When I was growing up, my family entertained our collective selves by watching television each evening. That’s how everyone entertained themselves because, I don’t want to shock you but, there was no such thing as the internet. No websites, no facebook, no pinterest, no blogs. Not only that, but there were no smartphones, nothing called “apps,” no handheld video games, and not a single e-reader. Heck, we didn’t even have VCRs or cable until late in my adolescence.
Therefore, I can discuss and sing the theme song to every popular TV show that ran between about 1972 and 1983, when I went off to college. But I know almost nothing about any show that arrived on the scene after that. That’s okay, because I’m sure most of them stink, even though there are 600 channels of programming now.
As it happens, though, my younger child likes to watch TV with her parental units and of course I am delighted to do that. Every minute of happy time with a 14-year-old must be cherished.
It works like this: we pick an old show that is available on Netflix and we watch every single episode ever made, one per night on any night we have an hour to spare. Most recently we watched Rosemary and Thyme, a charming and silly British show about two fiftyish-year-old women who travel around Europe repairing the gardens of fabulous estates and solving the murders that happen at *every single job they do.* Why those ladies never got arrested is the real mystery here.
Since Little Bit enjoyed that one, we have now embarked upon Murder She Wrote. That’s going to take a while because the show ran for twelve freaking years. We may intersperse MSW with episodes of Columbo for a little variety. We haven’t started it yet but I explained that Columbo is the story-reading grandfather from Princess Bride.
And, since Little Bit’s parentals are now separate units, she watches different shows with her dad. Last I heard they were plowing through the Dick Van Dyke Show, presumably to be followed by Mary Tyler Moore.
If any of you don’t recognize these names due to the recency of your birth, you need not inform me of that fact.