When it comes to solitude,
Mama Bear knows her stuff

Robyn’s Hood
By Robyn McCloskey

When our two older girls were younger, one of their favorite series of children’s books for us to read to them was The Berenstain Bears, the books about the anthropomorphic bear family who lived on a sunny dirt road deep in bear country.
The family consists of Papa Bear, the bumbling, inept yet loyal and loving father who headed up the pack. Mama Bear, the patient and omniscient mother who spends a good deal of her time scolding Papa Bear. And their two bear cubs, the unoriginal yet aptly named Brother and Sister Bear.
My husband’s personal favorite of the series is The Berenstain Bears and Too Much TV, since he tends to be one of those people who eschew television in favor of reading and engaging in outdoor activity.
This particular Berenstain book deals with Mama Bear’s disdain over how much television her husband and cubs can digest in a week’s time.
She feels that sitting in front of the TV causes dinner conversation to stagnate and precludes the kids from engaging in normal everyday bear-cub activities, like flying a kite and playing leapfrog. One night, out of total disgust, Mama Bear announces that there will be no television for a week. Papa Bear is completely on board with Mama Bear until he realizes that her mandate includes him. He begins to balk but she quickly puts him in his place, as she so often does.
And now, years after reading this book to my girls, I find my family unwittingly in this very same position — no TV for a week.
In last week’s column I mentioned how we had recently moved. What I didn’t mention was that, unknown to us, we apparently moved out of the 21st century and into the early 20th century. At our old house we’d switched the phone, the Internet service and cable TV to Verizon FIOS, and planned to do the same with the new house.
Except that it seemed the FIOS guy was a little busy and would not be able to make it to our new abode until 10 days after our move-in date, which in turn meant that for 10 days we would be living life like Laura Ingalls and others who hung out on the prairie.
Our kids insisted that this was borderline child abuse, but our hands were tied. And so it is that we now find ourselves on Day 9 of living in the Stone Age. Much like Wilma Flintstone and Ma Ingalls before me, I have filled my days with mundane household chores, such as cooking and cleaning. No checking e-mails when there are five minutes to spare, or screening phone calls via caller ID. No staying up later than I should to catch just one more episode of Jon and Kate plus Eight. No 21st-century household distractions whatsoever.
But like Papa Bear when he asks Mama Bear how he is supposed to determine the weather without television, and she tells him to put his hand out the window to see if it’s raining, I have felt a closer connection to the simpler things in life. A sense of self-sufficiency, if you will, that is hard to find in a media-bombarded world.
Turns out I don’t need the 24/7 Weather Channel to tell me if it’s raining. I can see for myself. Instead of suggesting to my 8-year-old that she play on the computer for a half-hour to help occupy her time, we’ve taken walks and explored our new neighborhood together.
My husband and I actually spent a quiet Sunday afternoon sitting outside, enjoying our new back yard, instead of him working on the computer and me watching a movie. It’s interesting how feeling so disconnected from the world can make you feel so connected to your family.
And while I thought I would be counting the minutes until the Verizon guy shows up to plug us back in, I find myself wishing for more unplugged time. Because through it all, I have learned that spending time on a sunny dirt road deep in bear country isn’t such a terrible thing after all. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net