R. I. P Dr. Watson

I just found out today that Edward Hardwick died in May. Edward Hardwick is the best Watson ever. Was the best Watson ever. I do not know how I would ever decide what my favorite moment in the series would be. He was always wonderful. David Burke was Watson to Brett's Holmes first. He was a jovial Watson but smart as a tack unlike earlier versions. I found Hardwick to be most authentic to the role. Kind, astute, quick to err on the side of human goodness and the best friend that Holmes could ever have asked for. He cared for Holmes in his illnesses, self induced & otherwise, and tended his soul's passage in this life with reproachful tenderness. His disappointment in Holmes' habits came through but did not prevent his continued friendship.

Hardwick's Watson was not mirthless by any means. I think of all characters in literature brought to cinema that his was the most realistically human of all of them. I can think of no one more genuine.

It will be hard to watch the shows knowing both Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwick are gone.

Fantasy

Mid 40s near the 45th parallel and a brilliant sun have convinced my body it is Spring again. I know it is not. It is a scant three weeks until Christmas. The 6 inches of snow we got has been gone for weeks. There is more to come. That brilliant sun has a cold eye, a bluish white acetylene light. It does not warm merely illuminates. The trees are bare. Everything seems to be holding its breath waiting. Winter is coming. And when it comes it will roar through our region like a demon loosed from Hell. I know this. But it still feels like Spring.

My mind is concieving great watercolors and applications for a fantasy landscape that can not quickly come to fruition. Turrets and vardos, capitals and vaults... these are the sugar plum visions dancing in my head. To bring it all together... that will be the tricky part. Snowglobes and Gingerbread Houses for the season.... so many ways to build in the world in which I play. And just like everything else.... not enough hours to do so.

I think what I am building is the set of a story I wrote and only vaguely remember from when I was 12. I wrote it in red ink. It took me days to write the few dozen pages. And the Fisher Price castle provided the central location. But the story went beyond the walls of the toy set. I had to imagine the countryside on which it sat. And then, like in this game world, go beyond what is apparent. I can not wait to see how this all works together.