Los Angeles, California
In 1964 I knew all of the dialog from The Beatles film, A Hard Day's Night. It would have been interesting to have counted our viewings of this film but suffice to say, we saw it constantly, often in double features with films like George Roy Hill's coming-of-age movie, The World of Henry Orient. But this post isn't about either film. Rather about George Harrison's line from AHDN: It looms large in his legend.
You could accurately say that my birthday looms large in my legend. It's not in my experience that everyone's birthday is such a big deal to them, especially as we age. But I am celebratory by nature. I love Christmas. And Valentine's Day. I love holidays that bring people together. And, I love my birthday which is nestled near Halloween.
They haven't always been good. One spent in a hospital waiting room when my father was in intensive care. One spent mourning a beloved dog, Taz. One spent on the floor in an utter marital capsize. But enough about those. This year Joel and I got to travel together. We got to dance. And I got to celebrate with friends.
My friend, Karen, sent me one of the best birthday gifts I have ever received, because it was such a surprise. She sent me the recently published diaries of the late Alan Rickman, entitled Truly, Madly. I love hardcover books. Once, many birthdays ago, my ex-best friend, Cindy, took apart a pyramid of Katharine Hepburn's memoir at a local Barnes and Noble. An employee rushed to help her. Is there a problem? No, Cindy replied. This is for my friend, Deborah. It has to be perfect. I am so crazed about books that I will not lend hardcovers. I used to, until someone returned one with a ring on the jacket showing it had been used as a drink coaster. The end.
Back to Alan Rickman. I first saw him on TV doing a scene from the play La Liaison Dangerous at the Tony Awards. And there was just something. I have to confess that I have never seen Die Hard, his first film. But one of my favorite, top ten favorite, films is Anthony Mingella's Truly, Madly, Deeply in which he played a ghost or a projection opposite the brilliant Juliet Stevenson.
I wasn't even aware the book had been published, so when I unwrapped it, I was stunned and overjoyed. The first night I fell asleep reading it, so I literally slept with the book. And I devoured it afterwards. I don't believe he ever thought it would be published, which makes it interesting in a voyeuristic way. He candidly and sometimes cattily writes about films, plays, directors, actors, Americans, restaurants, parties, dancing, hangovers, et al. And here is the conundrum. He really lived his life. He ate, he drank, he stayed up late. There is a joie de vivre in the life detailed which is something pretty much alien to our current American way of life. And I felt envy at that. But then, he died at 69. Had he lived like an American: Work first; be hypervigilant about everything you eat; don't drink; get to bed early to get up and work first: I wonder, would he have lived longer? And sacrificing that better-lived, that more eventful life, would it have been worth it?
I recently hosted Thanksgiving and ten people came for cocktails before dinner. Out of the ten, three of us had a cocktail. Everyone else made the difficult choice of still or sparkling after asking for "just water." I don't want to be the person encouraging people to vice. But I do wish for a little lightening up. When did Americans get so uptight about so many things? Even some of those of us from the Woodstock generation would seem to give up a glass of wine for more time on the treadmill.
Concurrently, I've been watching Nigella Lawson on Britbox and have had some laugh out loud moments watching her prepare dishes for herself and friends, that my friends would never in a million years eat! How do you gather friends who are pescatarians, gluten-free, allergic and anorexic to a dinner party?
My friend, Joy, recently hosted a dinner party to celebrate an anniversary. She invited friends who had been at her wedding and she prepared eggplant parmigiana. I laughed when she told me. Will everyone eat that? I asked, thinking of the cheese-free and the eggplant-haters and the oil-phobic. I don't care, she responded. I tell people what I'm serving and if they can't eat it they should bring their own. And I like that. I'm calling it The Rickman Rule or an explanation of The Rickman Rule. The Rickman Rule is actually to eat, drink, and be merry. If you can't do that, why do we want you at our dinner party? You're clearly not someone who could eat and drink with Alan Rickman nor Nigella Lawson. And I think what I got from the book and from watching Nigella on TV is that we all need to lighten up a little. Ok, probably not me. I'm already down with the cocktails and the eggplant parmigiana and the dancing. Totally. Bring. It. On. Life isn't just short. It's shorter.
