That is the saying on an e-card that my mother sent me this weekend. This blog space is for Ford and movie talk, of course, but at times events in one’s life are too important to not remark upon. We lost our beloved family member Kashmir this weekend. And I’d like to think that her tenth life in heaven is indeed going to be the best of all!

Kashmir was named for the Led Zeppelin song (not the strife-ridden Indian state, nor the sweater, although her fur was probably the softest fur I’ve ever felt, so “cashmere” would be fitting). She came into our lives in early October 1993. My now-husband Paul and I had met and fallen in love earlier that year, and adopting a cat was the first thing we did together jointly, even before we moved in together. Because she was all black, we called her our Halloween cat, and that year I dressed up as a witch, and Paul as a zombie, and we brought Kashmir to the door to scare the trick-or-treaters (it worked, the kids were definitely spooked!).

Kashmir came to us skinny, quiet, and a bit aloof, perhaps unsure of the permanence of her new living situation. The first real emotional response we got from her was in March of 1994, when we brought home a brother, named Tanaka (I didn’t want Kashmir to an “only” cat). And that emotion was definitely displeasure… she hissed and growled and made it known that she certainly had not asked, nor had any desire, for a kid brother! That lasted about a week, and then the two became good friends, companions, and playmates (although Tanaka would always love her more than she loved him – Tanaka just worshipped his big sister!).

In May of 1994 Paul and I combined households and the cats finally had one permanent home (we shuttled them between our two apartments up to that point). Kashmir finally became very comfortable and secure with us, knowing that we loved her and were in it for the long haul. And Kashmir, the diva with the outsized personality, was born!

It turns out that skinny, quiet little cat had an opinion, on everything, and she wasn’t the least bit shy about sharing it! She loved the sound of her own voice, and was quite the vocalist, especially when she wanted to be fed! She was deeply annoyed by most people who came to visit us: she wanted our space to remain our space. She did not appreciate interlopers one bit, even as we welcomed family and friends into our home.

She may not have been a very friendly cat to guests, but she was beyond affectionate towards me and Paul. Paul she worshipped: she loved nothing more than to follow him around and mimic him. During the week, Paul lies out on the floor to read the newspaper, and Kashmir would lay right there next to him, as if she too were reading the paper. On Friday nights, those two would stay up late watching horror films (I’m an “early to bed, early to rise” type, so Tanaka and I would cuddle up in the bedroom and fall asleep while Kashmir and Paul partied on!). Paul would give Kashmir a late-night snack of “crunch-crunch” (that’s what we call cat food in our house), then play with her and pet her into the wee hours, until they both got sleepy and turned in. If we went out on a Friday evening, to dinner or a movie, she’d be right at the door when we got back home, as if to say “Hey, it’s about time you guys got home… let’s get this Friday night party started!”

Kashmir was definitely “daddy’s girl”, and we always joked that Kashmir liked Paul more than me, but that she loved me more than him. She and I really had the mother-daughter dynamic. Ever since I started working from home about five years ago, she became deeply attached to me. She loved warmth, and I have a lamp on my work desk, so she started jumping up and laying on my desk while I worked (which wasn’t terribly convenient, but she was insistent: you can’t imagine how she’d pout when she didn’t get her way). She’d lay her head on my external CD writer, and occasionally would knock the DSL modem off of the desk to make more room for herself! She’d lay her tail in my printer: when I went to print, I’d carefully lay the first page on top of her so that the printer wouldn't get jammed up. She’d give me this look of exasperation, like “Um, I’m trying to nap here, must you run that annoying printer?” When I would go out during the day, she would be there at the door, waiting, when I returned, always with a quizzical meow!

Kashmir’s most favorite time, though, was each evening around 8:00, when Paul and I usually lay on the bed and watch some TV. She’d come and lay right between us, and take turns getting pet, first by me and then by Paul, then back to me. Kashmir couldn’t purr (there’s a bone in their throats that makes the purr, and I theorize that she was missing that bone). Instead, she’d breathe very deeply, kind of snorting. But in the last few months, she almost had a bit of a purr during these evenings when the three of us were together on the bed.

Kashmir became ill this past week: a combination of a problem that we knew about and a few other problems that revealed themselves this week. The problems compounded, and they overtook her. She couldn’t eat, or drink, or use the litter box, and she was too weak to groom herself. Her illness and suffering were brief, and she died in my arms on Friday night. We were helped out tremendously by the caring staff at the Animal Emergency Centre in Studio City, who allowed us plenty of time to say our goodbyes and also helped us make arrangements with a reputable pet mortuary. She will be cremated and hand delivered to us, so we plan to have a small wake, just the three of us, when she returns.

Last night, we had plans to see Tony Bennett at the Kodak Theater, part of a celebration for the 10th anniversary of the Henry Mancini Institute (John Williams was honored and conducted a portion of the show, but that is a story for another day). Though we are devastated, we thought it would be good to get out of the house. Tony was in perfect form, his voice these days appreciates and shines in a smaller venue. He sang “Smile,” and through the tears it helped us smile a bit:

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through for you

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That’s the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what’s the use of crying?
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

That’s the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what’s the use of crying?
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

We love you always, sweet baby! May heaven be filled with boxes to sleep in, plastic to eat through, rugs to claw on, berber carpet to stretch out on, your favorite brand of crunch-crunch to eat, warm lamps to sleep under, clothes hampers to hide in, shoes to burrow into, soft beds to lie on, tuna cans and grilling spatulas to lick on, and spirits to love and care for you just as much as we do and always will!

Hooray for Hollywood! Last night, Sir Sean Connery was honored in Hollywood with the American Film Institute’s 34th AFI Life Achievement Award. My husband and I took a quick trip down to the Kodak Theater to see what we could see…

First, a bit of background. As much as I’m a fan of Harrison, my husband is a life long fan of Sean Connery. James Bond utterly captivated his imagination as a young boy in the 1960s… he saw the films repeatedly when each was released, spending hours and hours with Bond, James Bond. As he grew, he took up skiing and scuba diving because Bond was accomplished at both (heck, Bond is accomplished at everything, isn’t he?). As an adult, he traveled the world, inspired by the exotic locales of the Bond films. He dressed well and ordered sophisticated cocktails. The romance of Bond, as portrayed by Connery, has stayed with him through today.

And beyond Bond, my husband has followed Connery’s career intently, from the Sidney Lumet collaborations (The Hill, The Anderson Tapes) to the science fiction forays (Zardoz, Meteor, Outland, Highlander) to his outstanding work outside of the high-concept film (The Man Who Would Be King, Robin and Marion, Finding Forrester), and, of course, his Oscar-winning turn in The Untouchables. So needless to say, this night was all about Sir Sean and his amazing body of work (and amazing body, but that’s my thing!).

We arrived at a very good time: 6:00 pm and no red carpet arrivals yet, but they were imminent (so not much of a wait). Red carpet arrivals started to trickle down… lots of old producers and younger-ish (meaning forties to the old coots’ seventies!) women with massive hair and botox faces. The nice women around us (a friendly group from Atlanta, and a sweet woman from Buffalo) were amazed at how unimpressive Hollywood types look (and it’s true… for the most part, they look like you and me, only with more money!). We wondered to ourselves if any of these old producers were Bond people: Kevin McClory? Guy Hamilton? John Barry?, but we wouldn’t recognize them if they came up and bit us! Maybe some Bond girls would show…

The celebs started coming… first Tom Jones (singer of the unforgettable theme to Thunderball, a song my husband calls the “male anthem”). The crowd would let out a big cheer down where the limos unloaded for anyone “big”… Anthony Michael Hall (you know, the geek from Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club) didn’t merit a cheer (sorry Tony), but James Earl Jones did! Louis Gossett Jr. (An Officer and a Gentleman) and John Savage (The Deer Hunter) breezed by, as did Dave Foley (recognized his face but can’t remember why I know him). Jane Seymour (a Bond girl, but sadly not a Connery costar) walked by looking utterly resplendent. Tia Carrera (Wayne’s World) was also a complete knockout (and probably the best picture my husband took… hmmm, I wonder why? LOL!).

Then the biggies came down the red carpet. First Uncle George, creator of my obsessions (Star Wars and Indiana Jones) and recipient of the AFI award last year, escorting one of his daughters. George looked great, if slightly “Jabba-esque” (sorry George). As he walked by, my husband yelled out “American Graffiti George!!” to try to get him to glance our way… George didn’t flinch! (I told hubby to try THX-1138 next time!). Then a big commotion, and my husband yelled out (because he has awesome eyesight and could see who was coming before any of the rest of us could): “It’s Harrison Ford!” Everyone in our vicinity starting squealing and hopping up and down!!

Harrison and Calista came by… no signing, just kind of smiling and nodding to the crowd. These two look like a salt and pepper shaker set… a very nice, expensive one from Tiffany or Neiman Marcus. What do I mean by that? Well, salt and pepper shaker in that they look like a perfectly matched pair: they have the same red carpet walk, the same elegant smile, their clothes even seem to coordinate (with both in black, it’s hard not to match!). Calista looks taller in her high heels, and Harrison looks a tad shorter than you’d expect (probably because I’m 5’10” in stocking feet… Harrison is clearly as tall as my husband, who is 6’ even, so not that much taller than me. I think it’s just that Harrison’s so “larger than life” that you kind of expect him to tower over you!). So they match up like a salt and pepper shaker set when walking the red carpet together.

Harrison was typically handsome, of course (more so than in photographs, as he looks typically real... as he should... and not posed). It’s hard for him not to be handsome I suppose. Calista was stunning. They’re both immaculate, but not in a plastic or unnatural way (like the hairsprayed botox cases that had marched through before them). They look very natural and human, only quite perfect!

Shortly after Harrison and Calista came Sir Sean and his lovely (and crazy short) wife Micheline. At this point, fortunately for my camera-skills-deficient husband (who couldn’t manage a good shot of H+C), I took over and switched the digital camera over to movie mode. Sir Sean had that trademark grin and twinkle in his eye. He didn’t sign either (my husband was waving a copy of Thunderball in his hand and shouting out “I loved you in The Hill!,” but Sean wasn’t signing for anyone). He seemed to almost be dancing, waving and smiling and thoroughly enjoying himself.

After Sir Sean went into the theater, we took off… Spielberg came through, Mike Myers, and few others that we missed, but we had seen the Holy Grail for my husband (and me, really, as I’ve grown into a massive Connery fan by osmosis), the man of the hour, Sir Sean Connery. And Harrison, Calista, George, and James Earl Jones were just sweet icing on that wonderful cake!

Take a look at some of our pictures here… I’ll get the video I took of Sir Sean up later. Some pictures are from our digital camera (take by my husband, truly a terrible photographer) and a few were taken by me on a disposable camera I had laying about at home (I’m a better photographer, but the disposable camera is not in the least bit ideal for this kind of situation!).

UPDATE: The video is hosted, I think (I've never done this before), click here to go to the link at Photobucket.

How did you become a Harrison Ford fan? What was it that put the hook in you? Was it a particular movie, or role he played? For me, it was a photo, a single, gorgeous photo in Life magazine. Let me explain…

I had loved Star Wars when it came out, and I loved Han Solo, but I also loved Luke, Leia, the droids, heck, if you weren't associated with the Empire, I was lovin’ you! I knew just a bit about the actors: Mark, Carrie, and Harrison. Han was Harrison, the one with the kind of funny sounding name (I knew plenty of Mark’s and Carrie’s in my elementary school, but no Harrison’s).

The Empire Strikes Back came out, and I started to love Han more than the others, mostly because of the romance between him and the princess, and because of his heroic sacrifice for the cause of the rebellion. My parents got me the novelization, which I read and reread, reliving this sweeping, tragic tale. But my growing love was for Han, not the man who played him.

1981: Raiders of the Lost Ark is released, and I instantly fell in love with Indiana Jones and his derring-do. Ah, Marion, could there be a luckier lady? (OK, you may not want to ask her when she’s in the Well of the Souls barefoot with thousands of snakes). And I thought to myself, Hmm, there’s that guy with the funny name again, Harrison Ford. So, he’s both Indiana Jones and Han Solo, that’s kind of interesting. Again, my love was for Indy, not the actor behind the role.

At the dawn of 1982, one of my parents brought home a copy of a Life magazine special edition: 1981: The Year in Pictures. Right smack on the front of the cover were a picture of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on their wedding day. In addition to Indiana Jones, the previous summer had also seen an all-consuming interest in the royal wedding on my part, so I snatched the magazine and took it up to my room to enjoy the Chuck and Di pictures at my leisure.

After devouring the royal wedding article and pictures a few times, I leafed through the rest of the magazine that featured the notable stories and people of 1981. American hostages in Iran freed, Ronald Reagan and Pope John Paul II shot (and lived), Egypt’s Anwar Sadat shot (and died). Chilling picture of that skywalk collapse at a Hyatt in Kansas City. Appointment of the first woman, Sandra Day O’Connor, to the U.S. Supreme Court. Bobby Sands’ hunger strike (and subsequent death). The trial of Jean Harris, accused of murdering Scarsdale diet author Dr. Herman Tarnower. Wow, 1981 was an eventful year!

A turn of the page, and ahh, fluff. Life takes a look at people who made an impact on pop culture in 1981. I was hit on the head right away by a two page picture of Nastassia Kinski lying on the floor clad only in a white bangle (on her wrist) and a python. (This picture, by Richard Avedon, became an iconic symbol in the early 1980s and certainly put young Nastassia on the pop culture map). A picture of tennis stars John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg, dressed up as they were ready to duel. Brooke Shields posing with unlit cigarettes coming out of her ears (part of an anti-smoking campaign of which 16-year-old was a part). Another turn of the page, and then I saw it.

The picture.

The most incredible picture I had seen of a man. A devastatingly (and yet understatedly) handsome man, staring quite intently right at the camera, right at me, one hand cocked up against his hip and the other holding a half-eaten apple.

I looked at the caption: Raiders of the Lost Ark made 39-year-old Harrison Ford one of 1981’s most macho males...

And for the first time I saw him, Harrison Ford, and not Han Solo or Indiana Jones. The actor and the man behind these characters I had so grown to love. One plus one equaled two, and at that moment, a fan was born.

I started to follow Harrison’s career with careful interest. I felt a twinge of regret when I heard on the radio that he had married screenwriter Melissa Mathison (although the 13-year-old girl stuck out in the boonies wasn’t really thinking she stood a chance). I eagerly anticipated Return of the Jedi and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and was utterly thrilled with both. I saw Witness with my mom on videotape, and I think we both fell in love a little with John Book.

Then, well, my interests kind of went off in a million different directions. I became quite interested in real boys, not those we might idolize, and music and friends became more important than escaping into the world of movies. High school, college, marriage and gainful employment… these all took center stage as the years ticked by. I still enjoyed many a Ford flick – Mosquito Coast, Frantic, Last Crusade, The Fugitive – but I didn’t much follow the man who brought these characters to life anymore.

Until 1997, when the Star Wars Special Edition movies were released on the big screen, and I remembered, once again, what it was like to be a kid and to be absolutely thrilled and exhilarated at the movies. The Internet had been born, and I surfed around to learn more about these actors and characters I had seemed to leave so far behind.

I realized pretty quickly: that photo, my photo, was not one-of-a-kind… there are hundreds of versions of that photo out there, in magazines, on the Internet, all with that intent, soulful gaze looking right out at me, and at you. And once again, I was thrilled to swallow the hook!

And that’s the story of my special Harrison photo and how I became a fan of his … I hope you enjoy it! (Click here to see the BIG version of this gorgeous photo.)

And we here at ford-jones.com would love to hear your special story… what put the Harrison hook into you? Go to the Blogback section in Jonesy’s Lounge and tell us your story!