thespis and the golden curl

Well, we lost another goodie. I thought it fitting since February is the month o' the Oscar that I would mourn a little bit over the recent passing of one of our finest actors, James Whitmore. At least one of mine anyway. What a wonderful career..a life of 87 years that worked up until the very, very end. IMDb the dude if ya wanna see a nice resume. He inspired me when my young actor self was emerging and he still does while I sit in the hills of them thar Ozarks, nary a klieg in sight.

Speaking of sitting in the hills, they were ice-covered recently...for almost a week! I guess my pals up North would say, 'wa-wa cry me a river' but, oy, what slippery madness. W. was elated as she got four whole snow days, right at the same time her daddy was off for three...the lucky recipient of an extra day thrown in as the restaurant had to close up shop. Then to make it even cozier, you fold me and a certain corkscrew-topped three year old human/ferret into the mix, and before you know it, you have yourself a family drama that souffles itself right on into a too-close-for-comfort situation. Listen, I love my brood, (and I did get a chance to squeeze in an Oscar nom'd flick or two), but after several days of dwindling fridge contents, sore hip flexors that can't endure the biting cold, a DC 10 indoor decibel level and the booze running dry by day two...well, you get the idea. There's only so much Monopoly and Potato Buds a gal can take. This mama almost went a little hairy-'carrie' with her Piper Laurie self. And the picture couldn't get any more epic for two reasons- my T. cut a huge wad out of her fantastically beautiful, ethereal locks...just above her right ear, exclaiming, "I have short hair now, Mommy!" and then the only thing my pathetic ex-Californian maternal self could provide for my little caged bald bird to sled on, was a lid to one of my plastic storage bins holding 15 years of old tax returns. Yes, no matter how loud you squeal and how hard you try to pretzel yourself atop it, a square edge just doesn't cut it in the aerodynamics department.

But we made it. We survived. No one was murdered. And thanks to global warming, had a nice park day on Friday. In the '60's. Go figure. But getting back to what's really important- acting (at least for this month anyway). Mr. Whitmore....proud possessor of a globe, an Emmy, a Tony and a Academy Award nom, without an icicle among 'em. And he could still go into a restaurant, sit down, and have some nosh in peace. There aren't many peeps who have the luscious karma and career opportunities of pulling off a Truman, a Will Rogers and a Teddy Roosevelt and even get to play in the sandbox of my fave T.V. show ever- Twilight Zone! Once you throw in some Planet of the Apes, a cowboy-booted Western or two and four wives...you have yourself a pretty interesting life and career. And it's always nice, of course, when you can pad the will for your youngins with some Miracle Gro. I can't help but mist up just thinking about him in Shawshank Redemption. That movie slays me. I loved it and he was wonderful in it. I think that quiet, contemplative, sweet performance is what I will remember most about him. Rest well, Mr. W. Come back around and see us again soon. We need craftsman like you. As most days, it seems like we're lost in the plains of Hannah Montana.