Sim Carter: Past Tense Imperfect

My dad on the far left, Mum on the far right, my brother Russell towering over our mother,  My younger sister, Nancy, the little girl holding the bundle. Family friends, the Waldmans.  I’m the one in the black & white Op Art suit. I was 13 at the time.  # Cherrygrove Road, Cherrywood Acres, Niagara Falls, Canada It’s daunting to move into a new house and make it yours. A never-before-lived-in house seems more than new as it stands before you, untouched, immaculate, strangely virginal. The difference between new and brand new can be an almost empty hollow feeling. No ghosts live within those walls. No child’s smudged fingerprints have been wiped away. I was ten years old when we moved into our new house in Niagara Falls, a brand new subdivision called Cherrywood Acres, houses studding the land where cherry trees used to grow.  We moved in the spring of 1963, the season of change in what would turn out to be a decade of change. In a house without history it fell to us to

Reposting on the occasion of Robert De Niro’s 75th birthday. I guess you know you're old when all your crushes have turned into old men! Anyway ... here’s the one about the time ... I put down the phone, hoping no one could see my hand was literally shaking. Bob's assistant, Elena, was calling from New York, wanting to see if I could organize some lunch for her boss. Her boss Bob. Bob as in Bob De Niro. Oh, that Bob. The actor was going to be in LA and planned on squeezing in a quick meeting with Rowdy Herrington, the director shooting the next episode of Tales from the Crypt . As the APOC at Tales, it fell to me to take on the task.  An APOC—Assistant Production Office Coordinator to the uninitiated—is nothing more than an overworked secretary to about 150 people. Twelve hour days minimum. No overtime. My job meant inputting every single one of those names, phone numbers and addresses into the Crew List data base and keeping it updated. I generated the cast list wh

My daily three-mile walk in the morning keeps me in passable shape, clears my head, and gets me going. I start each day, after coffee but before breakfast and writing by heading out to the park where I walk in circles. As a writer, I'm seeking inspiration for my novel, working out plotholes. As a human being, I sometimes need to blow off steam. The Jacarandas shading the pea gravel pathway are a beautiful distraction, stunning in springtime when they bloom in deep blue purples, and mandatory in the summer when Los Angeles heats up early. Today as I near the patio sitting on the perimeter of the park, I see the gardeners have hosed down the cement. The entire surface is still wet and puddled. Slick. Without my permission, my heart starts pounding, bringing me crashing to a halt. Wimp, I think. That's in the past. Shake it off. I can't. I’m afraid. I'm fifteen years old again, walking along a sandy road near the beach in San Juan with my best friend. We're both

My boy and me on the set of That Thing You Do with Tom Everett Scott, 1995 Tom Hanks made his directorial debut on the film THAT THING YOU DO in 1996.  My husband worked behind the scenes on the production. My son was almost three. And we were in the movie. Here's that story:  We're ready for our close-up, Mr Hanks. “What size?” the wardrobe assistant asked, rifling through a garment rack full of pointy white cotton bras and silky slips, a measuring tape hanging from her neck . I was suddenly acutely aware of the line of women behind me, waiting to pick up their own period-perfect brassieres for the filming of Tom Hank’s directorial debut,  That Thing You Do . I briefly debated tying that tape tightly around the wardrobe woman’s neck. “34?” It came out as barely a squeak.  Even with the additional plumpness that comes with motherhood, my breasts would never be called knockers. She gave me a quick glance, and without asking my cup size, handed me something wh