Where meaning lurks

We’ve essentially been without a telly for the last seven years. Well, that’s not precisely true. We’ve had a small television that we could watch videos on, and we did, when the moment hit. And Ed and I ransacked Netflix for episodes of Star Trek. But we’ve had no broadcast television and no cable. And we’ve been more than fine with that. It’s been a happy absence.

But now that we’ve moved, for my father (who didn’t so much ask as insist), and in the hopes of making this house a more welcoming place for my parents, we have caved and installed cable. The children don’t use it, and hopefully will not for years, but now that it’s there, I sometimes tune into the Daily Show or a TNG rerun and, for my beloved sister, I have tried to catch Dancing With the Stars.

Now, my sister Maria (not the professional dancer but a dancer nonetheless) has wanted to learn ballroom dancing for years. For YEARS. Her husband has not been so keen. Finally, she went off by herself and is learning to dance. She’s already performed at an exhibition and is loving it. She has found so much joy in this new pursuit, and while I can’t spring up to NYC as easily as I once might have to watch a rehearsal, I can support her in other ways. Like by watching Dancing with the Stars so that we can talk about it.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the program, though, beyond its value as a sister-bonding ritual. Marie Osmond! Jane Seymour! Older women, looking good and dancing their hearts out. Like Bridget Jones, I sometimes feel the need to chant Jane Seymour Jane Seymour or Helen Mirrin Helen Mirrin to myself when I fear aging. And I have loved and adored Jane Seymour ever since high school and The Scarlet Pimpernel. Jane herself seems particularly conscious of her participation in the program as potential role model for older women. I mean, she’s 56 for goodness’ sake! And she’s wonderful! Beautiful! Graceful!

I frankly love to see the routines, the effort everyone puts in, their joy in dancing. I love that they partnered the older women with such gentle, gentlemanly partners. I love that Brazilian race car driver guy and his enthusiasm. It seems such wonderful television in a televisual world that so often seems like a train wreck. Unlike most things on telly, it’s something I can imagine watching with my children.

Thing is, meaning and inspiration are everywhere. What somebody sees as trash, is another person’s trash-picking treasure. So maybe this is stupid television. But I find beauty in it, grace and hope for my future, wherein I very much hope will be many lessons, adventures and perhaps (oh yes, MizMell, me too) a tango or two.

Last year at this time, I was complaining about images of motherhood.

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