Goodnight…

I work out at a popular gym where the biggest sign in the “No Judgement Zone” features the “Lunk Alarm” dedicated to any “lunk” who “grunts, drops weights, or judges… What a lunk!” They don’t seem very welcome. I wonder where the “No Judgement Zone” ends.

The biggest display is a long row of big-screen TVs featuring various channels, but mostly some sort of newscast. I am one of the few without earbuds or headphones, so I scan the silent screens for top stories from different points of view.

Other than local news with real personalities and a hometown feel, we live in the age of the “panel.” Whether news, sports, or talk shows, it’s Groupthink. Each member of the panel offers a similar opinion and plenty of chances to nod in approval or frown about those not in alignment.

Hope I don’t drop a weight.

Recently, with the screens lit up with horrific war images, I reminisced about the days of black and white TV and the Vietnam War (I was shaving before I lived in a home with “technicolor”). Anyway, I thought of all the solitary reporters and anchors back then. Like Walter Cronkite. His long and illustrious career started in the field, the war zones of World War II and Vietnam, Apollo moon missions, JFK’s assassination, and, later, becoming a respected and honored anchor. Walter was classic.

Another classic from that era, in a different form, Good Night Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Clement Hurd, was published in 1947, just two years after the end of WWII. It wasn’t a blockbuster at the start but eventually became one. To this day, it’s still in the top ten sellers for children’s books.

Reminiscing these days brings up things that seem disconnected. But nothing really is. And it’s never really black and white. Half of a century after publication, we would read Good Night Moon to our sons. And, of course, the questions…

“What’s the bowl doing there?” “What’s in the bowl?” “What is mush?” “Why does she have a balloon?” “Do we have to say, ‘goodnight’ to our socks?”

Well, back on this planet in the present, the row of silent screens flickers enough to create images that maybe don’t go together. That and noticing you still have twenty minutes left on the elliptical can make you fuzzy…

I hope I don’t grunt. I wonder if Margaret Wise Brown actually had a bunny. And does anyone born this century know of Walter Cronkite? And should this book in his honor be in black and white?