Supernatural: Pancakes and Porn - It Can Help, Trust Me
I wanted to go on hiatus early.
I wish I had followed my instinct.
You can believe that I caved to the tough love of the testosterone section.
You can believe that I was fearful for the condition of my sanitarium, and the condition of my inmates.
You can believe that I was weak willed in the face of my obsessiveness.
You can believe however you choose, however the fact remains that at the appointed time my television was on, my VCR was running, my position was firmly placed close to the screen, my heart was pounding and my soul was … plunged into despair.
There was no scream.
There was no whimper.
There was simply a silent tearful flow of misery.
This is not a review, nor a ramble. To be honest, I’m not sure when that will come and I can only beg indulgence and time. It’s going to take me a while.
There are emotions to run through, thoughts to process, images to dispel, and hope to find.
This show, this episode, this, ladies and gentlemen, is the testament to the reason why television writers are so incredibly invaluable at their craft, and so incredibly necessary to script a program so crafted with depth, with love, with humor, with dignity, with tragedy, with sorrow, and with pain.
A program with a soul.
I don’t have words to help you right now. I wish that I did. As the Keeper of the Sanitarium, I know that my inmates look for me to provide comfort. I simply don’t have any right now. The future is in the hands of those highly gifted writers, directors and actors. The future is in the hands of the master, The Kripke. We can but wait.
And trust.
He may delight in torturing his audience, yet it is his tapestry that is being woven, his vision that unfolds with each thread. The loom is still set up and the picture has yet to be completed.
The journey is not ended. The Winchesters are not done. There is more to the hero’s journey than what we have been given.
The future is not written yet.
But there is a past. And solace can come from the past when the future is bleak and hearts are troubled. Granted, The Kripke and his crew have not given us much of the Winchester past, but our imaginations can take us to the time when innocence still was a part of their lives.
When my heart is heaviest, I look towards my girlies … towards my nursery of infants and preschoolers. Children provide us those bright glimpses of hope and the quirks of their innocent nature provide us with smiles … perhaps tremulous ones, but smiles none the less.
I don’t have words for you yet, my dear inmates. I wish that I did. But I can provide a moment … a smile … a brief laugh, if you’d like. While I am not a big reader of fan fiction (unlike some of my inmates), I do enjoy an occasional WeeChester story, especially when it is written in a way that captures my feelings of The Boys when they were small. I stumbled upon this short story last weekend and now I believe the timing was incredibly apt, because I needed something to dispel the ache in my heart when I woke at 2am and remembered … even if only temporarily … and what could be better than a moments sojourn to a time when 7yr old Dean and 3yr old Sam discover porn, Julia Childs, and the art of making pancakes for their father. The credit for the smile goes to the author Paperbkryter and the story is titled … Behold the Power of the Pancakes.
After the pancakes, take time to reflect. Reflect on the journey so far and all that we have learned. We all know that the Winchesters are heroes.
The hero’s journey is not done … not for any of them.
We can only wait now for the hero’s return.
In the meantime, The Keeper’s Sanitarium doors stand open and welcoming. Support and comfort can be found in many rooms, in many forms - from the thoughtful lectures, the insightful discussions and the silly playfulness.
The only one left out is the one that doesn’t come in.
Take heart dear ones … and believe.
I wish I had followed my instinct.
You can believe that I caved to the tough love of the testosterone section.
You can believe that I was fearful for the condition of my sanitarium, and the condition of my inmates.
You can believe that I was weak willed in the face of my obsessiveness.
You can believe however you choose, however the fact remains that at the appointed time my television was on, my VCR was running, my position was firmly placed close to the screen, my heart was pounding and my soul was … plunged into despair.
There was no scream.
There was no whimper.
There was simply a silent tearful flow of misery.
This is not a review, nor a ramble. To be honest, I’m not sure when that will come and I can only beg indulgence and time. It’s going to take me a while.
There are emotions to run through, thoughts to process, images to dispel, and hope to find.
This show, this episode, this, ladies and gentlemen, is the testament to the reason why television writers are so incredibly invaluable at their craft, and so incredibly necessary to script a program so crafted with depth, with love, with humor, with dignity, with tragedy, with sorrow, and with pain.
A program with a soul.
I don’t have words to help you right now. I wish that I did. As the Keeper of the Sanitarium, I know that my inmates look for me to provide comfort. I simply don’t have any right now. The future is in the hands of those highly gifted writers, directors and actors. The future is in the hands of the master, The Kripke. We can but wait.
And trust.
He may delight in torturing his audience, yet it is his tapestry that is being woven, his vision that unfolds with each thread. The loom is still set up and the picture has yet to be completed.
The journey is not ended. The Winchesters are not done. There is more to the hero’s journey than what we have been given.
The future is not written yet.
But there is a past. And solace can come from the past when the future is bleak and hearts are troubled. Granted, The Kripke and his crew have not given us much of the Winchester past, but our imaginations can take us to the time when innocence still was a part of their lives.
When my heart is heaviest, I look towards my girlies … towards my nursery of infants and preschoolers. Children provide us those bright glimpses of hope and the quirks of their innocent nature provide us with smiles … perhaps tremulous ones, but smiles none the less.
I don’t have words for you yet, my dear inmates. I wish that I did. But I can provide a moment … a smile … a brief laugh, if you’d like. While I am not a big reader of fan fiction (unlike some of my inmates), I do enjoy an occasional WeeChester story, especially when it is written in a way that captures my feelings of The Boys when they were small. I stumbled upon this short story last weekend and now I believe the timing was incredibly apt, because I needed something to dispel the ache in my heart when I woke at 2am and remembered … even if only temporarily … and what could be better than a moments sojourn to a time when 7yr old Dean and 3yr old Sam discover porn, Julia Childs, and the art of making pancakes for their father. The credit for the smile goes to the author Paperbkryter and the story is titled … Behold the Power of the Pancakes.
After the pancakes, take time to reflect. Reflect on the journey so far and all that we have learned. We all know that the Winchesters are heroes.
The hero’s journey is not done … not for any of them.
We can only wait now for the hero’s return.
In the meantime, The Keeper’s Sanitarium doors stand open and welcoming. Support and comfort can be found in many rooms, in many forms - from the thoughtful lectures, the insightful discussions and the silly playfulness.
The only one left out is the one that doesn’t come in.
Take heart dear ones … and believe.