Oh Jim Rockford. I forgot how adorable you were.
Quite the domestic diva day for me. Between writing assignments, I decided to do some of the things I intend to do — but never have the time.
I pickled dill pickles. I pickled jalapenos.
Then I sat on the porch and shelled butter beans that my dearest BRF, Kim Sitzmann, brought me from her garden.
I used to have my own butter bean plants but when I down-sided my garden a few years ago — my rows of butter beans got the pink-slip.
Just enough to make a good dinner for me.
And I’ve had James Garner in the back of my mind today. Sorry to hear of his passing. Eighty-six. How did that happen? I guess the same way my dad got to be 84.75 and I got to be fifty-something or another.
I was in grade school when The Rockford Files premiered and in high school when the run ended.
I know he was Maverick and he was successful in movies — but to me James Garner was Jim Rockford who lived in a trailer on the beaches of Malibu, California, driving a gold Pontiac Firebird just like my Johnny did when we met.
In the days before internet, heck in the days before cable TV (and when solitaire was played with an actual deck of cards) — the trailer, the beach, Southern California girls — all seemed impossibly glamorous.
I pulled up the theme song. I forgot about the phone calls that always started the show.
And I forgot another thing too.
Like how absolutely adorable a 40-year-something James Garner was.
At least my kind of adorable.
My kind of adorable back in 1974 and still my kind of adorable in 2014.
Jim Rockford — Hope things are truly beautiful where you are now.
