

Now, one of the kids asked a question that none of us had a satisfactory answer to, and I promised him I'd research it with him.

So I've got to go look up the digestive system of an owl.

Seems they barf up pellets, but they also poop. What's up with that?

Does that mean they have a gizzard? And what the heck's a gizzard, anyway?

I have some homework to do.

When I find my camera I'll show you some pictures.

I know I got at least 2 good ones.

I hate my camera.

the source

Aha, I have found the source of the smell.

My neighbor,  Jay2, has a dog. He's a great dog.

But he met a skunk Sunday morning, moments before Jay2 had to get into his truck and drive up to the ferry. It's a four hour drive for him.

With Duke the Dog.

And skunk-stink. All the way. snort.

Aw, c'mon, how can you not laugh????

I'll be getting my payback around 10am Wednesday morning.

I have to go on the ferry, during The Perfect Storm.

Oh, yes. It's been blowing a gale for 2 straight days- Easterly, my worst case scenario.

And it's going to blow even harder all night and Wednesday.

They say 8 to 11 foot seas. I don't like 5. I'll do it, but I don't like it.

I guess what they say about payback is true.

Hi.

I am busy teaching myself a new trick, and haven't done much of anything else for about 2 weeks.

I moved my Etsy shop onto a website.

By myself.

In doing this I have learnt a few things.

1. I no longer want to take the time needed for mundane tasks like grammar, punctuation, and spelling. You know what I mean. You figure it out. (This will never last, with my OCD. I routinely correct other people's grammar and spelling. It makes me very popular and well-liked.)

2. I have begun to speak with that unmistakable Maine accent, which I've managed to avoid for 16 years. Maybe it's the bad grammar...it sounds better with that twang? I'm hoping it's just a phase.

3. I suck at computer-ing.

4. All the people who live in my house suck at computer-ing even worse than I do, and are therefore no help whatsoever to me in that regard. (In the kids' defense, they are 6 and 8.)

5. There is not a comfortable seat anywhere in my house in which to spend 15-18 hours cussing at a computer screen. I know from what I speak.

6. I haven't seen my kids in what may be a month, except to jump around with my finger to my lips in that universally known shushing gesture, while I cry, curse, scream, beg, and whine to my tech support guys the phone. I need to put a reminder on my fridge that I have kids to tend to.

7. I really, really, really need to knit at least an hour at night before what I call bed. (It's what the rest of the world refers to as a catnap.)

I did manage to finish OWLS. (I love it. Legs will love it.)

'Course it needs 482 buttons....

Turns out, I can call my tech-guys and knit (stockinette, anyway) while they work their magic undo-ing all that I do wrong. 

Yay for tech-guys!

p.s. None of the tech-guys can come to the phone right now.

I have a world class error, the likes of which the first and second support tier have not seen before.

They just bumped me up to level three.

I'm going for the gold, baby!!

Thing Two

Thing Two loves school.

I mean, he LOVES school.

He loves everything they DO in school. He loves his teachers. He loves his homework.

I blame myself. of course. Every day I am forced to teach myself something new.

'Course I do it under duress, with great protest, and cuss like a sailor.

He smiles and gets excited.

Last week, Mr. Finn told me this story:

Mr. Finn was calling on different kids to answer some math problems.

(Remember, this is a one-room achool house, so all the grades are mixed in together.)

And Mr. Finn asks, What is 5x2?

Thing Two shoots his hand up in the air, a la Horshack in Welcome Back Kotter.

(shut up. yes I am that old.)

Mr. Finn, curious as to how this kid will answer, calls on him.

Thing Two sits back, thinks a minute, and says,"Get back to me on this one."

I love that kid.

Now, what is that smell? Anyone else smell skunk???

The rest of the story...

Still with me??

I will skip ahead to Friday morning, March 20th.

We all needed to be at the school by no later than 1pm, where Skype equipment had been set up for our virtual show with Oprah.

Oprah.

I was fine through all the Tuesday filming. It was just Rita, who by that day I considered a friend and not SuperScaryOprahShowProducer.

I guess I was comfortable with her.

And I may have been totally focused on getting through the camera-ing on Tuesday, and then consumed with trying to catch up with the train wreck I call my life...oh, and the small matter of designing the school budget.

I guess you could say I distracted myself.

And it all still seemed distant and unreal. 

Right up until Friday morning.

I spent most of the morning alternating between getting my kids cleaned, dressed, and fed, 

 and vomiting.

I was certain that when Oprah appeared on the screen, I was going to pee my pants and pass out. In that order.

By this time there were many people calling me to coordinate things on our end, and I got busy, and managed to distract myself again. 

I was also doing my best to distract the TV people. They insisted upon having some of the people who had been filmed Tuesday at the taping Friday.

Problem was, we had no school scheduled that day, and we'd lost some of our population to previously scheduled appointments with doctors and accountants. And trips to grandparents. That sort of thing.

There was a bit of last minute scurrying to get back whoever we could. Tammy was paramount, they said. We need her! We need Lance!

The Big Guy and Chris ran over to the mainland in the morning to collect them. It took some major sweet talking on my part to  get Tammy to come back. I won't repeat what I said. Ever.

And it took Lance 2 hours to get to the boat dock. So at 1:00, our deadline, they were on their way...but were somewhere in the middle of the bay.

Because, even an hour away from being filmed (!) on TV (!) with Oprah (!), 

there must be chaos and drama around me.

sigh.

Somehow, around 1pm (or, ahem,  a bit later), we were all arranged in seats in front of the webcam.

I had managed a seat close to the front, because it was demanded of me, but hidden behind some other people. At the last minute, somebody realized my tactic, and made me move. 

Front row.

And that did it. 

I had been moving, and thinking and busy up to that point. Now I was just sitting.

Enter panic.

When I had my first child, we had some issues. It's a long story, and it all turned out very well, but I had a C-section. (I loved it. I highly recommend it, in fact.)

And I knew I was going to have a C-section for about 24 hours before it actually happened.

I was able to do the 'distract' thing for most of it. To be honest, right up until I was wheeled into the operating room. I was having a baby, after all, not a 'surgery'.

Then somebody went and threw the surgeon's schedule off and I had to wait in the hallway for a very long time.

And I went blind.

And now I know. That's where the term "blind panic" comes from.

I actually lost my vision for the entire time I was in that hallway. It came back when I was moved into the actual operating room, and I was joking with the nurses again.

Phew.

Apparently, I met the Anesthesiologist while blind in the hallway. He said later, remember me?

I knew I'd never set eyes on him before, but I said, Sure, how are ya? But, I'll tell you my secret. I knew him from his aftershave. He smelled great. 

So when the panic comes, I always have this nagging worry...what important bodily function might I lose?

Live. With Oprah.

When I said I was afraid I'd pee and pass out, I knew from what I was talking.

Well, I did neither of those thing, I'm told.

I have to go by what I was told.

Because I don't remember a single thing once the camera tuned to Oprah.

I remember snippets, here and there, at random intervals through the day.

Like parts of a dream.

I remember Oprah looking right into my eyes and asking me something, and answering, looking right back into hers. I have no idea what was said, the memory is just 'Oh, I'm talking to Oprah. Would you look at that.'

I can't wait to see the actual show. For many reasons. Yikes.

Other people were able to speak, I'm told.

Lance, our 8th grader, was awesome.

John, I'm told, answered a question or two.

We still don't have an air date. They'll let us know.

So that's what I've been doing. What are y'all up to??

The cat's out of the bag!

Where did THAT expression ever come from, I wonder?    

This is the news you've all been waiting for.

  (No, Mother, I'm not having another child. Breathe!)

As my knitting-obsessed compadres know, I have not so much as touched a needle since mid-March. Knitting is the key to my sanity. The Master Key.

But I'm fine, thanks for asking. The kids are somehow alive and well. The Big Guy is smart enough to stay out of the house. It's all good.

Now, armed with the knowledge that I must knit in order to function, you've got to also know that whatever was going on in my life had to be big. 

Oops, I mean BIG. Right?

Oh. It. Was.

 So, I'm at the Post Office one day, working dilligently at my Post Officely duties, when I get that PING! from Mail on my Mac.

And it was Oprah.   (Are you there? Get up! Keep reading!)

Well, not really Oprah.

It was one of the producers of The Oprah Winfrey Show. (ohmygod)

What, you don't get emails from Oprah on a random Thursday afternoon?

Yeah, me neither.

It was actually The Lovely Rita, with whom I have since spent about 32 hours on the phone. (I need 'people'. I have no 'people'. Though when the occasional mistake pops up, I wholly blame my fictitious 'assistant', complete with the lament, "you just can't get good help these days". 

So I have invisible people. And they apparently just screw up all day. I hate my 'people'.)

For an entire week following these events, I walked around muttering 'I want to be Rita when I grow up'. But I've since realized, I don't want to BE Rita (too exhausting), I want to be able to HIRE Rita. That girl GETS IT DONE!

They are doing a show about interesting places to live, she said.  Is Frenchboro an interesting place to live? 

We talked at length, and in the end the Show's producers agreed, it IS an interesting place to live, and they'd like to come out and film us.

Here. They want to come here.

To Frenchboro.

To film US.

In March.

We can't get off for emergencies, the weather is so unstable, but they're going to come here to film us, because we're so...interesting.

OK, I'll play along.

Sure, I said. What can I do to help?

I've put off sharing this with you because an air date has not yet been set, and frankly...the whole affair has been rather ethereal. Other- worldly.

I keep thinking I will wake up soon having dreamt the whole thing. 

It's happened before. I have sleep issues. I sometimes dream entire fiction novels in just a few minutes of snatched sleep. Would that I had time to write them down...

Anyway...fast forward to Tuesday, March 17th. After some 5 straight days of insane coordinating, we brought The Lovely Rita and her camera crew out to the island via lobsterboat.

And the weather was perfect!

 I can't get off to get a haircut.

They interviewed everybody who would stay still long enough. And we held down those who wouldn't stay still.

Hi, I'm Marissa, and I've successfully avoided being captured on film in any format for all but my youngest years. 

I hated every minute of that filming part. 

And, NO Camera Dudes, it does NOT get easier as the day goes on. What happens is you forget the camera is there after, oh, 12 hours or so, and scratch what itches, etc.

eeek.

I was totally traumatized by the camera-ing.

But what a blast we had with Rita and her camera crew!

One of the guys may have been a little shell-shocked at some of our actions (and language, coughBigGuycough) and blatant disregard for professionalism.

We had to keep reminding him that he was on our turf, and that we'd provided his ride over.

And that we were providing his ride back.

He was able to adjust admirably.

The other two needed no such adjustment period. They were a riot! By the time I met up with the bunch of them, my husband had held full court for almost 6 hours. 

Yes, even that day, I worked my regular gig at the Post Office. I need that 42 dollars. We'll still have to eat next week- or at least feed the kids. I couldn't give up the day's pay, and I don't get paid if I don't go in. 

So the camera crew were well versed in 'Big Guy' by the time they reached me. In retrospect, that was not my wisest decision.

For example- and this is the now-infamous microphone mishap-

They met me at the FireHouse, trying to quell my shaking hands, when one of the camera guys got out of my truck and walked toward me. He was fiddling with something, but it was too small to be a camera, so I directed my attention to the fellow on my left who WAS holding a camera. 

On me.

 I squeaked (cotton-mouthed), "is that thing on?"

Yup, He said. Just act natural.

mmmm, yeah.

Dude #1 is now standing directly in front of me. Film is rolling. He's rather close. He's got this big friendly smile on his big friendly face. He reaches up, and pulls my shirt out at the neck.

Camera's still rolling. 

Mustn't swear! Mustn't hit! Must be composed! Must think of something!!

I come out with, "DUDE! I charge for that!"

Won't my Dad be proud.

Turns out The Big Guy put him up to it.

I'm really touched. It shows a marked appreciation for me, don't ya think?

I haven't gotten him back yet. It needs to be GOOD. And it will be.

Turns out, the guy had a wireless microphone he needed to hook to my bra strap. He'd just been through this with Tammy. She had issues with placement, and just pulled her shirt over to expose her bra strap for the fellow to clip the mike on himself, as he was very familiar with placement. (He just needed the shoulder strap of a bra.)

That was all my husband had to see! He knew I'd go along with a gag. 

Frankly, I'm totally flattered. I breastfed two kids. The last time anyone showed any interest was Thing Two, and heck, that was like 5 years ago.

PLEASE NOTE: NO improprieties occurred at any time. I took no offense. Nothing was viewed or exposed. I state this clearly because one woman reacted violently when I jokingly relayed the story later, and I realized that it may sound improper to some. It was not.  This event took place in fun, as was intended! Please do not read any more into it. In the end, I clipped it on myself- I think he was afraid of me! (Or perhaps he thought he'd actually receive a bill???)

Anyway, those camera guys fell apart in hysterics. It was all good after that- which is exactly why The Big Guy told them to do it. It's all uphill from there, right? And Big Guy knew I needed the comic relief, as I may or may not have spent the morning vomiting in terror. 

Camera terror.

We really enjoyed the day with them, and hope they come back out for some non-work-related,  party-type-activity.

We know how to throw a party out here. (And we don't even drink! It's all about the food.)

And may I add, you know you've made an impression when we invite you back. Not everybody is extended the invitation. Seriously.

Highlights from the day (other than my microphone experience) were an interview with me standing by the Deli, freezing my butt off and squinting into the sun. Oh, and spittle flying from my mouth at random intervals. Maybe it happens all the time, and I never noticed? Well, happened that day. And on film.

Quite a few times, actually.

Purdy.

Have NO IDEA what I said. Could be scary.

I do remember making the comment, "We wear many hats" in reference to too few people to do too many town jobs. I also remember a line that went something like, "I have so many volunteer jobs here, I change hats like Sybil changed personalities." (Will anyone even get the obscure reference to that old movie??) (And, yeah-bright move, aligning myself with Sybil like that. That's gonna come back to haunt me.)

Ooooooh, my. I can't wait to see the footage on the show.

Just to be clear, I am in possession of a college degree. Just in case it comes into question later.

Then there was the ramp.

One of the camera dudes had me walk down the ramp at the Town Dock, while he filmed me.

Me.

Walk down the ramp.

...do I even have to say it? God Forbid it be high tide! But it wasn't dead-low, so That Other Big Guy must harbor some love for me.

And, Hello! Who am I, Giselle??!!!?

I should be filmed walking down the ramp, why???

Well, apparently, this guy needed his daily dose of humor. Oh, I got down the ramp just fine. That's called gravity.

I tripped on the way back UP.

That's Marissa.

I said,"Oh no. NO. You're not putting that on film. I'm doing that again!"

All forceful-like, and knowledgeable. Commanding film presence, and all that.

I slid to the bottom of the ramp, and began my ascent again. All graceful,- but purposeful-, looking over the camera man's shoulder as if I were viewing some very interesting and beautiful creature that would likely inhabit our picturesque and serene harbor...

...ok, it was my van.

And I fell. Right out of my shoe.

And I may have uttered an un-Christian remark. Sort of loudly. And on film.

And that was how I met Larry The Cameraman. 

As my neighbor later remarked, 'He weren't too impressed by us.'

Nope, I don't think he were. 

He was the fella who needed some time to adjust. Later, he was cool. We broke bread.

And he told me it took every ounce of professionalism he possessed not to bust out laughing on that dock with me. 

I told him he should get a medal. Or an Oscar. And that I wished he'd laughed.

That's all it takes to win me over. 

I'm so easy.

Tammy had some good times of her own, while I did my best nervous- and- shaking Don Knotts imitation at the Post Office.

She had a dream, or something. It's her dream to have a store on Frenchboro.

We signed permission slips to let Rita and The Crew into school. The kids didn't get what it was all about; the little ones still don't. Fortunately, they're used to being, well, gawked at, because of our behind-the-times one-room schoolhouse (which contains more technology and a better curriculum than most mainland schools!), and they are gracious to visitors. They are a good bunch of kids.

I am constantly wowed by our kids and our school. 

Thing One left school that day with this to say, "Mom, you'll really like this lady."

(Now I'd already spent about 30 hours on the phone with Rita, aka, 'this lady', and knew just a day or two into it that I really liked her- or I wouldn't have gone through with any of this- so I couldn't wait to hear what she was going to come out with...)

"She reeeeally likes to talk. You two will get on just fine."

I think I've been profiled.

So, as I said, we fed Rita and the film crew. It's my Thing. I want everyone fat and jolly.  Tammy took them up to my house at lunchtime, and at the end of the day, we managed to squeeze 30 or so people into my house for dinner. 

It was sort of like the clown car at the circus.

My house will never be confused with Martha's Skylands, over in NorthEast Harbor.

I may or may not have planned it that way. Safety in numbers, hide from the cameras. Maybe.

I later counted up the kids. There were 16 kids there that night. You'd never have known it.

We played cards, ate, talked, joked, made fun of each other...a typical evening. Sometime in the middle of all that mayhem, Rita and the crew took their leave. There was hugging, and the packing up of food 'for the ride'. (Thanks, Mother. I made fun of you for years- years- for doing that. Look at me now.) I was an unsuccessful food pusher- they had a lot of stuff to carry up and down a boat ramp, in the dark. 

I live with the shame.

(By the way, following in my Mother's, and Aunts' footsteps, the proper way to send off a guest is to wrap up leftover food and pastries, fix a plate, etc. and force it onto the unsuspecting victim. Should you, yourself, ever be the departing guest, you must -must, emphatically- refuse any such packages, firmly, almost rudely, in fact. And then an hour or so later, you must call the host and declare wistfully, 'Oh, what I wouldn't do for another zeppola, those were fantastic, haven't had them in so long....'

I had assumed this was a learned behavior. No. It's genetic. My kids are doomed.)

Many thanks to all my island neighbors who brought food and desserts- and helped clean up!

Becky, who brought enough food to feed an army! Ann, and Tammy, and...even Kristi, who I forced to make her fabulous coleslaw, and who left it on the doorstep to avoid the cameras!!

You know, there was so much food at my house by the time I got back with the crew, I don't know who made what, or whom to thank!

So Thank You, One and All. You know who you are.

And how much I appreciate it.

Stay tuned for the second part of this story tomorrow!

Still to come: the actual taping of the show.

Frenchboro. 

Live. 

With Ms. Oprah Winfrey. 

Via skype.

What's there to be nervous about?