The huge canvas of outdoors, which was, not so long ago, all white and dreary, is slowly being re- placed by the delightful, delicate colours of spring.
Tender shoots of grass, interrupted only by splashes of purple, yellow and crimson decorate this won- derful canvas of outdoors that stretches as far as the eye can see.
And, as a quirky, but totally cool finishing touch, the artist’s brush has somehow managed to take some of the unmatchable blue out of the sky and drop it into the peaceful waters of a serene and tranquil lake.
When one gazes at the picture, it seems as if the waves on the lake quiver only ever so slightly, as if the breath of spring is blowing the whole painting dry.
It truly is perfection, living right outside my living room window.
So why doI turn the television on and blot it all out.
Netflix, that’s why.
I am a loser and I am addicted to Netflix.
Oh, I have that little voice in my head that criticizes, shouts and mentally slaps me around, but for some reason I’m quite good at tuning it out and Netflix in.
“Do something,” the voice demands.” Play the piano. Go for a walk. Mow the lawn. Weed the flower garden. Phone a friend. Read a book.”
The problem is I can’t. At least I can’t until I watch the next show.
Unfortunately, however, the next show is not enough. It’s never enough.
Because after that show, there is another show, then another!
And suddenly the night, with all its sweet promise of wonderful things to do and accomplish, is toast!
The truth is I have a love/hate relationship with Netflix.
I love that there are no commercials. I hate that there are no commercials.
I love that the shows go on and on and I don’t have to wait until next week to watch the next one.
I hate that the shows go on and on and I don’t have to wait until next week to watch the next one.
My husband and I watched Downton Abby until the series ended.
I remember when my girlfriends were talking about it like it was the best thing since sliced bread and I felt a little superior, because, I knew I would never allow myself to become addicted like they were.
I was wrong. Dead wrong.
Before long, I was gossiping about the people in the show with my husband like they were real, live people, for crying out loud.
About that time, I decided I was pathetic and this behavior needed to stop.
Of course, the season had ended, so it was timely.
But, then we started watching Mr. Selfridge.
And now, this season is about to end, and, already, I feel horrible, almost like I’m a Flames fan and the fire from my beloved team has been extinguished.
I grew to love Mr. Selfridge and his poor, dear wife, whom I understand is to meet her demise, probably even by tonight.
Ahhh! I need to move on.
But, I can’t. I just can’t.
At least not until the season ends!