Smiling in the Face of Cable TV

Let me state right up front, I am NOT a crier. I’ve often wondered at my lack of emotional response in heart-tugging situations. Unlike other women—for instance, my friend Pat who I swear tears up at any mention of babies or upon hearing any Irish song (even though she’s not Irish)—it takes a lot to activate my waterworks. Put it down to my Dutch stoicism.

By all rights, I should be all smiles right now. It’s a new year, and there’s a lot to cheer. Small things, like the sunlight streaming through the windows, even though it’s cold outside; the great cup of coffee topped with whipped cream I’m sipping on; and my Christmas cactus, a memorial from my dad’s funeral 15 years ago in December, is blooming like mad in spite of my brown thumb.

The big things—really, huge things—can be checked off too. Curt and I are both gainfully employed; we and our entire family are healthy and speaking to one another; my 88-year-old mom still lives on her own quite successfully and contentedly.

So, why are these tears running down my cheeks? Not for missing Curt, who just left on another business trip, or for the girls and grandkids, with whom we’ve spent a lot of time over the holidays. No, I didn’t shed a drop at parting with anyone.

But there’s a new kid on the block this year: cable television. Last month we finally succumbed to a package deal too good to pass up and became subscribers. No longer will I be forced to stand by silently while others discuss “What Not to Wear” and “House Hunters International.” And that’s what’s bringing on the blubbering.

Cable TV has unleashed my inner teddy bear. For the life of me, I don’t recall anyone ever warning me about the potential emotional impact of watching inane reality shows. Shows like “Say Yes to the Dress,” where the bride-to-be is missing her late mother as she shops for her wedding gown; and some show on which grown adoptees search for their birth parents, and sometimes when found, the birth parents don’t wish to meet them. Then there’s the one (“Hoarders”? I’m not really sure) where the family has to confront their emotional and physical clutter due to the father’s dying of leukemia.

I’m sure that this new world of virtually unlimited programming will become old-hat. After all, one can’t watch everything on several hundred channels, so hopefully I’ll learn to pick and choose so I won’t be blindsided by emotion.

Then maybe I can get worked up over something more deserving of my tears. Like a peek at the bathroom scales, perhaps? Nah. My grandkids love me pudgy or thin, and dark chocolate makes me smile every day.

Happy new year, everyone! May you find many reasons to smile this year. If you need to, lay off the cable. But apparently everyone else already knew that.