living

The Day I Met a Movie Star

From the second story window seat at the Olympic Café, I had a vantage point for a flurry of activity down below. Gazing out over the main thoroughfare, I caught sight of a man standing on the side of the road. He was tall and blonde with a rock solid build, wearing an olive green quilted vest zipped halfway down, flattering his firm chest and muscular biceps. The swim trunks he wore hit mid-thigh; modest enough for walking around in flip-flops. After looking both ways and checking traffic, he crossed the road and was soon out of sight. Meanwhile, back at our table, the perky waitress dropped off a tropical drink favorite rimmed with a juicy pineapple wedge and teal umbrella plus two glasses of thirst-quenching water. Lunch was just as refreshing with local produce, peppery spices, and sweet herbs. As I munched away enjoying every bite of the Spicy Chicken Thai Wrap with extra peanut sauce, I looked across the table beyond Gerald’s shoulder and noticed a different couple had arrived next to us. Moments later, Gerald took note of a gigantic stuffed burrito the waitress carried by, and casually said so. It was placed directly in front of the same man I saw on the street below. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar in the flashbacks of my mind. Pretending to take a snapshot of my husband, I zeroed in on the man of mystery. Could it be, I wondered? A quick Google-search told me my hunch was spot on. It was none other than Dolph Lundgren, a Swedish actor who starred with Sylvester Stallone in several action-packed movies including “Rocky IV” and the current “Expendables” series. Practically in a panic, I ransacked my purse hoping to find an ink pen to request an autograph. No such luck. Time was running out as dishes were cleared and the check had arrived. Suddenly, as though being pulled to my feet, I stood up and walked over to his table. Almost frozen, I stood across from him next to his partner, Jenny Sandesson (also an actor), not wishing to be rude. When he looked up, I said, “Excuse me. Are you…?” Before I could finish he responded with a smile, “Yes, I am.” My face must have lit up like a fireworks display because his very next words were, “Would you like to take a photo?” “Jerry!”, I screamed, “grab your phone! He said we can take a picture!” I practically flew over the table to his side, placed my hand on his incredible bicep like we were old friends, and smiled from ear to ear. As we departed, I shook his hand and said “Thank you, Mr. Lundgren. Rocky IV was the BEST Rocky ever!” He grinned with a twinkle in his eye as his partner, Jenny, chimed in, “I agree!” With that, the couple stood up and headed for the door when two adoring male fans leapt into their path, pausing to offer more accolades along with firm handshakes. Two seconds later when Dolph and Jenny left us, they turned with a smile and a wave, and exited the restaurant. In jubilation, we all found ourselves waving back. Gerald looked off our perch from above, saw them cross the street, jump into a Jeep Cherokee and zoom out of sight. 

Press On With Linen and Lavender 

I like to iron. I find comfort in it.  Maybe it’s because I’m a Baby-Boomer who grew up in an age where common sense meant making choices that gave one an advantage, a leg up, so to speak.  My family lived on a very limited income, so making the most of what we had was often all there was to make ends meet.  My closet contained a few skirts or dresses for school and special outfits for church.  Thank goodness I had older cousins who gifted me with hand-me-downs.  Yet, I didn’t mind.  My mother had a rigid schedule:  Wash clothes on Monday, Iron clothes on Tuesday, Clean the House on Wednesday, Mop the floors on Thursday, and so on.   

I began ironing my blue jeans when I was a teenager.  It came about more out of necessity simply because, at a time when most girls averaged between 5′ and 5’5″, my legs were very long.  And I was tall and skinny, which had me towering over my brothers and  most boys.  I discovered if I used a steam iron, I could stretch the denim to make the jeans longer.   Well, one thing led to another and before I knew it, I was ironing everything from tea towels to tee shirts.  
Nowadays, I revel in ironing my Turkish tea towels and French linens by spritzing them with Mary Ellen’s Best Press lavender-tinted starch alternative.  It smells like I’m ironing in the south of France.  The end result?  Everything is left with a crisp, new finish.  Yes, I still iron my blue jeans and tee shirts. Old habits die hard.  Every once in awhile I sneak one of my husband’s Oxford shirts into the laundry basket and mist it with the heavenly scent of French lavender while pressing it wrinkle free. Perhaps its lingering fragrance takes him somewhere in time.  Back to the days when we strolled down ancient cobblestone streets, sipping strong coffee in open cafés, basked in the warm sunshine holding hands, stealing kisses, eating baguettes, and drinking French wine.