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Showing posts from April, 2023

That Thing We Did: We’re ready for our close-up, Mr. Hanks

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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

Before twitter there were fan letters: Dear Mr. Redford

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November 12, 1973 Dear Bob  Mr. Redford,I just had to write to tell you how hot and sexy talented, I think you are.  Laura and I bickered over who was more desirable — Robert Redford or Clint Eastwood — with as much fervor as we girls once debated who our favorite Beatle was, Paul or John, George or Ringo. Laura's mother, tiny Corky, curled up in her easy chair with a ciggie and a cup of tea, pronounced both actors 'tall drinks of water'. This was so long before  water became such a desirable commodity that we actually had to buy it by the bottle, back in the seventies when water was still free even in the once desert lands of Los Angeles, that I never quite understood the praise. But yes, Redford could put his shoes under my bed any time, as our mothers might have said, mostly about men whose paths they would likely never cross. I had it so bad for Robert Redford after seeing The Way We Were ; wishing I were Barbara Streisand with her impossibly long eleg

An Undying Love ... just an old love story.

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You know those couples who say they can’t live without each other? What if it was true.  Undying Love The coleus under Bob and Helen’s front porch window are looking a little scraggly, nothing but tall leggy stems bending in their bed of dry cracked earth. I think how the gardener wouldn’t let them go like that if Bob hadn’t been so sick. If he’d been up and around, those plants would be standing tall, their leaves firm and perky, the ground blanketed with a soft, moist layer of mulch. Well tended, that was the best way to describe Bob’s garden, and come to think of it, Bob too. I try to remember if I even saw the gardener this past Wednesday, his usual day to come mow and blow. After all, who will notice if Bob’s plants die now? Not Bob while he’s sick in bed. Not Helen who uses a walker and rarely ventures outside. Bob told me once Helen wouldn’t allow him to get her a wheel chair, she couldn’t stand the idea of looking like an invalid. That sounds like Helen, the kind of