`Paul Newman died. I already talked to mom, and she said you should call her.'

Re-fracture my femur? “Oh, things could be worse – I could’ve broken my neck with that kind of fall!” I tell myself. Lose a one-and-only? “Love’s for the birds … I’ve got my movies!!!” I think, licking my wounds. Hurricanes flooding Mama G’s house? “Come on, with the economic wreckage, it’s just a drop in the old bucket.”

I like silver-linings. And while I’ve been throwing myself pity parties aplenty lately, nothing was like Saturday morning.

I awoke to a buzzing phone beneath my ear. Who’s calling at this ungodly 9 a.m. hour?? “Brother” blinked on my ancient, 80s-style cell phone.

“I’m so sorry, Sister.” (For what? For calling me at dawn?)

“You haven’t heard.” (Yo, bro, I told you last week that we have a very fallible Interweb connection at the moment; even if I’d WANTED to hear anything, it’d be slow-going).

“Paul Newman died. I already talked to mom, and she said you should call her.”

Now. I’m wiping the sleep away from my beady eyes and jolt upright in shock. My lips start to quiver, my jaw starts trembling – and it happened. I cried thankless, shameless tears as I sat there on my little air mattress in my new room (which is finally coming together, by the way).

I’ve joked a thousand times about how I’d cry when PN died. I wrote about it on this silly bloggle (and jinxed it? Believe you me, that was the first reaction I had … Hell hath a place for me now, I’m sure) but I didn’t think I actually would workout the old tear ducts, like some love-stricken fan who wanted to impale themselves after the loss of a Beatle.

It takes some pretty heavy things to make me cry; and it just made me realize how much I really did, and do, admire PN – everything from his early career and movie choices, to his lifestyle, and – perhaps most selfishly – how handsome and righteous his roles most often were. He will be an everlasting love.

I checked my phone after I got off with Brother, and 5 people had already texted extending their condolences for my loss, as it were. I normally cringe at my effusive movie-talking, but in this case I’m proud of it. He deserves all my romanticizing of him; it was the saddest Saturday morning that I can remember. :’-(

Making me tear up, as I copy the YouTube link! Good lord, get ahold of yourself, Grice.