Sad Yankees

Several years ago, Greg and I were discussing documentaries, which I generally adore far more than Greg thinks is reasonable. He mentioned “The Civil War” by Ken Burns, and when I told him that I had never seen it, he seemed concerned. It was fantastic, he said. How could someone who so adores documentaries not have seen this?

I decided to get the film for Greg as a Christmas gift. Nothing says “happy holidays” like cannons and amputations. Don’t you wish you could join our Christmas gift exchange? I don’t think I realized at the time just how long the film is, nearly as long as the Civil War itself. It is on five DVDs, and we watched almost all of it but gave up toward the end.

Eleanor has taken to rummaging through our DVD collection, and we’ve let this go on because it’s very difficult to keep everything out of her reach. We would have to put all of our possessions into some sort of air-tight dungeon that even Houdini couldn’t escape. She knows how all of our baby-proofing stuff works (or, ahem, doesn’t work). You’ll notice that no one makes toddler-proofing stuff. Because it’s not possible. Those creatures are clever.

Anyway, Eleanor recently got hold of “The Civil War” and hid the final disc from us. Greg lamented the other night: “Now we’ll never know how it ends.”

I hate it when that happens. Who won? And whatever happened to that Lincoln fellow?