From Generation to Generation


I’ve never been a huge TV fan.  Sure, I watched plenty of sports with my boys I’ve never been a huge TV fan.  Sure, I watched plenty of sports with my boys when they were growing up.  Peter and I never missed Upstairs/Downstairs on PBS’ Masterpiece Theatre in the 70’s, and I still watch figure skating at the Winter Olympics every four years.  Like the rest of the world, I watched Seinfield,  and when I stayed up late enough, Saturday Night Live.

But compared to most folks, I’m pretty much a non-watcher.  I always seem to have something else I’d rather do.

That was until, on the strong recommendation of our son Seth, we added the first season of Lost to our Netflix list.  (Watching movies on our TV screen does not count as watching TV, by the way.)  For some reason. that opening episode with the plane crash got me completely hooked.  Hooked on a completely impossible story line that gets less believable with each episode.  It’s masterfully produced so that each episode leaves one in complete suspense, and I've been known to give in and watch more than one in an evening.

It turns out that some of my work colleagues are also fans, and one offered to lend me all of Season 1.  And now, I am a complete slave to my TV.  My good-natured husband makes fun of the unreal events that unfold, but I notice he always manages to join me, and I don’t think it’s just because of the peanut M&M’s that have become part of our ritual.

Of course, we raced through Season 1, and the same friend, anticipating our need brought us Season 2 without being asked.  She and her family are now watching Season 3, and they will probably catch up in time for the Season 4 debut three days from now.

Alas, we will remain in catch-up mode.  Can’t reach us?  We’re lost in Lost.


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