So Good It's Golden

As long as I have taken to using this blog as an occasional confessional, I might as well make another admission. Here it goes. *Deep breath* I am addicted to...


Wait for it....


..."The Golden Girls."

Yes, I'm cringing right now, waiting for the peals of laughter which I'm sure are occurring right now.  I don't know what it is, but I cannot get enough of that show. It's particularly inviting in the winter to put on my ridiculously large fuzzy slippers, curl up under my fluffy blanket, drink a glass of wine, and watch the ladies solve their problems over some cheesecake. Thank goodness Hallmark Channel has a marathon most weeknights, or I'd have to resort to some form of mindless entertainment other than reciting along with the verbal jabs Dorothy hurls at Rose.



Ah, yes, the confused looks as the ladies listen to a Rose story.

This isn't really a new found enjoyment, it's more of a rediscovery. It may actually stem from cozy, comforting feelings of watching the show in my youth. Back when I was a child and pre-teen-- before I was old enough to terrorize my parents by gallivanting around town and (gasp!) driving-- I used to watch that show every Saturday night. I chuckled at Rose and her dimwitted musings. I would stifle laughter over Blanche and her naughty ways so my parents didn't know I understood the jokes. And I feel as though I've basically turned into snarky Sophia at a disturbingly young age.

One aspect of the show I didn't appreciate until I was older was that Rose was from St. Olaf. When I was younger, I thought this was a made-up, mythical land in a country far, far away... kind of like Balki Bartokomous from "Perfect Strangers" and his fictional island of Mypos. Upon rediscovering "The Golden Girls" in the past few years, it hit me that St. Olaf was, in fact, in Minnesota. Then the gears (slowly) started turning and I remembered that for the short time I lived in Minnesota, I had indeed heard of the storied St. Olaf, and people spoke of it quite fondly. Of course, the people there are not the buffoons portrayed on TV (or so I'm told). Though I have never been there, it made me enjoy the show even more to have this small connection.

Does my enjoyment of the geriatric ladies make me a dork? Yes, definitely. A complete loser? Possibly, but I'd like to think not. Although sharing this odd affinity with the character Ross on "Friends" certainly doesn't help my case. But c'mon, you can't hear the opening notes to that theme song and NOT sing along. ("Thank you for being a friend...")

There are things to be learned from the women other than just that true friendship is timeless. Perhaps the funniest thing about my love of the show is how differently I view it as I grow older. My thoughts on time and ages has changed. When I first watched the series in my youth, the women seemed incredibly old. But watching it now I realize that at the beginning of the series the ladies are in their early 50s. 50s! I thought that was "elderly" and "close to death" when I was 9, but now it doesn't seem that way at all. I mean, my parents just turned 60 and they seem a lot younger now than the Golden Girls at 50. And what does this say about me and my advancing age? Yuck, let's not even delve into that.

Granted, everyone grows older differently, but it's amazing how our aging processes and perceptions of it change with each passing generation. As our life expectancies increase, ages which previously conjured images of nursing homes and walkers now equate to people who travel, exercise and in many cases still work. I love the fact that my parents are so active they seem like they're in their 40s, and that I would never guess right now they were close to, much less older than, the Golden Girls. The same goes for my in-laws who are incredibly active world travelers.

In retrospect, it seems so odd to me that the ladies didn't appear to hold down full-time jobs, and two of them had been widowed for about 10 years. Although this is how some people of that age live today, I think I would be hard pressed to find anyone I know in their early 50s in such a situation, much less enough to form a group and make it seem commonplace, as it was in the show. With any luck, my parents won't be in that position until they're at least 90. And my Golden Girls shouldn't anticipate me moving in with them until I'm approximately 110.

Until I reach that state when I spend countless nights giggling with older girlfriends over ice cream and cake late into the night, I will spend my time doing the same with my younger girlfriends, and will enjoy every minute of it. That, and I'll continue to watch "The Golden Girls" in reruns ad nauseum. If you want to join me, there's always room for another fan on my couch. And I might even share my fuzzy blanket.  ("...Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant...")