(pensive mood on)*
There have been times when I watched more TV – I grew up in a house where telly was almanac, news, enertainment, source of strife, and font of laughter. There have been times when I watched no TV at all – several years in bedsits where, there simply was no screen (!). I would sit on a cushion, leaning back on the hard tiled mantlepiece and read, actual books.
I did catch, at least in re-runs, most (though, I doubt, all) of “Friends”. As a cultural phenomenon, it was hard to miss – whether you liked it or loathed it. So when I heard that Mathew Perry had died last week, I was aware of who he was. The news included the information that he was only 54. I also know, through some bizare snippet of Holywood gossip, that from one point, he (and the other Friends castmates) were getting $1m per episode; with ~5046 episiodes across 9?10? seasons. Inference, he was probably not stuck for a bob (as Dad might have said ,{for younger viewers, “had plenty of money”}).
I find myself noticing these celebrity “obits” a little more these days. My thought process follows – “Jings they were younger than me (sometimes quite a bit)! They could probably afford the very very best in health care (certainly for Mr Perry), not to mention personal trainers/dietitians/ or even personal cooks. How is it I’m still going? What chance do we(I) have?”
Now of course, fame and wealth do bring their own share of potential demons, and I’m aware that Mr Perry may have had his personal issues; however whenever I reflect on this, it just seems to confirm, how little control we actually have over our own fate.
Now I do not make this observation to depress. I have spent a great deal of my life too well aware that the next crossing-of-the-road, or flight-of-stairs, (or, ” this wire is not live..”) could be the last, to the point where it has become mere comic relief, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
We must all, sooner or later, have that encounter with the grim reaper, and whether sudden or long expected, surely the only thing we actually have any influence over, is the spirit with which we enter that meeting.
Outlaw Josie Wales meets Comanche Chief Ten Bears, to negociate a living truce, or to die, “…as there is iron in my words of Death, so too, is there iron in my words of Life…” – Sometimes you get inspiration in these unexpected places, but I think, if we can face the final end with a smile (however wry), then equally we can surely face the story of life with a smile, and perhaps that, is the one thing, we get to choose.
: )
(pensive mood off)
Net week on IaDL : Hooray the new petrol tank fits!
*I was going to subtitle “Death and Taxis” but in the end, the taxis don’t appear, so I’ve saved that one or some future speculation..
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 