Saturday Morning TV
TV was once a treasure trove of wonderment. At least for me when I was a kid. TV guides gave minimal information. They were pulled from the newspaper on
Saturdays or bought at the grocery store.
Often times there was no guide.
I was left to figure my watching pleasure based on experience…
remembering what came on when… and on what channel. Or you’d just click the dial hoping for
something great.
There was no onscreen TV guide, giving details of shows and a
synopsis of that particular episode.
There wasn’t even a remote control.
Dial patrolling was actually done there standing next to the TV.
Saturdays were the key time for an eight year old. I’d be up before the sun, excited for the
Saturday morning cartoons. There were no
cartoons for the rest of the week. Bugs
Bunny and all the kids shows of the late 1970s and early 1980s only came on
each Saturday.
So I’d climb out of bed with the excitement of a Christmas morning,
and pitter patter across the hall to my parent’s room. At such an early hour as this, the basement
TV was a forbidden world. Not that my
parents forbad me from turning that TV on so early. They’d surely prefer me to be down there as
opposed to in their bedroom with the little yellow black and white TV.
No, the forbidden aspect of the basement was on account of my
fears. I was convinced… and still feel
there was something to it… that our basement was haunted.
It’s funny the things that are a part of the day to day life of a
child. Where parents are making sure the
house is properly maintained, that the family is all getting along and living
in harmony under one roof. There are
members of that family… namely me… who are completely convinced that at an
unknown hour each night, ghosts, monsters and spirits come out and mill about
the basement.
Sofas, TVs, bookshelves, and a pantry of canned foods… all ordinary
basement items by day… but the scene of paranormal activity each night. Just how many ghosts creaked by a tin of
peas, I do not know… but it did happen.
So with the horrors of the basement just a stairwell away, I got my
early morning cartoon fix on the floor of my parent’s room. But time was not something I had a firm grasp
on, so I didn’t know if the shows would begin in twenty minutes or two
hours. Unable to take the chance of
missing anything, I’d sit there in front of the TV… watching snow.
Indeed, I was the girl in the Poltergeist movie. Sitting there examining the snow. Keeping the volume low so as not to annoy my
parents too much. Willing the shows to
come on. For me, it wasn’t so much that
they began at a particular time. It’s
that they’d come once willed strongly enough.
I could sense them behind the wall of snow. Almost picking them out. I figured if I stared enough. Concentrated enough. They would appear.
And then, all of a sudden, the montage of Canada and Newfoundland
scenery would appear and the Ode’ to Newfoundland and O’ Canada would start the
day.
These ‘upstairs’ shows were limited.
Shanty Town wasn’t a cartoon. It
was a kids show where people would interact with puppets and us at home. They’d have talks, sing songs, and read from
the mailbag.
I often thought we should go to Shanty Town for summer
vacation. I assumed it to be a seaside
community in Nova Scotia. Alas… we never
went.
Circle Square would also come on here in the morning black and
white. Songs and skits and discussions
of important goings on… none of which I could even hope to remember now… took
place among teenagers. These were the
coolest people I had ever seen.
Once the sun came up, and the creaks and bangs of spirits subsided
from the basement, I ventured down. It
was a relationship I trusted in. Give
the monsters the darkness of the basement and then I could return during the
light with no hassle from them.
Down here, the real TV watching could take place. Where upstairs the TV was a matter of two
stations viewed in black and white with an antennae, down here was a mass of
near twenty channels… viewed in living colour… and coming from such far off and
exotic places as Bangor, Maine.
The volume came up from parent’s room whisper mode to full fledged
talking. Commercials promised amazing
morning cereals filled with marshmallows or fruity loops that drop straight
from jungle trees into your bowl.
Sometimes the shows would be ones I had seen before. I may recognize an episode of Scooby Doo and
frown knowing that I was never really fond of this one and would have to wait
another week before I could have another shot at Scooby Dooby gold. I’d watch anyway
though… it was what Saturdays were meant for.
Sometimes I’d recognize a show and get all excited for it. To be able to rewatch one of the greatest
episodes of Road Runner was a real treat.
I remember being in awe once when an episode came on pitting Road Runner
and Speedy Gonzalez against each other in a race. For years, my friends and I had debated who
the faster of the two were. On that
special Saturday, I was about to find out.
In the end, I think Wile-e-Coyote interfered and either the race
ended in a tie, or there was enough said interference that the whole thing
proved nothing. The kid debates could go
on.
Spider-Man was another cartoon that was very much depending on the
given episode. When Mysterio was the villain,
things had to be taken seriously. This
guy was a mighty villain. It was like
watching the main event of a boxing card when he was the one pitted against
Spider-Man. His level of villainy demanded
our attention… and our respect.
It would often be at these times that my father would aim to vacuum
the basement. And I’d be beyond myself
with annoyance as the vacuum would suck in air with the force and volume of a
jumbo jet engine. Dialogue would vanish
behind that wall of vacuum sound… and even lines of static would dance across
the screen while the vacuum was running.
I would cherish those moments of on screen clarity when dad would
pause to unplug the vacuum from one outlet and move it to another on the opposite
side of the room. I would beg him to
wait until the show was over. Or at
least pause until the next round of commercials. After all, I was there first. It is dad and his vacuum that are intruding
on the monumental moment of the race of Road Runner vs. Speedy Gonzalez or the
battle to end all battles between Spider-Man and Mysterio.
And Scooby Doo just isn’t the same… if a vacuum cleaner is drowning
out Old Man Peabody’s rant… at the hands of the police… when he exclaims how he
“would have got away with it, if it weren’t for those darned kids!”
FRIDAY...
--- back to work. Fairly normal day.
SATURDAY...
--- alone at work for half the day. And not feeling real well for
part of that. Tired and almost like catching a flu. But by 2:00 or 3:00, I feel
ok again.
SUNDAY...
--- very nice out but I'm stuck at home during the day, preparing
for night shift.
--- cheat day. The Wendy's regular thing.
MONDAY...
--- first outdoor ball of the summer. We beat up a team something
like 12-1. A good start.
--- night shift is quite quiet.
TUESDAY...
--- first day off. Do a walk and get groceries. Very tired as a
didn't sleep real great after work. BBQ burgers are a nice summery supper.
WEDNESDAY...
--- another walk. Some bigger fish in the creeks around the ponds
now. Still got the inch long sticklebacks but now also seeing some 3-4 inch
trout. Pretty neat.
THURSDAY…
--- A walk and some TV through the day. Fairly slow going.
FRIDAY…
--- Nothing worse than a lousy sleep on your last day off. I take a while to nod off last night and then
wake several times through the night. Up
for good around 8:30 and with probably only 5 hours of real sleep through it
all.
--- Out with the neighbours figuring fencing. Exciting to be sure.
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