In a way, COVID re-introduced me to TV.

I spent years toggling between The Weather Channel and the news, but rarely did I go off course - albeit a myriad of sporting events. But that felt different.

Real television was a thing of my childhood, when I waited patiently for the weekly episodes of the Partridge Family and Brady Bunch - both on Friday nights, if I remember correctly. I spent that same childhood pining for David Cassidy – even attended a concert or two but let’s not get off track.

COVID gave me the courage and the time to re-engage - and re-engage I did.

And relished and binged; oh, how the anticipation of an upcoming episode of whatever drama we were watching on Hulu or Netflix or Showtime or Prime prompted feelings of true exhilaration and excitement that rivaled those manufactured by any real life adventures, which during COVID were nonexistent.

So, when our daughter went away in September to a semester in the Caribbean - lucky girl - to a program that swears off cell phones and screen time and allows for just one twenty-minute call home a week, I found myself floundering.

I had spent the entire summer with my girl, and I was in withdrawal -  serious withdrawal.

But I had developed some important coping skills during COVID, and now was the perfect time to put them to use. While she was off screen - I went on.

One night, while thumbing through the latest selections on Netflix - Suggested For You, Newly Released, Trending Now - I came across Gilmore Girls. To be clear, this was not a show on any of the above lists; the seven-season drama ended in 2007.  It was, however, a show that appeared on my daughter’s account. I was late to this party - very late.

But better late than never, I joined the party and what a party. Seven seasons inclusive of 22 episodes each is a serious commitment, but I felt confident that I was up for the task.

And I was. Now, with just one season left to go, I feel like the last one to leave that party, hanging out with the hardly-touched crudité platter and half-empty wine glasses. The clean-up crew is eyeing me with disdain. Get your things and go home, lady.

But you see, I am not alone, and I feel right at home. I am with my new best friends Lorelai and Rory - the main characters of Gilmore Girls which by the way takes place, mostly, in a small town in Connecticut (what a coincidence) and best of all –Gilmore Girls is the story of a mother-daughter relationship - quirky and dysfunctional at times - and that too, feels oddly familiar.

What first attracted me - the idea of watching a show that my daughter clearly enjoyed - has now consumed me. I am completely invested in this mother-daughter team, and I find myself rooting for their happiness as they navigate their careers, school, friendships, and significant others.

Especially significant others - of which there are many - and about which I have very strong opinions.

Take Luke, for example. He owns the diner where Lorelai goes every morning for her cup of coffee - she is addicted to coffee; our similarities are uncanny - and their banter is fun and sweet, and the underlying sexual tension between them is obvious to everyone. However, Lorelai’s stodgy parents do not think Luke is good enough for their daughter, the timing never seems to be right, their own fears get in the way - and I end up screaming at the screen - JUST DO IT ALREADY.

Then there is Jess. He is the bad boy that captures Rory’s heart. He really loves her, but needs to grow up - a lot. He is a bad influence on young, naïve Rory, who has her sights set on Harvard, and is truly the sweetheart of the town. Born out of wedlock and raised by a single mom, Lorelai, Rory is strong, vibrant, nerdy and kind, and over the course of my time with her, she, too, has found her way into my heart.

But - and this is a big but - I like Jess. And I have been secretly cheering for him throughout Rory’s other relationships – first with the high school jock, and then later with her wealthy Yale classmate (she chose Yale over Harvard). I mean, there is something captivating about a diamond-in-the-rough-story, and I just know that Jess is going to be okay.

And in case you are wondering, I am fully aware that none of this is real. Never mind that I navigate my own life posing the question-WWRD (What Would Rory Do), or that I have completely rationalized my own addiction to coffee - because really, Lorelai drinks, like, ten cups a day.

And you will be relieved to know that I once Googled the Gilmore Girls actors just to see where they are now in the year 2022 (proof that I am slightly grounded in reality) - and they have all moved on with their lives.

But I have not moved on, I am still holding fast- and am currently savoring the last season with Lorelai and Rory Gilmore.  Because when I look beneath the superficial details of their lives, in that small town in Connecticut, there is one concept that acts as a gravitational force- pulling me back for just one more episode (at 1 am) and it is this -- love.

After each misstep and mishap, miscommunication and heated argument, failed relationship and even budding one, there it is - love -  even without the requisite explicit sex and violence (which is very 2007 or 1950, really).

Love.

It is what started me on this quest- and I imagine in a just a few weeks will start me on a new one. I will once again be in withdraw, serious withdraw – missing my close friendship with Lorelai and Rory Gilmore but missing my girl even more.