Finding My Ethel

It gets harder each morning to watch the news.

I just can’t anymore. I find myself channel surfing.

Today, I was rescued from the political madness by an episode of I Love Lucy. My mother was a Lucy fan. All of our mothers might have been.

Lucy and Ethel. Google image.

The formula was always the same.

Madcap adventures. Miscommunication. Ridiculous situations. Tragedy avoided. Comedy ensued.

Ricky was important, Fred had some of the best lines, but it was all about Lucy.

And Ethel.

Brilliant, funny, adventurous, risk-taking, problem solving, but always loving, always supportive, Ethel was the kind of friend we all craved.

Growing up, I chose the safe road.  Having a mischievous older sibling taught me how to behave, how to avoid trouble, how to create less stress for a family.

As a teen, my friends were always the good kids; we played by the rules.

My “Lucy” years came much later. There was a bit of rebellion in my late 20’s. There were adventures, thrills, even moderate danger.

Things became conventional again during the parenting years. No surprise there. Role model issues prevailed.

Somewhere into the 40’s, there was a stirring.  A spirit awakened. I found my version of Ethel. I lost her when we moved. And I found another. And then another.

My hope is that at every age, she will be there in some form. We won’t be wrapping chocolates, stomping grapes, buying sides of beef, or scheming to finally get into the nightclub show,  but there will be adventures.

And if I’m lucky, they will be madcap.