In
the beginning there was none. No television. No electronics.
The
lake itself was the entertainment. Swimming in it, canoeing on it, fishing it
or just sitting by it listening to loon calls float across its surface.
Just
us, the lake and the pleasures of the woods around it.
Then
it came. That first piece of electronic wizardry – the television set.
It
was a small black box donated by a family member. It had a 12-inch screen and a
single pull-out antenna that delivered ghostly shapes moving in electronic mist
and snow.
I
got it a pair of rabbit ears to boost its draw power enough to provide adequate
black and white images and reasonably static-free audio.
That
television was not allowed to be part of the cottage furnishings. It lived in a
closet, unplugged from any electrical outlets that could bring it to life.
It
was only an occasional visitor, pulled out of its closet on special occasions.
Major sports events like the Stanley Cup playoffs, the World Series of baseball
or the Superbowl. And, of course, major news events like the death of Princess
Diana.
It
died one day and was replaced by another castoff, a big box tube set the size
of a bank vault. It took four people to carry it. It was too heavy to move in
and out of the closet so we placed it in the living area where it became a
cottage fixture.
It
didn’t get many channels so was not used much more than its predecessor. That
changed after a visit to a spring Cottage Life Show.
Ma
Bell was at the show and offering a sweet deal. She would set you up with
satellite TV service at your home and your cottage for the monthly price of one
service.
No
longer would you have to lug the satellite box from home to the cottage and
back to avoid paying for two services. It was irresistible and I succumbed.
The
old, chunky TV was not compatible for satellite so another family member
donated a wide-screen set being discarded because at 40 inches it was
considered too small and outdated. The trend in the city was for sets with
screens the size of a tractor-trailer.
That
would be the limit of digital electronic intrusions at the lake. Or, so I
thought.
Then
came the Internet. It made sense. If work could be done over the Internet at
the lake, more time could be spent at the lake.
With
the Internet came the laptops, the tablets, and those ubiquitous smart phones.
Those
machines swallow huge amounts of insanely expensive data. Someone suggested getting
WiFi. It would provide more data time and better TV options.
So
in came the WiFi box and yet another monthly ransom payment to Ma Bell. Her
monthly take became the size of a new car payment.
I
decided enough was enough. I unplugged the WiFi box and put it in the closet
where the little black television had lived.
Then
I called Ma. I explained that I was paying her too much and needed to reduce
the monthly bill. We talked for quite a while, me complaining about the cost burden
and my disdain of commercials.
Television,
I wailed, now was two minutes of program followed by five minutes of
commercials. Ma was sympathetic and offered a variety of solutions.
The
very next day a young man in a Bell truck arrived. He installed a PVR (personal
video recorder) that allows the viewer to record a program and spin through the
commercials. The PVR required a high definition satellite receiver, which he
installed on my roof.
So
my monthly Bell bill, once the size of Toyota
hatchback payment, now is the size of a Lexus payment.
I
seem to have everything now that Ma Bell has to offer. She doesn’t think so
because her marketing people call me almost daily. They call on my landline
while I am eating supper. They call on my mobile phone while I am cutting
firewood in the bush.
I want to call Ma and tell her to
stop calling. But I am afraid to call because whenever I call her it costs me
more money.
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