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Show ::::Kfe7: MaDiinimitainim ,iCrli Sl(IDIinS Xjy by IVan Chain! Batten down the hatches, gather 'round the radio Ah, yes. Collars up, both hands on the wheel. Winter has arrived. And it seems all too familiar, driving gingerly through an oncoming blizzard while squinting and trying to decide whether visibility is worse with or without the brights. But once home with the fire going in the stove and the dogs curled contentedly under the table, I watched the glitter of passing snowflakes past the porch light and it felt just s right. I fell asleep to the sound of a snowplow I moving slowly down the highway, i The next morning the sun rose on a familiar t scene. The barn was covered with snow, the 3 unraked leaves in the yard were finally hidden from sight and there were plumes of I smoke from the chimneys up and down the a road. In the distance I could hear an overexcited skier let out a yip of glee. The onset of winter, however, has rekindled an old dilemma in our household. With the prospect of numerous homebound evenings there is talk once again about buying a TV. Actually, the decision has been made. I have promised to shop around for a modest black-and-white set with rabbit ears or whatever paraphernalia is required to guarantee adequate reception. Every Sunday I read the ads in the Sunday paper. I've even made a few phone calls to see what's in stock. But I can't bring myself to do it. We have lived very peacefully for approximately three years without sitcoms, Wide World of Sports, made-for-tv melodramas, melodra-mas, and Real People. And although I will admit that we have probably missed a few excellent productions, in the long run I haven't missed the repetitive jingles for antacids, headache remedies, diet sodas, floor waxes, etc. Nor have I missed the canned laughter, trite jokes and predictable plots. The truth is I'm concerned about what a TV might do to us. Once last winter, a neighbor loaned us her TV just to get away from it. "Please take it," she said. Three days later, I knew what she meant. My self-discipline self-discipline had crumbled, and my resolution to be selective had dissolved. I watched soap operas and police serials indiscriminately. I raged at the stupid dialog, the sexist jokes, the reruns and the interruptions for advertisements, but I didn't unplug it. I know my weaknesses. Instead, I would prefer to continue fighting cabin fever my own way. I'm not ashamed to admit that I spend most Saturday nights huddled around the radio listening to KUER's Prairie Home Companion. Garrison Gar-rison Keillor's dry wit and homespun tales of life along the shores of Lake Woebegone are infinitely more relaxing than fighting the vertical hold knob in order to see whether the L.A.P.D. gets their man. Sure it gets boring sometimes. But that's when the fun usually starts. If I had a TV you would have a hard time dragging me outside for a snowball fight or a moonlight ski tour. However, given no other choices by January I'm game for anything. So I guess the TV dilemma will continue another week, although with cable and HBO it sure is tempting. |