Recently when my husband and I were watching television it went from a nice clear picture to a blue screen with a message that neither of us understood.

My husband started pushing buttons on the remote and got nowhere so I took the remote and tried pushing buttons and got nowhere too.

Neither my husband nor I are very bright when it comes to technology and electronics, but we tried to apply some logic and figure out what was wrong. “I bet you didn’t pay the satellite bill,” Henry said.

I promptly informed him that the bill was indeed paid and, “Besides, even if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t disconnect us a 8 o’clock in the evening.”

“Then the dish must have gotten blown off the roof,” Henry said.

Even though that didn’t make any sense to me, I took a flashlight and went outside to determine that the dish was right where it was supposed to be.

That pretty much exhausted everything we knew about what might be wrong with the television, and it was time to call for help.

My son-in-law, Jay, and grandson Reese came to save the day, though it was actually night. Jay is an electrician and pretty knowledgeable about all things electronic and Reese, like most 14-year-olds, is pretty comfortable with electronic technology. I was confident that the problem would be solved and Henry and I would be watching television in no time.

The first thing Jay did was to pick up the remote and push buttons. When that didn’t produce the desired results he asked me if I had paid the satellite bill.

Meanwhile, Reese took the flashlight and went outside to make sure the dish was on the room.

With my confidence crumbling I went in search of the TV manual and much to my surprise actually found it in a kitchen drawer. Under the page on trouble shooting I found the message we were getting, which said, “Call the manufacturer.”

“Oh,” said Jay. “That means your television is history. If you call the manufacturer they’ll tell you to ship the set to them and as heavy as this thing is it will cost a fortune. And without a warranty, if they can fix it, and they probably can’t, that will cost a fortune too. You might just as well go buy a new television.”

So, off Reese and I went to Walmart to buy a new television. On the way I told Reese about how once upon a time in America there were TV repairmen who came to your home, even in the evening, and fixed your television.

He looked at me in total disbelief and said, “I know, and you used to walk many miles to school in knee-deep snow uphill both ways.”

“There really were television repairmen and they really did come to your home,” I said. “Also,” I went on, “doctors came to your home too when someone was sick.”

“And you think I have an overactive imagination!” Reese exclaimed.

I didn’t even bother to tell him about the small appliance repair shops that used to exist where you could take a broken toaster or radio and get it fixed. Instead I launched into a speech about what a wasteful society we have become. Something works until the warranty runs out, then it breaks and you throw it away and buy another one. Not to mention there’s no room in the landfills for all this junk.

“You should buy a 60-inch screen TV,” said Reese. “That would be so cool.”

So much for my speech about wasteful societies and overcrowded landfills.

Now I have a new HDTV in my living room and a dead TV in my dining room. With Thanksgiving a few weeks away, I guess I’m going to have to have the darn thing hauled off to the local landfill and be just as wasteful and everyone else.

I’m sure the grandkids will enjoy the new TV when they are here for Thanksgiving, and the way I see it I can impress their young minds with stories from my childhood when television repairmen and doctors made house calls.