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Losing the Baby

Wednesday, August 11th, 2010

Looking back I now realize how very quiet it was. Just considering the number of people that were there one would have expected some normal chatter. But the silence was really weird because the majority of people I remember seeing were infants and toddlers.

We all know infants and toddlers can be very quiet – if they are sleeping. But they were all awake. The infants were being held by their mothers and the toddlers were running around. Still, there was no noise. No talking. No babbling. No crying. Not only that, but there were no sounds from the feet of the walking and running toddlers.

Something else that did not strike me as odd until later was the size of the twins. One mother had a set of twins. They were so small that they looked to have just been born. Born about three months premature. They were tiny. Really, really tiny.

Things I don’t know: Where was I? All I do know is that it was a large industrial or commercial building of some kind. Why were we there? Haven’t the slightest. I don’t recall seeing any adults there except the mothers and myself. And there weren’t near enough mothers to account for all the toddlers running around. What was I doing while there? Some kind of official duty that I could do even with my arms full carrying an infant.

And that brings me to the strangest thing that I don’t know: How did I come to be responsible to carry around one of the sub-sized twins? I’m sure I did not just kidnap it. I don’t recall a conversation with the mother. I don’t recall it being handed to me. I only know that I found myself walking away from the mother with one of them in my arms. Mind you I was not against doing it – I just don’t know why I was entrusted with this tid-bit of a person.

Then the events started that should have caused me to feel guilty. But they didn’t.

I had been walking for a while – doing whatever it was that I was supposed to be doing – when I realized that the infant was not in my arms. I looked around for it. I say “it” because I don’t know the proper pronoun as I have no idea of the gender of this micro-baby – never had to change the diaper. I did not see it until I looked down on my left side. There it was, hanging with eight tiny fingers (the thumbs didn’t quite reach) wrapped over my belt. It looked like a character hanging on the edge of a cliff or a building in some old movie. Of course I rescued it and started to carry it as I should.

Some time later I realized that I, again, was not holding this tiny creature. I checked my belt. It was not there. I looked around and did not see it. Then I saw it and picked it up. I started back toward where the mother had been. I did not realize that the infant I had picked up was not the tiny one I had previously carried. This, in spite of the fact that it was three or four times larger. When I did realize it I decided to continue back to the mother of the tiny twins and hand her the infant I had, then go back and look for the one I misplaced.

Again, I don’t recall any conversation but I soon found myself handing off the larger infant and going back to look for the tiny one. It was, somehow, understood by the mother I handed the infant to, that she was to find it’s mother. And I started to retrace my steps.

I never found the tiny infant, because that was when I woke up. This episode was based on a dream I had not long ago. None of it was real. Still – I hope the parents of my grandsons never read this or those boys will never again be left in my care. Just so you know, I never have lost either one of them.

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Writing Lessons

Wednesday, July 28th, 2010

Some of you know that I have been writing for some time now but I’ve never had anything published in actual print – except for one political article which appeared in a local newsletter. The newsletter seems to have met its demise as it has never come out again since the issue with my article. I hope that there was no connection.

But it is fiction that I really wish to write. I could go around telling lies – that is fiction – but it’s not the same thing as writing fiction. And I have written some fiction stories as well as political articles and my blog articles here about other things (such as writing). You can find links on the right side of this page. So I have been looking at different websites to see what they can offer me in instruction to make my stories better.

One hint I’ve come across several times is to ’start late and finish early’. They mean to not take too much time leading into the action and not drag the story out after it is actually over. Let’s try this.

Elmer

Elmer screamed, “Oooooohhhhhhhhh!” as he fell off the thousand foot cliff.

The end.

Hmm. I don’t think that worked.

Another suggestion is to fully develop the characters, especially the main protagonist. Let’s try again.

Elmer

Thirty-two old Elmer Theodore Jones coughed. And he coughed again. The coughing woke him up from his lunchtime nap. It was a good thing too, since not only was it time to get back to work, which he really did not want to do, but he was having the dream again.

Elmer was 17 years old and wanted to go to town. He knew his Fiat 500 was out of gas so he took, without permission, the Ford F150 pickup truck belonging to his father, a man of German and Russian ancestry. Having stayed out much later then he was supposed to, he came barreling up the long drive at about 60 mph with the lights out so his mother, a women of English, French and Irish ancestry would not see him coming home. His parents were in his car – they had started out to look for him. The Fiat had stopped because the gas ran out and his father had shut the lights out to save the battery while he hiked back to the shed for the gas can. He had not gotten out of the car yet. Elmer saw them just seconds to late to stop or avoid hitting the Fiat and both of his parents were killed.

Elmer was so annoyed that the dream never ended before he hit the car. He coughed again. He was about to step out of the Orange Deliveries orange delivery truck number 312 and walk around it once. This would have been to help wake him up a little more before driving to his next delivery. That seemed too much like work. It was bad enough he often had to walk up 10 or 12 steps at some of the houses he delivered to. He slid his six foot, 200 pound body onto the driver’s seat. And he coughed.

Elmer thought about stopping to get a bite to eat. As usual he had not bothered to make a lunch so he’d slept through his lunch break. Also, as usual, he had only had time for a quick breakfast. He had microwaved some potato pancakes and poured lots of maple syrup over them for breakfast. He must remember to get more syrup because he had finished the bottle this morning. He had lots of the pancakes left because he made very large batches about once a month and froze most of them in small packages. That way he didn’t have to wash the dishes so often. He ate from paper plates using plastic forks.

Checking the door pocket, Elmer found a granola bar. It must have been put there by the night shift driver of the truck because it seemed fresh and it was not his. He wondered if Orange, his goldfish, would like it. Probably not, so Elmer ate it then threw the wrapper out the window. Thinking about Orange swimming in that huge fish tank, all by himself, made Elmer smile.

Picking up the next delivery ticket, Elmer suddenly started angrily shaking his brown haired head viciously back and forth. The address was his own apartment building with the apartment number where Sally lived. Sally was a woman a dozen years his senior, but Elmer was madly in love with her. She had three children, which Elmer did not like, as well as a husband (Elmer did not like him either). As he thought about it, Elmer decided that the package might be a gift from Sally’s husband. That changed his mood to happy again as he reasoned the husband might be out of town and sending a gift. So Sally would be there alone. Well, except for the brats. Now he was miserable again.

Well, he would fix them. He wouldn’t deliver the package. It was quite small and he could easily ditch it somewhere. He rubbed his thumbs together as he thought about telling his boss at Orange Deliveries that the package was never put on his truck. He just went on to the rest of his deliveries and his mood changed back and forth as he thought first about Sally, then, alternately, about her kids and husband.

When he brought the truck back into the yard at Orange Deliveries, he realized his car, with the windows wide open, sat right next to the truck entrance. He stopped and jumped out, coughed, and dropped Sally’s package into his car. He hoped nobody noticed him doing it.

On the way home Elmer decided to go to Flat Mesa and throw the package off the thousand foot cliff. He coughed, then turned the car in the right direction. Elmer knew he would have to throw the box from quite a distance since his acrophobia would not let him get too close to the edge. He picked up the package and coughed. He headed for the edge – but not too close. Rearing back with all his might, Elmer threw the box and it hit the ground about eight feet from the edge and skidded another six feet.

Slowly, Elmer walked toward the box. Not too close. He coughed. A little closer. He coughed again. Now, if he were to lay on the ground and stretch his arm he should be able to reach the box. He did that. Stretching as much as he could left his fingertips just inches from the package. He scooted his body just enough to be able to grasp the box. Pulling it back with him he scooted backwards for a couple of yards. Then, coughing, he stood up.

One more throw and the box went over the edge. It sounded like it hit something just below the top. Ever so slowly, Elmer inched forward so he could turn his blue eyes downward to see where the box landed. Not too close, he reminded himself. Not too close. Then he slipped.

Elmer screamed, “Oooooohhhhhhhhh!” as he fell off the thousand foot cliff.

The end.

Is that better? Still room for improvement. Back to the websites.

They’re really helping, don’t you think?

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Grandsons and Computer Monitors

Monday, July 12th, 2010

I don’t let my grandsons anywhere near my computer, so they cannot be blamed for the problem that this article is actually about. If I had simply titled this “Computer Monitor” it would not attract much attention and few people would want to read it. The article is not actually about my grandsons or anyone else’s – although I suppose those people mentioned herein do, or did, have grandparents.

My wife and I will often have our grandsons over to the house for a few hours. This gives the boy’s parents a break – something all parents need. If the weather is nice outside, that is where we will spend most of the visiting time. If not, there are plenty of toys for them in the house. In either case we will closely monitor their activities.

Speaking of monitors, the other day I turned on my computer and monitor. But the monitor did not come on. The power on light emitting diode did not emit any light. I plugged the power cord into a different outlet. Still nothing on the monitor lit up. So I tried a different power cord – no change. I switched back and forth a couple of times and kept trying the power on/off switch. Never did it ever come on.

The very first computers did not have monitors. Actually the first computers were people – people who computed. Hence they were called computers. The first non-living computer was designed by Charles Babbage. It was called a Difference Engine. It didn’t do quite all of the things that today’s computers do. In fact it was only designed to calculate numerical tables.

Now maybe Babbage’s computer did not need a monitor. Or maybe he got sidetracked and never got around to designing a monitor for it. You see, he did get involved in sports for a while as evidenced by his inventing the cow catcher in 1838. But I don’t think that game ever caught on. Or maybe it’s a United Kingdom thing.

But eventually computers started to come equipped with monitors (no thanks to Babbage). My very first computer, a Tandy Radio Shack TRS-80 Model I came with a 12” black and white television set that was converted to receive and display computer data instead of television signals.

The rumor is that Tandy Corporation was so uncertain of the sales of the TRS-80 Model I that the original production run was for 4000 units. The concept being that if they did not sell, each store would be able to use one. As it happened, they sold 10,000 in the first month. I can’t prove anything stated in this paragraph – so don’t hold me to it.

Back to the future (well it was the future during the TRS-80 hey-day). I went on line to check the warranty policy of the manufacture of my non-functioning monitor. If the monitor was less than three years old they would email me a label for me to ship it back in the original packing and box. And, no surprise, I would need to supply the the original purchase receipt. Upon receipt of the defective unit, they would ship me a refurbished monitor.

I have the original packing and probably have the receipt. Due to my office perpetually being in a state of serious disarray, I’ve no clue where the original receipt is located. On an old Visa statement I found a transaction that I believe is the purchase of this monitor along with some other item(s). The month was September, 2007. But being within the three years does not help if I can’t find the receipt.

The monitor was purchased at Best Buy. In my looking I found some other Best Buy receipts. These were all so faded that I could not be sure what purchases they covered. In each case I could read just enough to know it was NOT the receipt I needed. So I do know that I did not have in hand the correct receipt at any time that day.

Well, I spent quite a bit of time going through the mess in my office looking for that receipt but never found it. I figure if I find it in time I can send the monitor in for replacement and then we will have a spare monitor. Next step: shopping.

I checked a couple of places on line but did not see anything that justified the wait for shipping. So then I checked Best Buy and Radio Shack. With Radio Shack I got the impression that I would have to wait for the monitor of my choice to be shipped to the store. The best deals at Best Buy also were “on line only”.

(more…)

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Oh, Margaret

Monday, June 21st, 2010

Margaret and I met and married in 1990.  It was late that year or early in 1991 when I wrote this poem.  And sometime in the years that followed, I lost the original copy.  So on January 31, 2010, I rewrote the poem.  It is certainly possible that I have made some minor changes, but the concept and thoughts all remain.

.

Oh, Margaret, I’m glad you’re in my life

and glad you consented to be my wife.

.

I’m very glad that I love you

and glad you feel the same way, too.

.

I’m glad you bring me so much joy

and glad that you are not a boy.

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Ten Days Ago

Thursday, June 17th, 2010

It was ten days ago. Ten long, thoughtful days ago. I had been wanting the adventure – no, adventure is not the right word. The experience – yes, I had been wanting the experience for a long time. Still, how could I know just what awaited me?

My wife, though not one of us, went with me. She bravely sat at my side throughout the whole thing. We arrived early. We stayed for the full event. She knew some of the people, I did not.

Second by second the time ticked by. Each participant spoke the words they had come to say. Some scientific, some of personal history, some of nature, some of death, and more. The range of topics was limited only by the number of participants present. No, not even that number was the limit as some covered more than a single subject.

The subject of death: that was mine. We were to speak words recently assembled, but my words were from nearly four decades ago. I had brought with me words written a long time ago because I did not know what the rules were. But I did not hide it. In fact, the very words themselves revealed the time lapse. I am not ashamed. The words were good. The story they told was not.

Even though she is not one of us, Margaret was also required to speak some words. She asked me to recommend some of my words for her to speak. I did. She spoke them. She did well.

And then we were required to prove our ability by putting together words that related to a subject that was announced just before we started the creation of the new sentences and paragraphs. Although it may not be the intent of our host, this procedure would prove that the words we were soon to speak were truly structured by none other than ourselves. After all, who could say that the words I spoke on death were arranged by me? I could, but who else?

And so we did. It was scary. It is my habit to arrange words and rearrange them and often do that repeatedly before I consider them worthy of presenting to others. Even then I am not always so sure. But I did as required. I put together words about – toothpaste. And, even though she is not one of us, my wife did so also. And she did well.

The task was enabled by a chemical supplement: a product originating in the equatorial territory of the Americas. The product is made from a bean which comes from a pod which grows on a tree. The bean is fermented and roasted and further processed until it becomes the thick pellet we were given. It’s powers are nothing less than magical. All at the event were able to produce sentences that met the requirements of our host. For me, I am sure it was the cacao bean that made the difference.

So was the experience what I expected? No, not quite. I had anticipated true critiques of the word packages provided by each of us. That was not provided. In a way it was a relief. I was prepared for negative feedback on my words, but I’m not so sure I could reciprocate. And that would not be fair.

The group comes together on a regular schedule. The next time is four days from now. Will I be there? No, I will not. I’ll not stay away because of my concern stated in the previous paragraph. As it happens, I’ll be traveling to another state on the day of the meeting.

Will I assemble with these people in the future? Yes. After all, while I am required to sit through whatever words they wish to speak, regardless of my interest, or lack of interest, in the subject, this provides a reciprocal advantage. They must listen to whatever I choose to speak of, regardless of their interest, or lack of interest. In other words, I have what all writers want: a captive audience.

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The New Nursing Home

Monday, April 26th, 2010

Just a little note about an amusing incident. Amusing if you are me. For Margaret, not so much.

Margaret is a Registered Nurse. Actually, all nurses are registered nurses because the state requires you to have a license before they let you earn an income doing nursing work. Getting a license is registering.

But I digress. I like to do that, (digress, that is) because it helps me make a really short incident a bit longer. And the more words I use telling you that I’m not yet telling you what I started out to tell you, the longer it will take me to tell you whatever it was that I was going to tell you. What was I going to tell you, anyhow?

Oh, yeah! I remember. Margaret is a Registered Nurse as in RN vs a Licensed Practical Nurse as in LPN. In other words she went to school longer than LPNs do.

Margaret works in a nursing home. She has worked in nursing homes for most of the time we have spent as a married couple. And that is nearly two decades. Two very good decades, I would like to point out. But I digress. I like to . . . Oh, never mind.

It is very common for her to receive an occasional mail solicitation from a medical facility (nursing home or hospital, etc.), suggesting she contact them about an employment opportunity. This is especially true when a new facility opens in the local area. Or in the not so local area. Sometimes even out of state.

Recently, we have had two new hospitals open in Lafayette. Even more recently a new nursing home opened in town. Today the mail carrier delivered a large post card from this new nursing home. It was addressed to my darling wife, Margaret. Well, let me clarify that – it was not addressed to: Ms. My Darling Wife Margaret. It was addressed to: Ms. Margaret Deedon.

So it was addressed to Margaret, not to me. Why would I think it might have been addressed to me? Margaret is ten years younger than I am. I won’t tell her age but I am . . . uh, forget that. Anyway, she is ten years younger than I and we are both in pretty good health. So there is no reason that those sending out the postcards might think she is not a possible prospective employee. None at all.

So as I looked at this postcard sent to my (ten years younger than I am) wife, I noticed that they were not seeking employees. They were suggesting that she “Reserve your private suite now. . .” In other words, they want her as a resident!!

I’ll come and visit you once in a while, Margaret.

ROFL

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Decapitating Dandelions

Sunday, April 18th, 2010

It’s that time of the year. The time to decapitate the dandelions. I most ashamedly admit to doing it today. But you know, it is really hard to mow the grass around and between the dandelions. Have you ever tried? Neither have I. I know an impossible job when I see one.

Most people think of dandelions as weeds. A lot of them try to commit genocide on the poor plants. They use herbicides and/or pesticides to do them in. Since my decapitating process is bloodless, I think it is better for Mother Earth. If it was bloody, or if I could hear the dandelions scream, I would have to look at other options for removing dandelions and other so called weeds.

A weed is any plant that grows where you don’t want it to grow. My dandelions aren’t weeds because I do want them there. Without the dandelions my lawn would be nothing but green. Green isn’t the worst color ever but, in my opinion, it’s not the best, either.

Now if grass was a nice bright blue, maybe I wouldn’t want dandelions scattered across my lawn.

When I was about the age of eight years old, I drove from Chicago to Texas to visit my grandfather. My parents and siblings went along. In fact, since I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, my dad did the actual driving.

We lived in a flat in a building with three other flats. There was a front yard and a back yard. Neither yard had any grass. In fact, there were virtually no weeds there, either. Do I seem to have gotten off track? Well just be patient, I’m getting’ there. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Traveling to Texas.

If you check with Google Maps you will find three suggested routes from Chicago to Brownsville. All three of them stay west of Kentucky. But we didn’t. Maybe Dad got lost (highly unlikely) or maybe my Mom suggested a roundabout way so we could see more states. Or maybe it really was the best way back in the days before the Interstate Highway System, (Yeah, I’m that old. What of it?)

Whatever the reason, we went into Kentucky. Well, I had heard of Kentucky Blue Grass and I was looking forward to seeing some of it. I expected that as we crossed the state line we would see the ground covered with bright blue grass. Boy, was I disappointed. It was not bright blue as I thought it would (and should) be. It was green grass with a vaguely blue tint. So I have never since had hopes of seeing grass a nice bright blue. Therefore, I want the yellow dandelions to dot my lawn and add some color to it.

It seems to me we should just let nature put what is best for our yards there and then let it grow. That’s getting back to nature. We are coming up on Earth Day and this would be a good start toward bringing the earth back to it’s natural state. At least my yard could get back to nature.

Of course the City of Lafayette has it’s little regulations that prohibit me from allowing my grass to grow too tall. Too tall is an arbitrary number chosen by people who believe that they know better than I what my lawn should look like. Ignore this entire paragraph – it is political and belongs in my other blog – Deedon’s Blog. (Note how I sneaked a plug in for my other blog but was not so brazen as to put the actual link to it there.)

Actually I have to like dandelions because my lovely and darling wife’s lovely and darling daughter, Michelle, uses the name dandelionheart as part of her email address. (The preceding sentence should be worth a couple points to me between the two of them.) Of course I never knew dandelions had hearts. But I don’t know that they don’t have them either.

A long time ago I read something that I truly wish I had written. But someone else thought of it first so I must leave credit where it belongs. Actually, I don’t know who wrote it first but I re-found it via StartPage search engine at this link. God on Lawns is the title of the article. Now if you find this funnier than the blog article you just read, don’t expect me to ever again share anyone else’s articles with you.

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Banana Peel

Friday, March 19th, 2010

A recent article chronicled how I bought a banana. If you don’t remember or didn’t read it just go back two articles and look for a title full of fruit. This is a continuation of that ‘adventure’.

With the help of Scott, I got Ubuntu running on my computer. If you don’t know what I am talking about it would appear you did not go back two articles and look for that title full of fruit – or if you did you didn’t read the article. How much good do you expect to get by just finding the article?

Are you back now? Did you read it this time?

As I was saying: “With the help of Scott, I got Ubuntu running on my computer.” I was anxious to download all of the emails that Verizon had on their server and were holding for me. The default email program with Ubuntu is called Evolution. The initial download to the Evolution from Verizon was 135 emails. I had looked at some of them on the Verizon web mail but wanted them on my computer. Some I had not read at all, some I definitely wanted to keep in perpetuity.

So there they were, 135 strong, sitting in my inbox. It was my intention to make sub-folders and move each of the emails to the appropriate sub-folder. After the job was completed I would read them. A bit of a tedious job but when your life is as boring as mine it’s no big deal. I’m sorry, Margaret. I didn’t mean you were boring. In the meantime another 5 were downloaded so I now had 140.

I started creating the sub-folders as I would come to an email for that specific folder. As I created each folder, I would move the email to it. Twenty-three of the emails had been moved when suddenly I got a message in the inbox that said “There are no more messages in this folder.” My inbox was empty – just like that 117 emails disappeared. Kinda like my paychecks.

Maybe the emails had sneaked into a wrong folder somewhere. (Yes, ’sneaked’ is the right word. I wanted to use ’snuck’ but the spell checker wouldn’t let me.) I checked each folder to be sure none of the emails were lurking in the wrong spot. Playing hide and seek, maybe. When I got to the Trash folder I found a copy of each of the emails that I had moved to other folders sitting there. The originals of these emails were still where I had placed them. So I had duplicates of the 23 emails and NO copy of 117 emails.

It seems I may have slipped on a banana peel.

The sudden evaporation of 117 emails was not the only problem with Evolution. I don’t recall them all but it was enough to decide to seek a different program. I think Evolution needs to evolve some more. Fortunately I found one fairly easily that I really like. It’s called KMail.

KMail had its share of aggravations but I found solutions to many of the minor problems and Andy helped solve most of the major ones. One of the ‘fun’ ones was when I’d click a URL link in an email, instead of it opening Firefox (the web browser) it would open a calendar program called Sunbird. Andy helped me solve that one. OK, Andy solved that one for me – I had nothing to do with solving it. Now all of the important ones are taken care of.

OpenOffice is the office suite and I really like it except for some minor details. No program is perfect because everybody has a different idea of what they want in a program. (And no programmer has ideas that agree with me.) Of course when you are used to a certain word processor and you switch to a new one, there will be some learning effort involved. You are likely to find some things you like better. You are likely to find some things you dislike. You are likely to find some features missing. Often those missing features are simply hidden under different terminology. (More hide and seek.) Sometimes they just don’t exist. You have to get used to the changes.

The Sunbird calendar program I mentioned earlier is one that I really like. It is easy to work with and easy to get a printout showing my appointments and events, etc for the month. Again there was a different one that I tried and discarded quite quickly. My reason was that there appeared to be no way to show Sunday on the left side of the calendar. Haven’t these guys ever looked at a real calendar? I Suppose that because most people’s work week is Monday though Friday, the creators of that program only allowed a Monday through Sunday calendar. I don’t think that way and the lack of an option to correct it was reason enough to make me move on.

Speaking of moving on, I think I’ll do just that. I don’t know if I’ll ever tell any more of this saga as I’m not sure there’ll be anything interesting to tell. In fact, this one wasn’t all that interesting unless you are trying to learn about Ubuntu or bananas or unless you enjoy my suffering. So maybe you shouldn’t read this one.

Don’t know why but I’m hungry again.

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Apples verses Oranges verses Bananas

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

Computers are so frustrating even for those who once knew a little about them (i. e., me). A month and a half ago I posted an article titled “Apples verses Oranges”. In it I sought the wisdom of the masses on the virtues of the Apple computers (Macs) verses Microsoft computers (oranges). I requested any and all readers to shower me with their experiences regarding computing. Only a small (read very, very, itsy bitsy, teeny weeny tiny) portion of the masses actually read my blogs – or even know about them. But one of them did respond (thank you, Sari). Actually, that could have been as much as half my readership (I know my wife reads my blogs – if I beg her to enough times). So I guess that may have been a pretty good response – percentage wise.

My original interest in writing the article was for the future. Someday I might decide to move to an Apple from the MS-DOS system I’ve been using. Always concerned about the higher cost of an Apple I really didn’t expect to make any changes soon. Still, my computer was getting slower and slower. Then it quit!

On Monday, the 22nd of February (in the wee hours of the morning when Margaret was too tired to realize what was going on) I got her to approve a blog titled “Who’s the Boss?” I then posted it before she could change her mind. When I awoke in the morning, as usual, I checked my email. As I was finishing checking it I received an on screen notice that Windows was about to reboot as it had been processing some automatic upgrades. I pressed the “reboot now” button and waited. I could still be waiting. It left town and never came back. Was this punishment for the blog article?

The error message was something about a device not allowing Windows to boot. So I disconnected every external device from the computer except the monitor and keyboard. Kinda needed those, I figured. And, besides, they seemed to be working. No help. Then I even swapped keyboards and used a different USB port. Still zilch.

A very useful program I have is called Checkit PE. It will check out the hardware: memory, hard drives, video cards, main board circuitry, etc. I gave that a try and discovered a bad spot on my hard drive. Then I ran Spinrite, a program that will, sometimes, clean up bad spots. Spinrite found the same bad spot and told me it was SO bad that it was unrecoverable.

One of my most consistent characteristics is that I am a procrastinator. One of the first articles I planned to write was about procrastination. And someday I’ll get around to it. That characteristic is what keeps me from making backups on a regular (or even irregular) basis. So, of course, I had none. Not only that, but I have no idea where the recovery disc that I made when I first set up this computer has disappeared to.

What to do? I went back to my “Apples verses Oranges” article and reread the comment sent by my loyal reader, Sari. OK, it could be that that is the only article of mine she’s read. At least she commented.

My options appeared to be 1) buy a new hard drive and a new copy of Windows. It would have to be Windows 7 as Vista is no longer in the stores. Or 2) buy a new Apple (Mac) computer. The new drive and Windows would obviously be the cheaper way to go. But perhaps a new Apple would spare me future pain.

It seemed to me that with the lack of numerous responses to my quest for help, perhaps I should directly ask those in the know. Computer experts. So I did. From those who own Macs, the answer came that ‘Macs are the greatest thing since sliced bread’. From those who do not, the answer was ’stay away from Macs’. Well THAT was a lot of help!

While making a desperate search for the missing OS recovery disc, I ran across a disc labeled: “Ubuntu 7.10 Desktop ver. i386 October 2007 Gutsy Gibbon.” It sounded like a story of an Aborigine from deep in Australia and a wild adventurer from the silent movie era. But it wasn’t. It was (and is) a disc with a version of Linux – a third choice in the mysterious world of computers. A banana. It was given to me some time ago – probably around or after October of 2007 (just a guess).

Mathue and Scott (two men related to me by marriage) both talk about Linux from time to time. But I guess I just tuned them out most of the time just like Margaret (a woman related to me by marriage) tunes me out when I talk technobable. Mat and Scott’s technobable is a higher level of TB than mine. In other words, I don’t understand them (or Linux).

Linux, of which Ubuntu is a version of (don’t ask about Gutsy Gibbons – please), is supposedly the best of two worlds. It has the security of Apple and the cost of Orange, uh, that would be Mac and Microsoft, respectively. Actually, it is MUCH cheaper than Microsoft because it is free. That’s right. I said “free”. So how, I wondered, could anyone (including yours truly) pass up this option – the banana.

So now I have the banana. That is to say I have a new hard drive with the Ubunto v9.10 installed. This version is known as Karmic Koala. (Still in Australia, I see.) And I like it. Usually. There are only four or five hundred things it does not do (or I don’t yet understand how to make them happen).

Enough of this, it is driving me nuts. I’ll write more on this adventure in the future but for now I’ll take a break. I know, I’ll go to the Outback and find Gusty Gibbons and save him from that Ubuntu tribe. I hope Gusty’s been nice to the Karmic Koalas.

I’ll grab a banana on my way out.

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Who’s the Boss?

Monday, February 22nd, 2010

I am, of course. There has never been any doubt about it. I am the boss in my house. That’s not to say that Margaret does everything I ask. Or, for that matter, does anything I ask. None the less, I am the boss.

For instance, when Margaret asks me to take out the trash, I’ll do it – when I feel like it. Once she asks (or tells) me to do it, it seems that I start to imagine I’m smelling the trash and that’s no good. So I usually take it out within a few minutes. That’s the only reason I take it out so soon.

When we travel someplace by car, I drive. I drive because I insist on driving. Margaret never argues with me. This has nothing to do with the fact that she hates driving.

When she asks me to cook lunch, I only do it so I don’t have to eat her cooking. I ask her what she wants but than I cook what I want. If she says pizza we’re in luck because I love pizza. Or she might say mushroom soup, which I don’t like. So I tell her she might as well give me another choice as I don’t intend to cook mushroom soup. So she’ll offer the second choice of, say, me sleeping on the couch. I cook mushroom soup as it is now my choice.

So it is clearly settled, as it was nearly 20 years ago when we married – I am the boss of my house.

Well, I’ll ask Margaret if I can post this now.

PS. Margaret has a good sense of humor and if EITHER of us felt the above represented the truth, NEITHER of us would want it published. Honest!

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