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Lately I’ve been turning the TV on for a short time during the day to see what’s on Ellen Degeneres (who makes me laugh and/or get up and dance) or Oprah (winding down her 25-year talk show so may have some good ones – unfortunately there are still too many commercials throughout, so I rarely watch a whole show) or All My Children (also going off the air, so may for a change fairly feature some longtime characters, favourites of mine from the days when I’d sit down and watch the show in the afternoons while nursing Emil — twenty-some years ago).
Today I flipped through the channels while eating breakfast— whole wheat toast with leftover egg salad — and when I’d find a title that seemed interesting, I’d click on it and find only a commercial. I’d sigh, and go back to the guide, where I start at channel 300 and work my way down the screen, up in numbers to the 600s. There I found A Child’s Garden of Poetry, which captivated me from the first moment. I cranked up the volume to cover the noise of the dehumidifier in the kitchen and of Everett clanging dishes around on the countertop, and watched, and listened — moved, and spoken to.
And I had some “profound revelations” at the same time. But then, that’s no surprise. Poetry will do that to you.
Look for the half-hour documentary on HBO. For more: click here.
