Mrs. Peel, we’re needed.
I admit that I’m a geek for the original “Avengers” television series. I own the 1966/1967 seasons on DVD. Those are the seasons that feature Diana Rigg as Emma Peel. If you’re a fan of that series, you will remember that no matter how improbable things may appear, in the end Emma Peel and John Steed figure it all out. Generally, after solving the “insoluble” problem, they usual celebrate with a bottle of champagne and often a fantastic gourmet meal.
That’s my kind of celebration!
Over the past few days, I have been binge watching my DVDs of those year of “The Avengers.” I love the camp, the amazing clothing, but most of all I love the dry and wicked sense of humor that pervades those episodes.
How does this apply to my current situation of sparkling isolation? Well, only tangentially perhaps. But I feel like I am in a situation that at times seems insoluble. Things seems like they are leading me into a trap and there is no way out. I am stuck – unable to do anything but sit hopelessly and await my fate.
Much like the third act of an “Avengers” episode.
I doubt I will ever have the fabulous clothes that John Steed sported on the show, but I can figure out why I am drawn to the analogy today. During this time of isolation, I am at leisure to allow my mind to wander in various “random” directions. Of course, if you have read my earlier blogs you will know that I am not a believer in random. I believe that all things happen for a purpose. So, for today, my question to myself is to wonder, “Why am I drawn to create an analogy with ‘The Avengers’ TV series?”
Well boredom and the desire to find something to write about would be one answer. But if there’s more than that, then I need to think about that for a moment.
I think my obsession with “The Avengers” is a desire to escape into a fantasy world. It’s a place where all things, no matter how bizarre, always work out in the end. That dovetails with my current situation – this idea of being in a bizarre and almost inconceivable situation, yet finding a way to solve the dilemma and emerge victorious.
And then, of course, enjoy a fantastic bottle of Champgagne and enjoy a fabulous gourmet meal.
So for today, my focus is to continue binge watching the 1967 season of “The Avengers” and in the process to enjoy wine and food and feel an empathy with Emma Peel and John Steed as they struggle to uncover the logical reasons for the bizarre things they have been drawn to experience. Like me today.
For some strange reason, as I typed that last paragraph, I was reminded of one of my favorite poems. I am not sure how it applies, but since it came into my mind so strongly, I will paste it in here. It’s a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
A Psalm of Life
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
It’s only Quarantine if it comes from the Quarante province of France. Otherwise, it’s just Sparkling Isolation.