Good night, John Boy. Good night, Grandma.

Every time I talked to my grandma on the phone there was always specific things we talked about, almost an order to the conversation. We almost always started with the traditional things, like "Hi, Grandma." Then the weather and any weather threats she had seen on TV within a 300-mile radius of us.

After the weather questions came the questions about Little Bear, Popeye, and I. When she knew we were all alive and well she would start her stories. She talked about life in the assisted living place. She talked about the people she met there. I'm pretty sure most of the information she relayed to me was inaccurate.

Then, before we could end our conversation she ALWAYS asked about what shows I watch on the television.  She never had a clue about any of the shows I watched. Not to mention the fact that, after she asked she never stopped talking long enough for me to answer.

She was ready to tell me about the shows she watched. She had a select few shows she watched reruns of regularly. She watched Reba, M.A.S.H., and her absolute favorite The Waltons. The Waltons had been her favorite show for years. Thankfully they played reruns on TV often because I am pretty sure she watched them every time they were on.

When they rearranged the TV schedule she had to rearrange her daily schedule so she could watch The Waltons. I am sure she had seen every episode more times than she could remember, but she loved them just the same. She also loved to tell me about them. Sometimes she would tell me every detail she could remember of the episode she just watched. Every time she would tell me, "If you don't watch The Waltons every day you should."

Every time I flip past The Waltons on television or in the guide I think of my grandma and the joy she got from those old reruns she had seen millions of times. "Good night, John-Boy." Good night, Grandma.