Yesterday, Jim and our son-in-law, Roger, were setting up my new Samsung smart TV, which made me recall the long-ago days when all you had to do was turn on a TV, and you were good to go. If nothing of interest was available, you turned the little “tube” off and went for a walk, planted peas or carrots, wrote a letter, took a snapshot with a Brownie or Polaroid, pulled out a craft project (remember macrame? paint by numbers?) or called a friend.

When I was reflecting on this and watching Jim and Roger consider the functions of various cables that had lurked behind the old Sony (which could no longer handle the more powerful signals coming from Comcast) a tiny black-and-white snapshot taken of Kathy, Mary Ruth and me fell from a nook somewhere. It dropped like a solitary leaf drifting to the ground. I lifted it from the carpet and smiled. I was three years old when it was taken, the age my granddaughter, Ava, is right now.

I took a photo of the snapshot with my iPhone so I could share it here. Kathy’s on the left; I’m in the middle; Mary Ruth is on the right. With us, it was shenanigans 24/7, and whenever I speak about those early days, a time when we sisters and television were all new, I always say “we.” I was part of a tiny triumvirate and had no concept of “I.”

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