This from my mom’s blog, A Writer’s Notebook today:
A sudden, sharp remembrance of the day the Television Set appeared in our home [:] This is in nineteen fifty-two or fifty-three. You didn’t get three thousand channels and twenty-four hour programming. You got moving things and voices starting in the late afternoon and running through the evening hours. The rest of the time, you had the signal identifier: the profile of an Indian head with headdress, against a bull-eye pattern identifying the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. During the first weeks following the Television Set’s appearance, the signal identifier provided entertainment through the simple fact of turning the knob to On; waiting for the tubes to warm up; watching the grey, black and white squiggles swim down or dance sideways; sitting, enthralled at the sight of the impavid Indian staring off to a spot you tried to imagine.