Reflections of our past
Probably nothing more than a coincidence, but now that I’ve retired my alarm clock, the dog has figured out where I sleep. Lie around past 8 a.m., and he jumps on me. Forget snooze control; he waits, until I follow him to the kibble corner. Should I believe he actually understands the idea of “same time, tomorrow”, or is his sense of feeding time that exact?
After a quick chat with my cousin, the urge to compare snowfall betwwen here and there got the better of me. Simple digipic comparison wasn’t enough; I found that there are databases of snowfall, online. In case the real banks ever melt away. Right now, we’re heading towards two metres of piled precipitation; not a record, but aggravating, just the same.
Spent another afternoon sampling the joys of TV programming from my childhood. Not the cartoon stuff; prime time material. “Sea Hunt”. “The Real McCoys”. “Have Gun Will Travel”. “Lassie”. It won’t require much detective work to figure out my prime time. The ’50s had a lot to offer. Fast cars. Fast boats. Fast helicopters (Whirlybirds). Most of all, fast horses. Five decades had failed to erase the American fascination with the wild west, and the Top List from tv.com shows that I was born into the era of nostalgia for saddles.
I wonder if the generation that follows will return to the Star Trek/Star Wars vision of a better world? Or will their reflection of the prime time in their lives be filled with revisiting a CSI existence?
