TV, the end of the honeymoon.

The other day, I was dusting off the living room furniture trying to make things presentable for company later in the day. I started on our 54" big screen TV, wiping it lovingly, admiring the massiveness of it. I don't know how we got along without it for so many years. The older I get, the more I like it. I don't need my glasses to see whose face is on the screen, like the little TV in the back bedroom.

The more I swiped at the large screen and frame the more I thought about how much time we spend watching it. We spend hours each evening in front of it. We watch it for hours on the weekends. Then I thought of something I hadn't thought of in a very long time. It was TV that signaled the end of our honeymoon. Twenty-five years ago, a TV, much smaller than this one, became more important than our long intimate conversations we once shared so eagerly before we were married. No, I quickly found out that this was my lot. Conversations were to be held briefly during commercials and should not be anything more than about topics immediately necessary, nothing deep and involved. Yes, TV has become more important in our lives than the once long, leisurely nights of snuggling, I'm afraid.

This was never more evident than during a power outage this past winter. My husband became irritable, like a trapped animal. He finally figured out that our small generator was just big enough to run one living room light and the small TV from the back bedroom. He was content once more. Sad.

I began to feel angry as I polished the giant, controlling monster, resenting the place it had taken in our lives. TV had stolen my perfect marriage, my dreams of an intimate relationship that grew stronger through the years. Now, I can only stand by mutely, while the volume is turned up louder and louder so that no conversations are possible at all, not even during commercials, which are by the way, louder than the regular programmed shows. This is an obvious plot to make them heard even if you leave the room to get something from the kitchen.

The only solace I have in it is the fact that I can occasionally watch a really good chick flick with my husband. It makes me feel like I've gained some of our lost emotional ties. He secretly enjoys them, but you'll never get him to admit it. He does, however, have to balance out the mix with plenty of history and war stuff. He doesn't make me watch it, although I sometimes do.

I guess in life, things don't always go the way we had imagined. It doesn't mean that's it's wrong, it just means we have to make a choice about how we deal with the emotional disillusionment. Do we accept it or fight against it? In my case, it was a concession I made. Did it mean he didn't love me anymore? I knew that was not true. So, I let TV take it's place in our lives, knowing we'd have time together eventually, just not like it was in the beginning.

So, I guess I can live with the thing that came into our lives and became a part of our marriage like an uninvited guest that refused to leave. Maybe I'll give it a name and dub it our long-lost second cousin twice removed. Or maybe I'll just accept TV is as addictive as drugs or alcohol. I'll admit I have no power over it and trust my life to a Higher Power. Whatever it is, it is here to stay!