“Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear…”
“Here Comes the Sun” ~ The Beatles, written by George Harrison
Indeed, it has been a long, cold lonely winter and it does seem like years since it’s been clear enough to get up the driveway, much less spot these daffodil tips in the front yard this afternoon.
Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted: And All the Brilliant Minds Who Made The Mary Tyler Moore Show a Classic
by Jennifer Keishin Armstrong
Simon and Schuster
2013
298 pages
Narrated by Amy Landon
11 hours, 22 minutes
As a kid, I wasn’t allowed to watch “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”
There’s a good reason for that. When this groundbreaking sitcom premiered in 1970, I was not quite 2 years old – not exactly the target audience. But I was a stubborn enough toddler (or so I’ve heard) that, had I understood what “MTM” was all about, I bet I could have made a pretty convincing case to my parents to let me watch it.
Instead, I saw it during its resurgence on Nick at Nite in 1992, when I – as someone with my first job out of college – could appreciate it much better. (Never mind that I usually watched Mary and Rhoda while my fiance watched sports with his best friend in the other room, but that’s besides the point. I was happy, he was happy, and we’ve been married ever since. We must be doing something right.)
It helps to have some knowledge of and appreciation of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” when reading Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted, but this isn’t your usual television/celebrity retrospective. Sure, there’s a decent amount about the actors, which was interesting. But this is mostly about the women who wrote for the show and why having a team of female comedy writers was so groundbreaking in 1970.
In today’s anything-goes television environment, it’s almost quaint to remember just how revolutionary “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” was. The idea of Mary being divorced and having a career was – to put it mildly – a hard sell to network executives. The CBS execs replied with, ”American audiences won’t tolerate divorce in a series lead any more than they will tolerate Jews, people with mustaches, and people who live in New York.”
Yeah. Those were the good old days, right?
Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted explains how the writers and producers got around that (some reviews suggest that the book should be called “Jim and Treva and Allan and Susan,” for the writing and producing team that made the show happen). It also explains how having a female writing team significantly shaped the issues portrayed on the show – as well as the edgy ones on future shows produced by MTM Enterprises.
Ironically, my childhood dream was to grow up and be a screenwriter for “St. Elsewhere” – the critically-acclaimed medical drama that, like “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” also saw its share of firsts and also was produced by Grant Tinker’s company MTM Enterprises, named for his then-wife, Mary Tyler Moore.
(In high school, I entertained the crazy idea of sending Mr. Tinker an unsolicited script. I talked about this a lot. Now, after reading the story about how superfan Joe Rainone would write detailed, weekly letters to “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” cast analyzing each week’s show and how Marilyn Miller from Monroeville, PA (just outside of Pittsburgh) wrote a spec script for MTM and became a writer for “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” I kind of want to kick my own ass.)
Regardless of my lost dreams, Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted was entertaining – and the audiobook proved to be a good choice as I lived vicariously through the characters on my way to and from my real life, slightly-less-exciting-than-a-scriptwriter-but-hey!-still-a-writer! job as I listened to this on my commute to work. I enjoyed this for the inside stories and especially the focus and perspective on the writers. I was glad that they included what they – the writers and the actors – have done since “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” went off the air.
It was also so goddamn nostalgic, almost sad to a point. So many magnificent shows of television’s Golden Age of Comedy are referenced in this book as well as how the show that almost wasn’t going to be on the air wound up inspiring so many others. The end of the book gives a nod to Mary Richards’ “cultural daughters” like Tina Fey’s Liz Lemon of “30 Rock” and “power ensembles” as found in “Friends,” “Seinfeld” and “The Office.” Truly, Mary Richards’ influence and that of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” is more far-reaching than anyone probably ever imagined.
Still, although we have indeed come a long way (baby) from the days when a writer couldn’t pen an episode about a New Yorker who was divorcing someone who was Jewish with a mustache, it makes one wonder if all the hard fought gains are truly appreciated by the talent we have today. Probably by some, yes. But I think the further we get away from television’s Golden Age, and the less communal our viewing experience becomes, the fuzzier those golden days will seem.
The nest caught my eye this morning as I stepped out the door.
A much-needed sign of spring.
A blanket of protection.
Always.
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
You get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m gonna make this place your home
These are the thoughts occupying my nest this evening.
I’ve been living a book lover’s fantasy during the past two weeks.
Most of my time has been spent in bed, surrounded by my Kindle and a pile of library books.
Dare I say that if it wasn’t for the recovering-from-gallbladder-surgery part of this existence – which is what sent me to my bed in the first place – it was actually kind of nice breezing through a book every other day.
A girl could get used to this lifestyle, gallbladder woes notwithstanding.
Alas, I’m feeling much more like myself and my days of decadent reading are over as I make my way back to my regular routine. Still, this recuperation was responsible for my finishing four books.
This week I devoured TransAtlantic by Colum McCann and Glitter and Glue, by Kelly Corrigan. TransAtlantic is yet another one of those novels that makes you wonder how the hell Colum McCann does what he does. He just has a spectacular way of weaving a story together with seemingly unrelated characters (two aviators crossing the Atlantic from Newfoundland to Cork, abolitionist Frederick Douglass visiting Ireland in the midst of the potato famine, Senator George Mitchell brokering the peace talks – and the connections among them and the women in each of their lives) that is simply astounding. Once again, Colum McCann has proven why he’s one of my very favorite authors.
I spent the middle part of the week unable to put down Kelly Corrigan’s newest memoir, Glitter and Glue, which is getting a lot of buzz, and deservedly so. This is going to be one of the books I recommend to almost every single person. I absolutely loved this, for many of the same reasons I loved The Middle Place and Lift. This may be Kelly Corrigan’s best book yet.
I’m hoping to have longer reviews of both books at some point, but suffice to say that both of these, as with several of the books I read in February, get 5 stars from me and earn a place on my Best of 2014 list.
February was a great month for reading. Even without the bedrest, February tends to be one of my better reading months. I’m sure the weather has something to do with it. I read 8 books. Links take you to my reviews.
Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It, Stories by Maile Meloy
The True Secret of Writing, by Natalie Goldberg
Looking for Me, by Beth Hoffman (audio)
Frances and Bernard, by Carlene Bauer
Nest. Flight. Sky.: On love and loss, one wing at a time, by Beth Kephart
Pictures of You, by Caroline Leavitt
Transatlantic, by Colum McCann
Glitter and Glue, by Kelly Corrigan
As for today and the beginning of March, we’re watching hockey on TV (c’mon, Flyers) (yeah, I know I live in the ‘Burgh) and I’m spending this snowy (what else is new?) Sunday trying to finish up Grain Brain: The Surprising Truth About Wheat, Carbs, and Sugar – Your Brain’s Silent Killers, by David Perlmutter, MD. I’m drinking a cup of green tea that needs to be reheated and am contemplating what to make for dinner. (The snowy day calls for soup, I think.)
Earlier today, The Husband had to go out in the snow to take my car to get a new front tire; upon going out to the garage yesterday, we discovered that the tire had gone so flat it was unable to be driven. This tire had been problematic; the potholes and ice have been taking a toll, so it needed some attention.
It looks like the predicted big snowstorm of 12″+ has been downgraded and we’re getting significantly less, maybe just 4″ or so. Like everyone else I know, I’d be quite happy if that’s the end of this crap for this godforsaken winter. Enough already.
Hope your March is off to a great start!
Veggie burgers are one of our family’s most-frequently go-to meals. We like them mainly for the convenience factor and also because everyone can customize his or her own.
Since I’ve started eating gluten-free, I’ve had to forego the burger and just be content with the side dishes. Most veggie burgers have gluten or wheat in them, and even thought I knew I could make them myself, I just … didn’t. My family is also the non-experimental type; once they find something (like a burger) they enjoy, they stick with it. Forever. They’re not too interested in new alternatives.
I happened to be in Whole Foods a few weeks ago and saw that there was a new (or, at least, new to me) line of burgers out by Engine 2. I noticed that they had the Gluten-Free tag on the shelf, so I took a closer look. Of the three (I think there were three) varieties, the Tuscan Kale and White Bean Burger sounded like the one I’d most enjoy – there was no way I would be getting The Husband and kids to partake in this.
(photo from wholefoodsmarket.com)
As far as ingredients go, there’s absolutely nothing unrecognizable in this burger. You can pronounce every single item: white beans, cooked brown rice, tomato puree, rolled oats, garlic,roasted red bell peppers, flax seeds, sea salt, basil, black pepper. Plus, the nutrition facts are good enough for me, with 130 calories per burger, 0 cholesterol, 15 mg. sodium, 4 g. fiber, 40 mg. of calcium, 2 g. sugars, and 3000 IU of Vitamin A.
I made myself one of these tonight (The Husband and kids had their regular veggie burgers) along with Glutino Corn Bread Stuffing (which everyone had and liked!), and peas.
This was a really good, simple dinner. Nothing in the burger (the beans, the kale, the red pepper) was overpowering and the stuffing tasted pretty much like “regular” stuffing and was a good accompaniment to the burger.
We’ll definitely be having this again.
Note: This is a completely unsolicited, unsponsored post, as I wasn’t approached by any of the companies mentioned (Engine 2, Glutino, Whole Foods, etc.) to do a review of the products I’ve mentioned. (That being said, I’m always happy to talk.) This just represents my option as a happy customer.
Weekend Cooking is a feature hosted by Beth Fish Reads and is open to anyone who has any kind of food-related post to share: Book (novel, nonfiction) reviews, cookbook reviews, movie reviews, recipes, random thoughts, gadgets, quotations, photographs. If your post is even vaguely foodie, feel free to grab the button and link up anytime over the weekend. You do not have to post on the weekend. Please link to your specific post, not your blog’s home page. For more information, see the welcome post.
I am, according to my anesthesiologist, a Difficult Case.
Apparently, as he detailed in a one-page letter dated the same day as my gallbladder surgery (did he write this while I was still unconscious, I wonder?) I have what is known in the most simple terms as a “difficult Airway.”
(Difficult being the operative word here, as it’s used in the three paragraph letter three times.)
From what I, a recipient of dual medical degrees from the Universities of Google and the College of Mom, understand, there were issues with the breathing tube. They eventually were able to place the breathing tube, but only with the use of something called a “glidescope,” which (you gotta admit, you went there, too) sounds sort of like a particular type of grown up battery-operated toy.
I knew this, as the anesthesiologist explained all this to me and The Husband while I was in the hospital. Like most anesthesiologists I’ve met, he was a nice guy. Still, I’ve been professionally sedated before so all this was kind of surprising. Furthermore, there was the anesthesiologist’s additional recommendation:
“It is suggested that you purchase and wear a Medical Alert bracelet identifying your “difficult Airway,” he writes. “This will alert health care professionals to your special problems in the future.”
Your special problems.
One of the stories my mom loves to tell about me as a kid is how much I hated Band-Aids. I was the kind of kid who walked on the perfectionistic, goody-two-shoes side of life. The one who was her own worst critic. When you’re wired that way, eventually you stumble and fall and you get a boo-boo. And when that happened, I was pissed. I even hated the word boo-boo. The pain, that was nuthin’. I had that under control.
It was the fact that I needed a Band-Aid.
It was the fact that people could see that I was defective. That I screwed the hell up.
You know, at all of eight years old, playing outside with the neighborhood kids. We couldn’t have any of that.
If I skinned my knee and required a Band-Aid, I’d immediately retreat to the house. Where I’d stay for, you know, a few years. I became the sort of kid who preferred reading her library books and banging out stories on her orange typewriter from Sears to being outdoors (not to mention the potential social embarrassment of being the Misfit Toy on the block).
That mindset’s served me well for the past couple of decades or so.
But now you tell me that I should wear a Medical Alert bracelet – which, make no mistake, I fully understand and agree with and plan to comply with because I’ve got two kids involved now – and that eight-year-old boo-boo hating part of me becomes the rebel against the Band-Aid once again.
I don’t need the world to know of my special problems.
Because my special problems are none of the world’s damn business, thank you very much.
I’ve had a day to stew about this, because I’m at that point of this recovery where I’m antsy and more than ready to resume my life.
As my mom would say, I need to Get Some Perspective.
Which I have been trying to do.
So.
What if I looked at the Medical Alert bracelet not as a Scarlet Letter but as a reminder?
I mean, okay, I have a “difficult Airway.”
I bet that’s true for most of us, isn’t it? In the course of our days and our lives, don’t most of us struggle with remembering to simply breathe?
To remember we’re okay just the way we are?
To remember we’re allowed to ask for help, especially when we’re in trouble?
And don’t most of us need a gentle tap on the wrist, some visual reassurance that it’s okay if people see our special problems?
Because maybe, just maybe, we need to remember that we’re not alone. That we’re fixable and not as broken as we think.
And that everyone has their own special problems and needs a Band-Aid once in awhile.
photo taken by me at the Please Touch Museum, Philadelphia, PA, May 2009.
Day 5 of recovery (they say give it another few days still) and I think that I may be getting the hang of this. I don’t have a history of being the best patient, haven’t always “done sick” very well. I am not usually very patient as my work projects get delegated to others, as I project forward into the future and fret about lost vacation days as snow continues to fall.
Yet the rhythm of these intensely quiet days – of appreciating the taste of chamomile in the afternoon instead of my usual coffee, of reading almost a book per day, of bedtimes that are closer to dinnertime than dawn – there is something restorative in all of this.
Sometimes it takes focusing on the small to understand the whole.
Exactly two months ago, at Christmastime, I sat in my mother’s sunroom and read The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey. Fittingly, it’s a small book, a natural history/medical memoir of only 190 pages. At 34, Ms. Bailey was in all aspects very healthy when she contracted a debilitating virus during a trip to Europe and, upon returning to the States, became bedridden. When a friend brings her some violets, she notices a woodland snail nestled in the pot. The snail becomes a companion – and a comparison to and a focal point of her own life.
“Everything about a snail is cryptic, and it was precisely this air of mystery that first captured my interest. My own life, I realized, was becoming just as cryptic. From the severe onset of my illness and through its innumerable relapses, my place in the world has been documented more by my absence than by my presence. While close friends understood my circumstances, those who didn’t know me well found my disappearance from work and social circles inexplicable.
Yet it wasn’t that I had truly vanished. I was simply homebound, like a snail pulled into its shell. But being homebound in the human world is a sort of vanishing. When encountering acquaintances from the past, I sometimes see a look of astonishment cross their face, as if they think they are seeing my ghost, for I am not expected to reappear. At time even I wonder if a ghost is what I’ve become.” (pg. 116-117)
“Each relapse shrinks my world down to the core. And each time I’ve started to make my slow way back, over many years, toward the life I once knew, I find that nothing is quite as I remember; in my absence, the world has moved forward. (pg. 153)
My situation is different from Elisabeth Tova Bailey’s. I’m recovering from two surgeries in 24 hours, one being fairly common. (Who needs a gallbladder anyway, right?) There’s a name, a diagnosis, an expected return date to my regularly programmed life. This taking to my bed, I know, is temporary.
It has, however, shifted my perspective. To perhaps reach out more when those I care about may be hurting. To listen more closely. To try and make the extra effort. To do the unexpected.
I’d like to think I didn’t need the gallstones to remind me to think a little differently, that maybe I am capable enough without surgery and bedrest to vow, once again, to appreciate the small things. But it is our job to notice the reminders when they are given and to take them in the form that they appear.
“I could never have guessed what would get me through this past year – a woodland snail and its offspring; I honestly don’t think I would have made it otherwise. Watching another creature go about its life … somehow gave me, the watcher, purpose too. If life mattered to the snail and the snail mattered to me, it meant something in my life mattered, so I kept on …Snails may seem like tiny, even insignificant things compared to the wars going on around the world or a million other human problems, but they may well outlive our own species.” (pg. 154)
(Photos taken by me at the Pennsylvania Convention Center, Philadelphia, PA, March 7, 2009. I thought this teacup display was so cool and have been wanting to use these photos in the right blog post forever.)