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Dear Patrick,

Hi there from Los Angeles. I am a very avid FamilyNet viewer, and I recently saw your commercial announcing FamilyNet’s dissolve on the near horizon. I understand RFD TV will be my new network. This notification of the switch made me nervous, but I appreciated your willingness to talk with us, the viewers, about upcoming programming and various matters. It was a great commercial, and I found you likable and at peace with yourself and others.

I would like to open the line of communication about one show in particular, Mr. Belvedere. FamilyNet has been very successful in airing this classic, and I can’t imagine my life without it in my daily schedule. You see, I work from my home studio as a visual artist who often makes landscapes with dying animals in them, and I have two televisions on at all times. Watching funny, touching, and pure-of-heart sitcoms really gets the juices flowing if you know what I mean. And I think you probably do. As I type this to you, I sit before a framed 8×10 autographed glossy of Ken Osmond of Leave it to Beaver fame. You won’t catch me wearing expensive high heels or watching those nasty Sex and the City reruns. I assure you of that. I like family-oriented programming that is polite, mannered, and just plain fun!

The thing is, I get what you want from the programming at RFD TV. It makes sense to me. I’m a girl from Omaha, Nebraska and Fort Worth, Texas. I like rural events and equine highlights as much as the next cowgirl. But I also like a bit of variety in my life. And for right now, I firmly believe one episode of Mr. Belvedere a day on RFD TV would be just the ticket. The show would fit right in, but also offer a bit of a different touch. I’ve asked members of my community at a town hall meeting if they feel the same way. Because I didn’t want to ask this of you unless I thought other RFD TV viewers in my area would also appreciate a half-hour a day of Mr. Belvedere. You know what those of them who own a television set said? They said, “I LOVE MR. BELVEDERE! AND I CAN TOTALLY SEE IT WORKING WELL WITH THE PROGRAMMING PATRICK MENTIONED IN THAT COMMERCIAL!” I just smiled to myself and nodded calmly, without even looking up.

Patrick, I fear they couldn’t handle it if you took this show away from us. I know I couldn’t. I once went into a serious depression over something involving my favorite notebook paper being discontinued. I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten over that disappointment. Please do the right thing, and consider my plea. I have so much faith you will.

With great emphasis and a preliminary thank you,
Robyn O’Neil

“I think TV has the ability to move mountains. It has the ability to teach, inspire, support, and guide…all while we lay comfortably on our soft couches with a nice glass of ice water in our arthritic hands. I say with no sadness, it is the best friend I’ve ever had.” – Me.

 

 

On Oct 6, 2012, at 3:47 PM, rfd*******@aol.com wrote:
Robyn,

Thanks for your feedback.  That show will stay in the lineup.

You might think of ordering the DVD set for Mr. Belvedere, or get a DVR so you can record the series for the future.

Patrick

 

 

Dear Patrick,

Oh, what wonderful news this is. What a wonderful WORLD this is. We all appreciate you keeping Mr. Belvedere on the air. And your tip about the future of DVDs will certainly come in handy in the near future.

Your version of shine is a searchlight,
Robyn

“Sometimes, in life, people really listen. Sometimes, we all win. Heads up, people. Heads up to the stars. Congratulations.” – Me.

Mornings, my eyes felt stuffed with cotton or gems in order. You were building within me a certain melancholy, a crystalline quality to the structure, triangled. I held it between the ribs, close to organs, that sharp point.

I had seen you out on the town with others, their lips were thin water. It made my flesh feel lace-like, moth-ridden, wind breezing through me, a dead building with windows shot out. Everywhere I walked, glass fell from me, left glistening trail. Deer followed the shards. I could feel their eyes on the house.

“Run,” I kept whispering through the window. “He’ll get you.”

I had the heart of an old boar, the liver of an ox. I had the lungs of a peacock. Every breath was feathered. Your stitch work was raw, crooked.

“I’m in the basement,” your letters said. I stacked them beside me. “Come to me, please. It is so lonely here.”

My hands stayed silent, dead birds. You were always down there, in another era, hammering away at the old organs. I hated that about you. The ground down there was littered with fur. The scent of old blood was even in the oven, our appliances lousy with dead cells. Outside, the deer stayed close.

“This is idiocy,” I hissed to the deer. “Run, run.”

“We should take a vacation,” your letters said. I knew what that meant. I couldn’t hold any more organs, couldn’t take another transplant. I was evaporating. Soon, I would be air or a fog or a ghost.

“You’re the only one I know how to love,” your letters said. Your letters were scrawled on old skin, disgusting to hold. Everything smelled ancient, even your beard when it was on me.

The thin lips were whispering every night, a chorus. I felt sure the women were below me, down there with you.

“I could never do with anyone else what I do with you,” the skin said. Outside, the deer began to paw the dirt, urinate it to mud. The tension mounted that way.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever truly cared for.”

This was a lie, I could feel it. I could feel the thin lips in the basement, in the cement of the house, the foundation filled with them. I could feel the blood vibrating up through the floorboards. They screamed when you stitched them up. I went more lace-like, body down to the floor. Outside, the heat of the deer pressed against the windowpanes. I pressed my face against the floorboards, jealousy hot and evil.

“That was our thing,” I whispered, down to you, down into the smell of blood.