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Good Grief


If it isn’t one thing, it’s another…how’s that for original thought?

I went to my computer, the desktop, which is one of the newer dinosaurs, as compared to the iPads and tablets and such, intending to turn it on and get started on my weekly offering of deathless prose and witty repartee before journeying off into the wilds of assembled Methodist doings.  

Good luck with that.  We’re dealing with a house that’s electrically cursed  for some reason.

The number of  appliances and electronica that have gone to their rest from this domicile is quite amazing.  I used to think that it was caused by the big pine tree next door acting like giant lightning rods but John Brock cut the tallest ones down, so it’s on to plan B.  And it’s not all about storms either, lights and watches are sometimes possessed as well.

Apparently, the lightning outbursts the other night struck and killed something VERY important inside its  electronic guts, and, while some of the lights were on, a VERY vital one was shining RED, as in NOT WORKING! (To coin a phrase, Good Grief!) I am only marginally computer-literate, meaning that I can turn it on and off; I can also pick up the phone and call somebody—anybody—who might know what to do next.

The gurus on call that evening figured out the lightning  explanation but there’s some speculation as to whether the inside box is knocked out or the outside box has suffered a debilitating injury.  Either one, of course, means that (1) no writing will be done for some time (2) cursing will avail me naught (3)it’s going to cost me a bundle, no matter what and (4) I’ve got to figure out some alternate way to get this stuff to The Villager.  If I have to do this in longhand, we’re ALL going to suffer…trust me on this.

So…I went to the laptop; it had been in the other room and should be able to function on Well,  it appeared that the laptop had also suffered from some injury but was not completely wiped out.  Once turned on, it spent a fair amount of time reconfiguring some “orphan files” (adoption, maybe?) and refusing to recognize and/or co-operate with the network at the PCDL.  Picky, picky, picky….

Then Lucy pushed buttons and moved arrows—never ONCE cursing as I would have—and persuaded  the gizmo to actually get with the program…get ME with the program, actually, so that I could send off the breaking news (That’s a joke, son) about the G-H Rotary and the JAGHS last week.  Sent it off as email and not as a file, so it’s not set in stone, in case my literary executors are hoping to release a volume of “Greatest Hits” after my demise ( Save your copy, it may be worth cash).

O.K., so the Library closes at 6:00 and the workers at the desk are starting to look at me askance, so I head out.  Next two places to come to mind for continuing this odyssey are the DQ and Hiram College; they’ve GOT to have wi-fi.  Try Hiram first, I don’t need to be scarfing down another Blizzard( I like the ones with pecans) while trying to deal with all of this.

Ah!  The Promised Land.  The Kennedy Center has wi-fi and a view AND Alumni Week End going on in the main room.  It also has  internet access for guests.  I can be an alumna and a guest at the same time. Right?  Plus, anyone in my age cohort that shows up and sees me sitting there sweating out this attempt at communication can probably sympathize.

So. I’m hoping that this gets to where it needs to go.  It’s sort of like putting a message in a bottle or smuggling notes out of prison like Solsznytsin, or whatever his name was, in the Soviet Gulag.  Of course, he wrote things that got him a Nobel Prize; no such aspirations here, but, hey, I wouldn’t decline the honor(I’m telling you, hang on to your originals).

There’s more to this tale of catastrophes, but the next installment will deal with the neighbors and the hiccups.  How’s that for a combo?