If You Ask Me - Betty White [10]
I have never met him. I never want to meet him (I’d be too embarrassed after taking his name in vain so many times). However, what began as a crush on a movie star soon grew into genuine admiration. I became aware of his concern for the environment, his love of and respect for nature, his involvement with The Wilderness Society, and I maintain that the Robert Redford answer works for me in almost any department.
Fast-forward to January 2010. A few days after I had received an unbelievable honor from the Screen Actors Guild, I brought the mail in one morning, as usual, and found the following letter.
Dear Mrs. Ludden:
Robert Redford has asked that I forward his congratulatory note to you on receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Screen Actors Guild.
Cheers to you!
Sincerely,
Donna Kail
Assistant to Robert Redford
More than a note, the congratulation consisted of a delightful, funny six-stanza poem that began with “Dear Betty” and ended with “Congratulations, Robert.”
By now I don’t have to tell you how my mind was blown. Of course, my first reaction was that someone was putting me on, but the stationery was authentic, and on looking further, I found a great picture of himself, signed “Guess who? Robert Redford.”
Finally, I found the courage to write him a thank-you and said I couldn’t promise to stop using his name—unless he didn’t find it funny.
I can only say that Robert Redford is one class act.
P.S. I know you would love to hear the poem. Sorry.
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With Bandit, Dancer, and Stormy.
ZUMA PRESS/NEWSCOM
WRITER’S BLOCK
Certain common clichés maintain that most men love hardware stores, just as women dote on shoe stores. I have no idea how accurate that is, because, personally, I am strange for stationery stores. Not for the fancy writing paper—it’s those tablets and packs of lined three-hole notebook pages and those packs of typing paper that turn me on. I even buy those things when I go to the grocery store, whether I need them or not.
Let’s say I am in the middle of a writing project and have, perhaps, hit a slow spot. Bringing in this stuff can recharge the battery. Or, if I am not in the middle of a writing project, it can often cause me to start one.
Why? I have no idea, but it has been that way all my life—even back to my school days. A fresh pack of paper was the best incentive in the world for me to tackle my homework.
As weird as all this sounds, I am not alone. I can remember once being told by an author—who was rather well known at the time—that on the rare occasions when he hit a stubborn writer’s block, there was only one specific brand of green-lined paper that could get him started again. He called it his “paper laxative.” As soon as he’d bring in a pack, the ideas would start again.
Okay, so I’m weird. At least I am in good company.
John Steinbeck, who was Allen’s and my good friend, did his writing standing up at a drafting table—in longhand, his white bull terrier, Angel, lying across his feet. People always seem amazed that I write in longhand. Well, if it’s good enough for Steinbeck, it’s good enough for me! I really can’t communicate to a machine—the thoughts want to go from my brain down my arm to my hand to the page. After I’ve written that first draft, I copy it over again onto another page. That’s when the most changes are made, as I polish and rewrite the original—once again, in longhand.
My mother had beautiful handwriting her entire life. As a little kid, I loved the time with her when I would make her write something so I could see how closely I could copy it. At wasn’t a learning chore, which I probably would have resisted. It was a game.
Somewhere in there fun sessions she managed to make a point that has stuck: handwriting is a means of communication. Why not make it as easy to read as possible?
I still remember those lovely times with my mother when I would try to copy her handwriting. Maybe it isn’t only John Steinbeck’s influence after all.
With our computers today, we have