The Kid

Not that long ago I was sure I would someday meet Bob Redford. I've always admired his work as an actor and director, and his awesome Sundance project. I've lauded his efforts on behalf of the environment, and imagined him as an ordinary person. But that, at least, IS a delusion. He is not at all ordinary.

I'm a big fan. I've saved covers, and articles, and read enough to know how much he loathes such things. When he directed Quiz Show with Ralph Fiennes (whom I DID meet after a Broadway play, another story) I came across a publicity shot of the two with John Turturro on the internet and copied it. I framed the small photo and placed it among the family pictures. It amused the kids to catch our guest's reactions when they spotted it.

I'm quite sure I haven't seen all of Redford's movies. But among my favorites are those that few even think of, like Havana, and An Unfinished Life (with JayLo). At the top of that list is a small film that Bob directed, and that couldn't have meant as much to anyone not from New Mexico where the tale is centered. Milagro Beanfield War.

I'm a native New Mexican with a long family history here. And I can only tell you that the film adapted from John Nichols' celebrated book is a spot on embrace of the local culture. All of my children saw it in the theater with me, we own it on DVD, and it has become part of our family lexicon. The soundtrack was never made available. But it has a haunting lyrical theme that I sometimes hear in my heart when I look out on an enchanting wilderness landscape in my home state.

Conversely, I hated The Way We Were. And to this day, don't know why Bob has not had a single word to say about Out of Africa, which, I have noticed, is a favorite of many other bloggers.

Friends in Nairobi at the famous Giraffe Manor in Kenya met Bob when he inquired about a stay there during the filming. Since then I have journeyed to Karen Blixen's farm, seen the Ngong Hills, read the book for the second time on the plains of Africa, and plucked the blades of grass pressed inside its pages. I couldn't say how many times I've watched the movie. Too many. Suffering my own losses at the time, I had a potent identification with the story that led me to a fascination of all things Africa. A fixation that would lead me to my husband who had aimlessly toured Africa for two years, and who has never really left it himself. But back to Bob.

My husband has roots in Northern California. His brother once worked at Lucas Ranch and has one or two Redford stories. A friend of ours was Bob's landscaper. Spectacularly, A River Runs Through It was partially filmed on Aunt Marcia's and Uncle Buck's ranch in Montana.

My son, who shares Bob's August birthday, acquired a seasonal job at Sundance while going to school last winter. His job included a few peripheral duties around Redford's private office. An unassuming cabin along one of the winding roads through Sundance village.

But I have settled for just being Bob's neighbor. He has a place outside of Santa Fe only sixty miles away. I also have the new bio. Just released. And oh, I have Mr. Cottage.  :o)

Rwanda, 1985

Weekend anyone?
 Hope yours is great!

Ciao! for now!

Jacqueline