Oh my--all the drama and heartache and unexpected violence on Downton Abbey last night left me rather sad and gave me troubled dreams! I finally got up early and discovered many of my facebook friends felt the same way. My daughter's fiance' sent me a "crafty" way to bring a little DA into my "real life"--the one that stretches between 9 pm Sunday night and the following Sunday at 8 pm. My son even offered to see if he could find the British episodes online and download them so we could quickly find out what happens to poor Anna, scheming Thomas and "my-married-boyfriend-is-turning-German-for-me" Edith, but we quickly shut down that idea. Half the fun is the anticipation--the buzz around the water cooler and the dining room table and on facebook as to what the next turn of events will be is a huge part of the fun.
Hmmm...perhaps next Saturday I should whip up a few napkins for our Sunday evening tea? You have to admit, Lady Violet's pithy zingers would look great on linen napkins and add a fillip of elegance to my tea tray.
I can even include my whole family in some DA fun! For my daughter who loves Clue with a passion that probably even exceeds my DA obsession, we could play this game before Sunday's next installment:
and spend a pleasant hour or two discussing likely suspects and murder weapons. I vote for O'Brien and the soap...
I could even get my sons involved (fat chance!) by offering them the opportunity to build Highclere Castle. Goodness knows I have enough Legos stored away in bins to create the Castle AND the village!
But for now, the sun is coming up and work is calling, so I'll need to set aside my English swooning and fretting over Downton's unforgettable characters and head back into the "real world." I'll leave you with a poem that I love, Invictus, by British poet W.E. Henley. I have it hanging on my wall at work, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it would be one of Lady Violet's favorite poems as well:
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.