The Junkyard-1

Well, it had to happen.  We will soon be able to view a new reality series entitled  'Celebrity Nightmares'. I can't wait.  Does this mean that if I dream of driving off a cliff and Julia Roberts dreams of driving off a cliff, the meanings will be different because of the celebrity experience?  Or, perhaps I will watch and discover that my dream as shared by a celebrity is actually a prophetic vision of the future.  I have to admit that I am not a reality show fan.  I have managed to avoid every single one of them without feeling any loss  whatsoever.  I don't care who can survive in the Amazon jungle on raw snake meat, I don't care who can find a marriage partner or why they did it and I have to confess that I don't even recognize half of the 'celebrities' pictured in my latest People magazine because they all appear to be famous on a reality show.  I do know who Kate Gosselin is but you would have to be deaf, dumb and blind to not know who she is.   I am not sure if my lack of interest makes me an insensitive clod, a hopelessly unhip viewer or just someone who is watching cable instead.  I do know I will never feel inadequate after watching someone on this type of show obtain some unreachable goal and maybe that is why I don't watch.  I like my reality just the way it is,

A Window in Time

            My favorite place as a child was the large oak tree that engulfed most of my piano teachers front yard.  Mrs. Hastings, my teacher lived on the next block in a white one story house very much like my own and her tree was the perfect place to hide away and daydream during the hot summer days passed in a time before air conditioning.  This tree stood taller than the house and seemed enormous to my eight year old self.  Even the lowest branches were thick enough to climb and it was easy for me to climb high into the tree by placing my bare feet one after the other, limb to limb until I reached my favorite perch within the tree.  There was an intersection of limbs that formed a large cradle with more than enough room for me to sit or even lie down and gaze up through the foliage at the sky.  When I remember my tree place, I remember the smell of the leaves, like thyme mixed with wet dirt and drying in the sun.  I remember the feel of the bark, so old that it was worn smooth by countless rain showers and scraped clean by winters ice and snow.  I remember the birds that nested and sometimes fought over the nesting places in the tree and I remember the large Monarch butterflies that could be seen, nibbling on a leaf, their wings never still.   

            My tree place was magical to me.  I could easily hide unseen for hours.  I could lay back and watch the clouds forming above me and play that ancient game where I would try and identify the shape of a cloud.  On the hottest day I was cool in my tree, shaded by the layers of green above me.  If I got caught out in the rain, I could climb into a dry place in my tree where the leaves were so thick the rain did not fall on me. 

I sometimes brought gifts to my tree, an apple or large walnut and I would place these in a knothole on the side of the tree.  I sometimes brought a book with me and lay reading in my tree while the constant Kansas wind made the leaves sing and sigh like some botanical radio.  The light had a special tinge in my tree; soft and diffuse so that when I curled up and let my gaze wonder, it was easy to believe myself in some exotic place instead of in a plain old oak tree in the front yard of my piano teacher.

            Back in those long ago days I used to sneak up my tree and dread the day that my mother or my piano teacher found me out.  Tree climbing was, after all, considered dangerous and definitely not for girls.  Now I think they always knew and looked the other way, trusting my eight year old hands and feet to carry me safely up and down the tree.  And they did.  Every time.

Better Late than Never or Maybe Not

Now that I am alone, widowed for those who ask; I find myself relying on my computer for entertainment to a new degree.  I have joined Netfilx and Hulu and am now introducing myself to missed T.V. series and movies.  My topic tonight is the 2007 series Journeyman.  Now I know from my research that I may be the last person on the planet to discover this show.  Since I am a life long Sci Fi  fan, this is somewhat embarrassing.  Journeyman was only on for one season and I do not remember seeing even one review at the time.  At the time, everything was Heroes, which I was watching, sadly as season two was nothing like season one.  So now, in 2011 I find myself mourning the end of an excellent series that offered great writing and spot on acting and mourning too late by three years.  I am used to seeing good T.V. die unrewarded, we all are.  The Wire, Men of a Certain Age,  My So called Life, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, this last is probably the longest running comment on teen culture ever written.  I watched all those.  I was sorry to see them go but Journeyman was a complete surprise.  I was just looking to maybe re watch some Quantum Leap and thanks to Hulu's'automatic suggestions (If you liked X, you will love Z), I found this show.   I could probably go on about this for another 200 word's but I have to sign off.  Time to watch a Pretender episode.