My first recollection of its existence was my infatuation with Wunda Wunda; a lady clown puppeteer who made my mom grit her false teeth and blow air between them. I don't think my mom approved of Wundas clingy tights and her silly skits; and moms teeth had been poorly designed.
One of the puppets always left me unsettled. It invariable got into trouble. Then, whimpering in a sad nasal voice, it would ask Wunda Wunda for help.
I outgrew the puppets when I became a big girl and attended school. After which, my sister and I would rush home to watch The Mickey Mouse Club. We each filled a widowed thermos top with dried oatmeal, powdered and brown sugar, and maybe some raisins. Then, while eating our own strange recipe for granola (before we even knew granola existed) we would sit on the floor and become Mousketeers.
"Annette, Bobby, Karen.....Pamela!"
At suppertime, Dad required one of us to run and flip the television on switch -- to give this new technological wonder an opportunity to warm up. Nightly he watched The Huntley-Brinkley report. My favorite part was "Good Night David. Good Night Chet."
The Lawrence Welk Show on Saturday night meant for some special moments with my mama. She sat quietly in her old rocker while I looked for errant hairs growing on her face and pulled them out with her tweezers. Then, for an encore, I shuffled through her small collection of Avon samples and painted her face.
My oldest brother waited until someone called out that "The Lennon Sisters are next." He set aside his book and leaned casually in the doorway during the performance. He made little whistling sounds and remarks about Peggy's feminine wiles that caused me to make a very careful study of her persona.
Television has changed dramatically, except for one thing. You can still watch Lawrence Welk on Saturday night. Those Lennon girls haven't changed a bit.
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Jan, Life According to Jan and Jer, has asked us to write about our television habits for the Fun Monday project.
We have one in the family room and one in the bedroom.
The "ancient" Big Screen Television in my family room is an electronic dinosaur compared with the Big Picture LCD and plasma screens in all the show rooms. My eyes roll when I consider how much wall space is wasted on something we rarely use. Then my eyes go crossed when I even contemplate spending more money to replace the monstrosity with something less ostentatious. How could I justify that kind of expenditure on something so blatantly otiose. Except as a magnet for dust and cat hair.
The little dresser top TV in the bedroom provides background noise when we are beginning our day, or company as we hop into bed. It needs a little Pledge, too.
I admit to being swept up by Dancing With The Stars. But I'm not beholding to TV for for a dancing fix, as I can watch any of the episodes on my lovely computer.
WR and I also indulged in Desperate Housewives, The Bachelor or Bacherlortte, Deadliest Catch (which is about crabs, not bachelors... bwaa ha ha ha), an occasional NFL game, Cycling races, news, Numbers, and a few other shows. We've been known to click one of the 389 remotes it takes to control the system and watch something totally irrelevant out of the corners of our eyes.
I've threatened to throw any number of remotes through the screen as well. They never work.
I think rather than TV,
I would prefer to
They grow slowly.
(WR is my Vanna White
for showing off the size and color of
Please -- let me encourage you to post about and link your television habits.
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