I think after the Academy Awards and seeing Meryl Streep, and perhaps because it’s the end of February and cabin fever is raging; but in early March, I drag out The Bridges of Madison County and watch it, again. I know all the lines, when to fast-forward because Clint Eastwood would never utter a sappy “The old dreams were good dreams. They didn’t work out, but I’m glad I had them.” I even have the soundtrack. Doe Eyes, the theme song, is really a beautiful piece of music.
And I declare that, come spring, I will drive to Winterset, Iowa to see the bridges, find Francesca’s house and sit in the cafe where, ooh, Clint Eastwood sat. (I really am getting elderly).
I haven’t gone to Winterset yet, but Paris and I did drive down to Zumbrota a couple of winters ago and saw Minnesota’s last standing (and restored) covered bridge.
More elderly: I bought something tonight at Target and was asked for my birthdate. I recited my 12-year-old daughter’s. Realizing this was a mistake, I said my oldest daughter’s. On the third try, I remembered mine. Cashier looking at me laughing to myself, awkward!
