I recently cut the cord — the cable TV cord.

This was a tough decision to make. And emotional. After all, Cable and I go way back.

We arrived in the town St. Johnsbury in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont at around the same time. It was 1979. Just a couple of weeks after graduating from the University of Rhode Island, I was beginning my first reporting job, at the Caledonian Record. Cable was just starting to spread out in the area, bringing a clear picture — or at least what passed for a clear picture in that pre-digital era — to a mountainous area that had been plagued by poor television reception.

The locals greeted both of us with skepticism.

Here was I, a “flatlander,” questioning town selectmen, who were rather set in their ways, about their Spartan agendas that provided little information and their seemingly arbitrary reasons for holding private discussions.

And there was Cable, threatening a way of life and asking people to pay for what they had always gotten free, if not terribly well. Indeed, there were reports of smaller turnouts for ham and bean suppers and local concerts, attributed to citizens held captive by the newly static-free images on their TV sets.

I loved Cable. Far from home, nights would have been much lonelier without her sports or access to M*A*S*H and The Jeffersons. I don’t remember what the bill was, but Cable must have been affordable because I easily handled the expense with my $160 weekly salary.

Cable was there for me when I returned to Connecticut and a job at the Norwich Bulletin in the 1980s. We went through the VCR era together. What a technological breakthrough that was! With the insertion of a bulky cassette into the video recorder you could tape a show or sporting event and watch it later, fast-forwarding through commercials.

It was fraught with peril, however. As the tapes piled up and were reused multiple times, their labels crossed off and repeatedly rewritten; mistakes could lead to disappointment and arguments. It was not a good thing when I popped in a tape to watch an episode of Dallas with my wife only to see the college basketball game I had accidentally taped over it emerge on the screen.

I arrived at The Day in 1987, and as the family grew — three sons — so did the number of TV sets. I became an amateur utility lineman, snaking long stretches of cable through our home. I collected splitters, used to send Cable’s signal in multiple directions, like some people collect flashlights. You never knew when you would need one in an emergency (in other words, when rooms were being reassigned or furniture rearranged.)

In time the VCRs gave way to the DVRs — digital video recorders — and time-shifting programming became easier. High-definition television brought lifelike sharp images. Those were good times with Cable.

But the number of channels kept growing, most of which I had no interest in watching. So too did the cost. Who had time or the inclination to watch HLN, or Justice Channel, or Oxygen, or Lifetime Real Women? I already knew plenty of real women. TV had become a major expense.

It was time to move on from Cable.

I’m now hanging out with a streaming service that provides ample programming choices, local and live TV feeds, and sports. There have been pangs of loss. Streaming is not as agile as Cable. Channel changing is slow. But the cost is much less.

In time I will remove all that TV cable and dismantle the splitters. But not yet. The emotional scars are too fresh.

Paul Choiniere is the editorial page editor.