Episodes from The Twilight Zone keep popping into my head.
That is understandable. We seem to be living in our own personal twilight zone every day.
On Wednesday I made a grocery-laundry trip to San Patricio. The need for clean underwear and a stocked pantry is no respecters of our plague-ridden days.
I chatted with my laundress. This week is usually very busy for her -- mainly new customers who are in town for Semana Santa. But there are now no crowds. Even though she will normally give me one-day service if I ask, that option is not available when crowds are in town. On Wednesday, she told me I could have my clothes in two hours.
Nothing is more symbolic of the dearth of business than the
But there were no thrill-seekers in sight on Wednesday. The carnival was shut tight. Even if it had been open, there would not be enough patrons parting with pesos to justify the carnival's theft of electricity.
That is what reminded me of The Twilight Zone. "In Praise of Pip" is one of several episodes where an amusement park is used as a metaphor for life. A good life in this episode -- with Jack Klugman. Others are far darker.
A metaphor for life. As I looked through the gate at the seedy traveling carnival, it was easy to imagine memorable moments of life spent on that little piece of ground. Some of my own are stored there.
But there will be no new memories created this week. The best we can do is reminisce.
Which brings me to the second episode of The Twilight Zone that has been visiting me lately. "Time Enough at Last." We all know it.
We may even remember Rod Serling's introduction of the episode -- an introduction that has an eerie contemporary familiarity to it.
Witness Mr. Henry Bemis, a charter member in the fraternity of dreamers. A bookish little man whose passion is the printed page, but who is conspired against by a bank president and a wife and a world full of tongue-cluckers and the unrelenting hands of a clock. But in just a moment, Mr. Bemis will enter a world without bank presidents or wives or clocks or anything else. He'll have a world all to himself... without anyone.Burgess Meredith plays the near-sighted Henry Bemis whose love for reading is constantly frustrated by those around him. One day, while reading in the bank's vault, Bemis's immediate world is destroyed by an H-bomb. He is now the only person alive.
Realizing he is alone in his world, he contemplates suicide -- until he sees the ruins of the public library with its books intact. Despair turns to elation. Being alone is a virtue; he can now read without interruption.
Because this is The Twilight Zone and not a Disney movie, the episode does not end there. While sorting the books he intends to read for the rest of his life, he bends over and shatters his glasses. Without them he is virtually blind. Surviving alone -- with his passion unrequited.
I can empathize -- to a degree. During the last year, I have been more and more reliant upon my reading glasses. Without them, books are just a blur -- and my Kindle can only increase the font so far.
Since my days are generally spent in the confines of my patio and my library is filled with books-I-will-one-day read, as an avid reader, I should feel like Bemis discovering his treasure trove.
Oddly, I don't. I have noticed on recent long-range airplane trips, even though I have plenty of time to catch up on my reading, I tend to get restless after about 20 minutes.
What is that line I like from Anne Lamott? Oh, yes. "If you want to hear God laugh, tell her your plans?" It is the corollary to that faux-Chinese proverb (Aesop being the actual source): "Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true."
Considering some of Serling's other episodes, I am happy that these two are what came to mind.
You will excuse me now, I need to step on my glasses merely to close this writing circle.
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