Whatever happened to Donna Reed?

I remember her, that sweetly coifed and aproned wise-woman who worked so sweetly in the background for her physician husband and oh-so-cute offspring, all in black and white half-hour sitcom land. Well, she morphed into Roseanne. Now, there's a cultural icon for the millenium. Actually, there's some reality, a hefty dose of it. Not all of us have our hair done daily, or dress up for dinner, or keep pristine houses. Our children are not bad, but not particularly good, either. And we are not Kate Moss clones, by any stretch of the imagination. And what does this say for our country? Well, it says that with some wit and talent, anyone can become an icon, even if she does not fit into one of those ideal modes so casually tossed at us incessantly, in the slick magazines, on television and in the movies. Roseanne is a real woman, with a real husband. Her relationship with Dan is precious, full of rancor with a healthy dose of humor. They scrape by financially, living on their wits. They do real things, like go bowling or down to the neighborhood bar for some pool and friendly companionship. And Jackie, well, what a woman. She keeps trying, relationship after relationship, does everything wrong, and keeps coming back. Underneath it all, there is love in Roseanne's house. I loved it when, after winning the lottery, they kept their house. Yes, Roseanne is my idea of a cultural icon, one that lives and breathes like I do, one noisy, raucous moment at a time.