Take a Bow, Rose Marie

Rose Marie died this week.

She had an amazing life, but it still makes me sad to see that generation of performers slowly fade away.

Rose Marie Mazzetta was born in New York City in 1923. She began her show business career at the age of three, singing on the radio. She worked in vaudeville, on Broadway, in Las Vegas, in the movies and on television.

Rose Marie's most famous role was on The Dick Van Dyke Show, as Sally Rogers, a wisecracking writer for a TV variety show. Teaming up with Morey Amsterdam, who played Buddy Sorrell on the series, she was one of the first women on a television sitcom whose career was the focus of her life. Ironically, Mary Tyler Moore played the housewife/mom on the show, and would later be lauded as a pioneer for career women for her role on the Mary Tyler Moore Show.

Recently, Rose Marie came forward with her own #MeToo story. During the making of the film "Top Banana," she was propositioned by one of the producers. She responded, loudly, in front of the crew, "You couldn't get it up if the flag went by." Her musical numbers were subsequently cut from the film, and she had a difficult time for awhile getting roles.

Rose Marie was married once, to Bobby Guy, who was a trumpet player in Kay Kyser's band. He was only 48 when he died of a blood infection in 1964. She was devastated. They had been married for 18 years and had one daughter, Georgiana.

She called Al Capone "Uncle Al." Rose Marie's father worked as an arsonist for the gangster, burning down the warehouse of anyone who crossed Capone -- a fact she wasn't privy to until years later, when she worked in Las Vegas with Bugsy Siegel. 

The signature bow she always wore in her hair was donated to the Smithsonian in 2006. When asked what its significance was, all Rose Marie would say was that it was very personal, and she didn't want to share.

 Rose Marie wrote a memoir in 2003, called "Hold the Roses." And there's a 2017 documentary called "Wait for Your Laugh."  I'm looking forward to reading/watching them both.

Some of the most fascinating people are on the periphery of major stardom.

I think Rose Marie qualifies. What a run, indeed.

Sleeting Moments

I awoke this morning to the ticka-ticka-ticka of frozen precipitation hitting my window.

Bundling up, I prepared to retrieve my newspaper from the lawn, where the carrier normally throws it. Imagine my surprise when I opened my front door and discovered the paper on the porch. Which was very pleasant, indeed, considering the icy drops were coming down fast and hard, and I didn't want to add boots and an umbrella to my ensemble.

Like it always does, the question went through my mind: What's the difference between sleet and freezing rain? Only this time, I did something about it. I went to the Google and asked the National Weather Service.

Obviously, my search was not unique, because the answer popped right up.

Both forms of precipitation start out as just raindrops. The distinction comes when they hurl earthward. If the layer of freezing air is thin, you get freezing rain. The water doesn't freeze in the air, it does so when it hits the ground, making it a real challenge to clean your car and walk around without landing on your ass.

Sleet, on the other hand, reaches the earth in the form of frozen droplets -- confirming that this morning's precipitation was, in fact, sleet. (Now it's turned to snow. I certainly know what that is.)

It's entirely possible that this little weather lesson was an education only to me. I was probably taught it a long time ago during my school years, but it was lost in a haze of other knowledge, most of it useless, that is taking up space in my cranium. (Just to note, some people do think remembering Beatles lyrics is worthwhile.)

Oh well. I figure if I learn something of value every day, no matter how trivial, I can feel a little less like I'm rocketing my way toward a doddering old age.

Speaking of being an old fart, I decided, just for shits and giggles, to go to our 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica, Volume XXV, to see what it had to say about sleet.

Pretty much the same thing, it turns out, with one notable exception: It says that in some cases, sleet may actually begin as snow, not rain, with the transformation taking place as the precipitation encounters an air temperature just above the freezing point.

I'm sure the National Weather Service just decided this level of thoroughness wasn't necessary, that most folks would be satisfied with the edited version. But it does make me wonder how much of the knowledge we get from the internet is condensed in order to keep it mainstream enough for the person of average intelligence.

I'm not a big fan of abridged books, either. I prefer to get the whole story. I'm not comfortable with someone else deciding what's important to me.

But once again, I digress. If digression were an Olympic sport, I'd win the gold every time.

I'm sure there are those who would argue I need to be abridged. Maybe so. But it's my blog, and I have the luxury of bloviating to my heart's content.

Read at your own peril. You've been warned!

I Just Have Something in My Eye

I've never been a fan of Harlequin novels.

I do enjoy the cozy murder mystery now and again. But sappy romance novels? Not me.

So I am grappling with the realization that I am becoming hooked on the Hallmark Channel.

I don't know, maybe it's the time of year. Doesn't everyone get sucked into formulaic stories and happy endings during the holidays?

Or maybe it's just my age. I've heard from coworkers, whose moms are of a certain age (e.g. same as me), who are also hooked on Hallmark.

Or perhaps it's the rancid political climate. The Oh-My-God-I-Just-Can't-Watch-It-Anymore, pit in my stomach feeling that comes from too much CNN.

Could it be that it's just a guilty pleasure? It's relaxing, at the end of a stress-filled day, to sit back and watch two people meet in a small, friendly town, overcome some hurdle(s) or other, and find they want to spend the rest of their lives together.

I need a break from people crashing cars and bashing skulls. From fart jokes and parents who are dumber than their kids. From really, really bad football. From zombies and foolish teenagers who don't know enough NOT TO OPEN THE DAMN DOOR.

And, you know, it's okay if I cry a little at the end. It's all good.

So, now that I've confessed, I will also admit that The Ref is still one of my favorite Christmas movies. That I'm just a little bit in love with Chili Palmer. And Stranger Than Paradise is still my favorite local flick.

So I'm not a total mushy heart.

Now hand me the tuner. I want to see if Uncle Bernie and his bookstore are going bring Sean and Gina together in time for Christmas.

In Search of Holiday Spirit

In the deep recesses of my skeptical heart lives a tiny glimmer of holiday spirit that has not been destroyed by the relentless push to buy, buy, buy.

Chris' Handiwork

Last night, we watched a holiday movie on Hallmark. And yes, I say unashamedly, we got a little teary, as the movie reached its inevitably happy ending. Girl breaks off engagement with Mr. Wrong. Mr. Right is stopped before he boards the plane. The actor formerly known as Fonzie plays the uncle who knew it would happen this way all along. And the too-cute child actor comes to believe that Santa is real. Everyone goes to bed happy.

Today, my quest for the holiday spirit continued. The morning dawned cold and frosty, as Mr. and I hit the freeway and headed to the other side of town. He was dropped off at the library to amuse himself for two hours, while I attended a Christmas Tea, hosted by my coworker (Chris') Presbyterian church.

I went to the Tea several years ago and was happy once again to have been included in the fellowship of these women to celebrate the season.

After a delicious pot lock buffet style breakfast, we adjourned to the church where hymns were sung and bible passages read. The guest speaker was a woman who played the part of Jesus' grandmother in a captivating piece she entitled, "My Grandson Really Does Walk on Water." It was a thoughtful and entertaining take on Mary's conception, Joseph's understandingly hurt reaction, and the ultimate coming to terms by all concerned. It was intriguing to consider how the real-life scenario might have unfolded.

Walking out of the church with the other women, I felt blessed to have been included.

Maybe there is hope for my Christmas spirit, after all.