I grew up in Small Town, America in the ‘50s and ‘60s. It was very much the Leave it to Beaver upbringing most of us Boomers experienced. We didn’t have a TV till I was well into grade school. It was mesmerizing. I remember staring at the black and white screen with the snow and the squiggly lines and wondering, “What magic is this???” Mr. Cartoon and Captain Kangaroo and Father Knows Best. I Love Lucy and What’s My Line? and Donna Reed. They soon gave way to American Bandstand and Laugh In and Saturday Night Live.

The television became the centerpiece of modern living. Father with his newspaper and pipe, Mother with her mending basket. The children, sprawled out on the living room floor with a dog, maybe. All watching Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour or Sing Along With Mitch. Lawrence Welk or The Ed Sullivan Show. All after homework and baths were done, of course.

We watched the news with Chet Huntley, David Brinkley, John Cameron Swayze, Edward R. Murrow, John Chancellor, and everybody’s dad…Walter Cronkite. That was when the news was THE NEWS. No spin, just facts. Somewhere along the way, the regulations that governed news programming to be truthful were done away with and our sense of honor was whittled away with it…piece by piece.

But, I digress.

The center of the modern home was a box that started to tell you what you believed in, what you should buy, what you should eat, how you should live. What kind of house, makeup, car, books, movies, vacations….everything you NEEDED…carefully orchestrated and directed by Madison Avenue advertising. It is remarkable how much of it you don’t even realize till you unplug yourself from the tentacles reaching through the screen and into your hearts, your minds, and your wallets. 

I didn’t have TV for the five years between my divorce and meeting Mr. Virgo. I didn’t miss it one bit. My life was full and active and fun. For the six-and-a-half years I had Mr. Virgo, the TV became the center of the universe again. I hated it. Except for musical competition shows and historical documentaries, I couldn’t stand it. But, we do things for love, don’t we? I sat alongside my husband, watching the shows. Watching the shows. Not fiddling on my phone or doing cross stitch or filling in the family tree. Watching the shows, so we could discuss the shows during the commercials. Did I say I hated TV? Oy.

Then, he was gone. And the TV was soon gone, as well. The quiet was jarring after the years of daily cacophony streaming out of the expensive sound system we had to have to make the Civil War scenes come to life in our living room. I didn’t miss the TV. I missed the man. 

Five years passed with no TV. Then I married Mr. FixIt. Ever so slowly, TV crept back into my life…it’s insidious lure tearing at my resolve. I will say, it’s easier to stay away from the TV in the summer. There’s just too much to do outside to sit and watch mindless television. But it more difficult in the winter. If I’m going to sit and knit in the family room, Mr. FixIt is going to have the TV going. I will admit, I like the silly game shows like America Says and Family Feud. I really enjoy Andy Griffith reruns. And who doesn’t laugh at the crazy antics of Niles and Frazier Crane? 

We watch the news at noon and again during the dinner hour. Then we catch two episodes of Big Bang Theory and I’m done. I gather my phone, kiss my sweetheart on the top of his very cute head, and head to the back bedroom to write. We drove up to Columbus yesterday for my preop medical appointments today. It’s harder to get away from the television in a hotel room. This time I remembered to bring my rechargeable Bluetooth headphones and I listened to my “writing soundtrack”…an eighty minute recording of a roaring fire with rain and thunder in the background. He can watch anything his little heart desires and I’m off on some mountain in the woods, happy as a little clam.

My sweetheart has a major birthday next week. When we were discussing the number the other day, we both marveled that we’ve actually lived this long. His parent’s died young…from the fallout of the ‘50s. Smoking. We both are kind of amazed we’re still here. And pretty darned happy about it, I must say. We still won’t go into a restaurant and eat a meal. We haven’t done that in two whole years. So, we’re going to order a lovely meal and enjoy it at the hotel tonight. It ought to taste pretty darned good after a long day at the hospital.

I’m almost finished with the third pair of socks and can start the sweater. I brought the yarn for that project so I can work on it if I finish the last sock. Seven more sleeps and I can get the surgery behind me!

❄️?❄️

“But you must not forget this one thing, dear friends: A day is like a thousand years to the Lord, and a thousand years is like a day.”

2 Peter 3:8 NLT