Ramblings of a TV Addict From Another Age

What was once water cooler talk has now moved to the Chat platform. So once again, things change but remain the same.

public domain image

Sort of.

Alas, in the interest of saving a chunk of change every month, Mr. Ginley and I have forsaken cable TV and Netflix in favor of over-the-air content. As a result, most of the chatter about the latest shows sails over my head.

Have you seen...

Nope.

I suppose it's good in a way, because my productivity is up. There's no point in reading a synopsis of a show I'll never watch. 

And so, I take a pass until the conversation turns to classic TV shows or food or bad puns or some other topic at which I can excel. 

"Anybody remember the Andy Griffith Show?" That's my vibe.

One day I quipped, "I guess I'm the only one who gets excited about a new season of 'Call the Midwife.'" Cue the LOLs and laughing emojis. I am the queen of self-deprecating humor.

For the sharing of obscure references, I turn to Mr. Ginley. As we watch Match Game '77 and he asks, "who is that?" I cannot tell you with what delight I'm able to respond, "Why, that's Elaine Joyce (she was married to Neil Simon).  Or Brett Somers – she was married to Jack Klugman. Or Patti Deutsch – she was on Laugh-In. Tonight it was Joyce Bulifant, who played Marie, Murray's wife, on The Mary Tyler Moore Show (along with many other credits).

But I digress.

I realize there's so much entertainment out there, even if I was better connected, I'd still probably be watching the same stuff I watch now. 

I just wish it was without all the ads. But that's a beef for another day.

For now, I'll set my dial on ME-TV and watch M.A.S.H. for the 47th time. 

Wow, did I just say "dial"?

Do I sound like a broken record or what?

Something Sacred This Way Comes

Last Saturday morning I was on my way to have breakfast with my son when I turned on the radio and happened upon WCPN. 

They were playing a harp piece I hadn't heard before, and I got caught up in the melody. 

Soothing, with what sounded to me like Asian overtones, I was entranced. I don't know a lot about classical music, but I wanted to know more about this piece.

As it turns out, it's by Claude Debussy, and it's called Danse Sacreé et Danse Profane (The Sacred and the Profane). It was commissioned in 1904 by Pleyel, a Parisian instrument manufacturing company. They wanted to showcase a new type of harp that they hoped would revolutionize the instrument.

Alas, the new harp never did take the world by storm. It was purported to have been too heavy and lacking in resonance. It hung on until 1930, when production ceased. 

Debussy's music, however, lived on, and, as it turns out, has become a favorite among harpists. 

Given that Debussy's Clare de Lune is a favorite of mine, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that I enjoy the Sacred and the Profane so much. Both have the ability to reach down and touch something in me that I cannot explain. Like the notes are tapping away at my soul.

Aren't new discoveries – no matter how old the source – just the best?

Public domain image of the Pleyel Harp, courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

And the Ban Played On

I've watched a ton of TV in my time, and not a lot of things stick with me. But there was one scene from The Waltons that I found so moving, I never forgot it.

an oft-banned favorite of mine

John Boy published a story in the local newspaper about the Nazis and how they were burning American books. A preacher, played by John Ritter, decided it would be fitting to take a stand by burning German books. One of the locals had gathered up several German books and tossed them into the fire.

At this point, John Boy stood up and told the preacher he was wrong. That we need to know what's written in books, even when we don't like it. That burning books is wrong no matter who does it. 

Then John Boy reached down, picked up a book that was headed for the flames, and gasped. 

"It's too bad no one here can speak German," he said quietly. One woman walked over. John Boy handed her the book and asked her to read a passage from it. She began reading in German. Then he asked her to say it in English. 

She reads "In the beginning God created heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God spoke, 'Let there be light.'"

I was reminded of this scene when Mr. Ginley and I were discussing an article in the paper about parents banning books in school. There is a frightening increase of books being removed from learning institutions because parents are threatened by what they say. One book was banned because it had a rainbow on the back cover, and one family out of the whole school was sure the book was about gay folks. (Spoiler alert, it wasn't.)

In the case of book banning/burning, ignorance is most certainly not bliss. 

How about this. Instead of trying to "protect" our children from thoughts we disagree with, how about we have a discussion with them. If a book like Huckleberry Finn has what modern-day folks view as racist stereotypes, let's talk about what life was like then and why it wasn't perceived as prejudiced at the time – but how we know better now. Let's discuss history in context. 

And let's talk about people who aren't exactly like us. Different skin colors, different faiths, different sexual orientation, different traditions. Let's explain that the world would be a lousy, boring place if everyone looked and felt the same. That everyone isn't going to agree with us or have the same upbringing as we had. That people love whom they love and it's all good. 

Mankind has a history of burning or banning reading materials they believed to be seditious, usually because it was in their best interest not to let people think for themselves. It was easier for them to push their own agenda if the masses had access to just one viewpoint.

And...we're back to the Nazis again. Of course, they didn't invent suppression of knowledge and propaganda, they just perfected it. And they weren't the first to do so. In fact, in the 4th Century when Constantine was setting up the Christian church, he whittled down the books of the Bible to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. The rest, he seized and burned. 

So, here we are today. Fussing over whether Little Johnny should be reading a book about people who are different. 

And longing for a return to Dick and Jane and Spot. When Dick could be an astronaut or fireman or anything he wanted, but Jane was destined to be a housewife or a nurse or a teacher. Until she got herself a husband and got knocked up with her first kid.

Yep, them was the good old days.

Up by the Bootstraps

Working from home has been a wonderful thing, but it's also beginning to feel like an excuse to let myself go. 

For example, I think I'm becoming agoraphobic. The thought of driving anywhere ties my stomach in knots. I really have to push myself to get in the car and go. Yes, I may tell myself it's because the gas prices are so outrageous, but I think we all recognize this as an excuse. 

Then there is the whole eating thing. I was doing really well for a couple of years, but over the past several months, I've rediscovered the medicating properties of ice cream, chocolate and Ruffles. 

Using the weather as an excuse no longer flies. Spring has sprung, as they say, vegetation is budding and the birds are getting it on. So I can't really say the weather is bringing me down. And COVID seems to be receding for the time being.

In fact, I can't really point to anything in particular that's causing my ennui. Yes, I could blame it on world events, but then, there are always going to be world events that make my heart hurt.

So why has Eeyore become my spirit animal?

Well, enough of this, I've decided. It's time to stop using food to medicate myself, head back to the office at least a few times a week and rediscover some passion for things that have fallen by the wayside.

A jigsaw puzzle. A little bird watching in the park. Shopping at a vintage store. 

Or taking on an idiom. Like, where did the phrase, "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps" come from?

Sounds like a blog topic for another day.

Coming to Our Census

While some people were celebrating April Fool's Day last Friday, on Mr. Ginley's calendar, April 1st marked the arrival of the 1950 Census.

Every 10 years, the government releases the information that was taken during the U.S. Census 72 years prior. Mr. Ginley, being the genealogical wiz that he is, dug right in and found both his family's records and mine.

I lucked out because there were bonus questions for randomly selected citizens, and my grandparents each had them. Consequently, I learned my dad's mother attended four years of college and one year of nursing school. Her profession was listed as "registered nurse," although she wasn't working at the time. My grandfather was a pharmacist. The ages were messed up, but the rest of the information was accurate.

It was also pretty cool that my parents were living with them at the time, and my oldest brother had arrived, so he was part of the Census, too.

And their neighbors were from "Persian." Kinda exotic.

On my maternal grandparents' side, my grandfather owned his own company and was doing pretty well for himself. Two of their children were still living with them at the time.

A lot of folks don't get too excited about the Census, but I think it's pretty fascinating. I think about my young parents, their whole lives ahead of them. And of my grandparents, who didn't know the heartbreak that was to come. I would never know my father's dad. Just one year after this Census, he had a heart attack and died. My grandmother would move back to their hometown to be close to her daughters.

As to my maternal grandparents, they would do well for another 15 years or so, until my grandfather suffered a stroke that would rob him of his sweet personality. 

It's probably best if we don't know what lies ahead.

And just live the hell out of every single day.