MY PARKINSON’S DIARY
MY PARKINSON’S DIARY
GODFREY EXPLAINS
Friday, March 13, 2015
February, 14, 2015
Godfrey here. Came with nary a hint of calling or otherwise being needed, and on Valentine's Day, no less. Also, no quotes! No, this would be all Godfrey, all the time. The Godfrey Channel. I've got about a half hour, though, so I'd best get to it. I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here ...
... and it's not to reveal the name of a murderer, though I have been known to pull that stunt in another role (See The Thin Man, 1934). Neither is it to dispense more of my typical advice about how to remain upright, offered up in the not-quite-wise guy voice I am professed to have (though I don't hear it myself, preferring the critical consensus which take my tones to be "cultivated" or "refined"). And nor is it simply to talk and in doing so, prove that the person dispensing these entries has an ear for my voice and that I exist, despite all evidence to the contrary.
No, in the admittedly imperfect rendering of my voice offered this time around, my purpose is simply to provide a bit of background about who I am, where I came from, and why I've been assigned to look after someone whom I will refer to, somewhat endearingly, as our man.
So. First things first. Name: Godfrey, Occupation: Guardian Angel, Physical Form: William Powell circa the screwball-comedy-with-a-conscience My Man Godfrey. I have been given the task (by my Boss) of looking after one John William Hanley as he makes his way around the planet Earth, most specifically as he struggles to come to terms with the effects of Parkinson's Disease, my primary responsibility protecting our man from further harm from falls and the like. And so it is you will hear him speak of me being always at his side reminding him of The Big Three (Slow Down, Watch Where You're Going, Expect The Unexpected) + One (One Thing At A Time).
Now. As for where I came from. This would seem to be a matter of some dispute, for on one hand, our man DOES NOT believe in angels, or so he has made quite clear, and yet on the other he speaks quite tenderly and with a certain degree of awe of me, as though I must be with him always. So, all that said, I guess I must be a figment of his imagination, unless (cough cough) he actually believes me to exist. Though if, and I realize that this is only the biggest IF EVER, I were to exist, would it matter much in the end what he believed ... ?
Which brings us, finally, to why. Why have I been assigned the task of looking after our man? Well, if you've seen enough movies, you must surely know the answer to that one involves a certain amount of willful disbelief on his part, combined with a love story (I understand he has been known to refer to himself as The Luckiest Man in the USA), plus triumphs and tragedies, which all come together to equal a renewal of faith in That Which Can't Be Seen. But as I say, that is the movies, and so about that, and many other things, we shall see ...
All right. My work is done here. Thank you very much for listening, but I have other priorities now. It would seem our man is planning a big date for Valentine's Day which means I must brush up on my choreography!
“No, in the admittedly imperfect rendering of my voice offered this time around, my purpose is simply to provide a bit of background about who I am, where I came from, and why I've been assigned to look after someone whom I will refer to, somewhat endearingly, as our man.”