I do it, I wait and wait to write important works, to create a masterpiece, continually delaying any creation by determining that each word is not some stunning gem. Waking up this morning, a bit later than my usual work-day rise, I got out of the bed, strolled about our home, made a cup of coffee and (I gasp as I type this) turned the television on. That is a thing that I generally avoid doing. Television, TV, has become a very different business, service, animal, comfort, entity, ok, monster in my lifetime. I was recently visiting my mom and we watched the TV pretty much all of the time that we were at home. That is very different from my childhood. My sister and I were allowed a few hours a week in front of the box. We hungered for it. We turned on the cool stuff on Saturday morning, cartoons, American Bandstand, Soul Train, and we watched Elvira’s campy showing of horror films whenever we could. The news was on at 5 and 10pm; and that is all. At dinner the set was turned off. Hungered for it, there’s an answer to a thing that becomes a puzzle to me; the fondness, and desire for programming that may be funny, sad, smart or stupid. The shows on television reveal and reflect us, and we are a fascinating and crazy species. So, I turned on the television this first day of a new year, and avoided writing anything. Aha! There’s a whack in my head (a fine metaphor, luckily, as if anything real comes near, hits, my head I become a serious fury). I watched the History Channel’s line of programming, a load of repetitive theoretical mish-mash concerning the mysteries of pre-history happenings, dinosaurs, UFO’s, extraterrestrials, Jesus and the Holy Grail. There are apparently many underground cities on this planet, plus the Holy Grail is located in Scotland, as was proven by that book that became a movie starring Tom Hanks…um, yes, that book by, um…nope can’t remember and no, I don’t need the answer! (would place a smiley face here but this is no text message so smile at yourself if you desire) Oh, I remember, Dan Brown wrote the thing that DaVinci might have wondered about if he had been brought back to life by an extraterrestrial Jesus, by getting smacked in the head by the guy who apparently held a cup that we now call the Holy Grail. Whew. Important works, indeed, DaVinci did many, as did everyone else mentioned here. Visiting my mom this Christmas was a wonderful gift for me, given to me. Though we watched the box, which I can’t even call a simple box anymore because it resembles a flat darkened window, we talked, drowning out many a mindless show and loved every minute of the true company; Mom and I. Now I have turned off my darkened window, sat down and wrote this, and I’m looking at the garden through the simple frame of glass to my left. That is important.