When I was a kid, my little sister and brother and I watched Road to Avonlea every Sunday evening like it was a religion unto itself. Road to Avonlea was a Canadian spin-off from Anne of Green Gables, and it was very successful as far as I remember. They ended the series on a high note after 7 years.
My siblings and I loved it- we would race into Mom and Dad's bedroom where the TV was about five minutes before the show, and start jumping on the bed, more and more goosebumps raising on the back of our necks with every subsequent commercial, knowing we were 30 seconds closer to the glorious theme music. Having been raised in a religious household meant that anything with bonnets and horse-and-buggies was fair game for entertainment, and conveniently for our parents, it made us hyperventilate with excitement anyway, so everyone won.
As a matter of course, we were members of the Road to Avonlea fan club, the address to which would scroll onto the screen following the credits after the show, and freeze there for about 15 seconds so audience members could write it down. Few moments elicited more eye-poking and name-calling and mom-arbitrating than those 15 seconds when transcribing became an extreme sport, made all the more difficult because we were all writing with the same pen on the same piece of paper. It was only because our mom was sitting in front of the TV quietly writing down the address while we were fight-writing that we got into the fan club at all, to which we owe her a great deal (and probably ten dollars each). Not that we got much for our membership- we wrote letters to the actors and got a few form letters in return, but it was just something that was biologically and psychologically necessary for us, so great was our ardor.
I don't remember very much about the individual episodes about what we learned here or there, it was just part of the foundation of our knowledge of life, like school I guess.
One of the moments has stuck with me. I think about this episode Every. Single. Time I hear the expression, "Getting back on the horse". Aunt King had fallen off a literal horse at some point in her life, and she was scared to get back on one. After a bunch of prodding and encouragement from her friends and family, she gathers up her gumption and mounts a horse to a swelling soundtrack, a knowing smile from her husband, and cheers and clapping from her children. I remember how much pride Aunt King had sitting up there, her chest puffed out, her eyes squinting into the middle distance toward the horizon.
And as I pay homage to my Road to Avonlea memory, I'm also getting back on the blogging horse, as this is the first time in 12 days or so that I've blogged. I didn't mean to be away this long, and it is very, very good to be back.