(Photo by Steve Davis)
But that's not what I came here to tell you about. I told you that so I can tell you this:
Dad has a new TV.
I KNOW, RIGHT? It's all making sense to you now.
Tuesday night I came home from work to this news: "Mom, Grandma and Grandpa -- well, Grandpa -- got a new giant flat screen TV!"
Whoa, Sailor, calm down.
"And he's giving his old one to US!"
Really. "Oh-h-h-h-h no," I said. "I don't want it."
"But MO-O-O-OMMMM!" they whined, "Dad wants it!"
It isn't possible to take a single photo of this TV. It must be scanned by satellite from space and the resulting several photos stitched together into a collage. Lucky for you, I have the technology:
And, for scale, here's musician and raconteur John Roderick, who is almost 8 feet tall, pretty sure:
So we've established that this is a large piece of furniture.
"Can we put it into the play room, Mom?"
"Oh-h-h-h-h no," I said. "It's a projection screen and could be broken by flying Barbies. Plus, I don't want you two holed up in there watching MORE TV, completely unsupervised. Also, we don't have a satellite hookup in the play room and I don't think we can get that thing through the narrow play room doorway." That covers it.
"But MO-O-O-OMMMM!" they whined.
Wednesday night I came home from work to this news:
"Mom, Dad says he wants Grandpa's giant TV and he's gonna put it in the office. We get satellite TV in the office, and he's gonna make a Man Cave!"
"Well, that's okay," I said, "As long as he doesn't want it in the living room. I'll talk to Dad tonight." And I peeked into our unused office -- unused because the air conditioning and heat don't reach it and it's either Antarctica cold or Sahara hot. We shove crap into the office, mostly. Also, my brother Mantel Man is storing a bunch of his large neatly-packed tubs of lead in there. And those leaden tubs were all now moved to a completely different wall, the two-ton plaid monstrosity of a couch standing on one end, and a space cleared out against the far wall for Dad's behemoth charity TV.
Great, Chas is nesting.
Thursday night I came home from work but stopped by Mom and Dad's house to deliver something before heading home. "There's a TV at your house," Mom informed me.
"I figured there would be," I said, "But how did they get it over there?"
I tried to imagine the scene. My father at age 78 is basically indestructible, and his younger brother Ken was here and available to help, and of course there's Chas . . . but still, I couldn't picture two white-haired guys and my husband with a bad back loading the world's tallest television into the back of a pickup and unloading it without at least one death occurring.
"It was really something," said Mom. "They got it into the tractor scoop and drove it over to your house!"
Really. Now that's something I'd watch on TV.
"Tell me someone had the presence of mind to get video!" I gasped.
"Oh, we should have, darn it," said Mom.
"No pictures even? Really? And you have a blogger in the family?" HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?! I wanted to scream.
So you're left with this, amigos, plus your healthy imaginations. I'm sorry I didn't get video, but it would have been grainy and far away, anyway. The TV's too big for the lens.