Tag: pbs

Se me transporta atrás…

It takes me back…

Monte and I have been enjoying a show on PBS called La Otra Mirada. We have started watching the second season. It is set in a girls’ school in Sevilla, Spain in the 1920s. It’s a drama, I suppose, with humor and lots of pro-girl inspiration and empowerment messages mixed in. The actors speak in Spanish, but English subtitles are available.

I have enjoyed the story that unfolds in the show, but I have also been very much enjoying listening to the dialogue in Spanish. Even though Sevilla is in Andalusia, most of the actors speak with the Castillian accent which is what I was most exposed to. It really takes me back to my time living in Madrid.

In a number of scenes members of the local police make appearances, the Guardia Civíl – with rifles, funky black hats, and all. That reminded me of something that I wanted to show Monte. So, during one commercial break, I ran into my office and unearthed a set of Spanish mud people that I have been dragging around for over 40 years.

They are adorable.

My mud people: a tuna, a spanish couple, toreador & bull, guardia civíl, Sancho Panza & Don Quijote

Transported.

We are watching the latest Ken Burns multipart documentary on PBS, Country Music. I think it’s great. I love the music, and the walk through time.

source: Wikimedia Commons

The episode on Hank Williams dusted off some cobwebs for me. I have strong memories from my childhood – including listening to my dad play Hank Williams albums on his record player at night, often with the lights in the living room turned off.

I couldn’t resist playing some of the same albums on my iPod tonight. And I just had to flick the lights off. I was immediately transported to my old home many decades ago, and memories associated with that time resurfaced.

Music sure is powerful.

A memory from that same time came to mind. I was going through my pre-teen gymnast phase. My dad, upon discovering me doing cartwheels in the living room one day, strongly suggested that I not do that anymore. Unfortunately, I had a bad case of Nadia Comaneci fever, having closely followed the 1976 Summer Olympics. So the urge to bounce about was irresistible. A few days later, on the very last indoor tumbling run of my life, my foot hit and broke the plastic cover on my dad’s record player. The very same turntable from which Hank Williams sang to me in the dark. Lesson learned.

After the much dreaded confession when my dad came home from work, I searched for, found, and purchased a replacement cover and paid for it from my babysitting money. It was not an easy thing to do back then. There was no Google search. No Amazon Prime. I only had a phone book and a Sears Roebuck catalog. But I had to make it right.

Long story short: it’s amazing how music and memories and the mind work.

Good Night Hank.

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