COMPUTER ALZHEIMER'S

When you don't want to blog and your computer is acting nicely you don't fret about the future. When you want to change your blog photo and post a blog with pictures and your computer--or Blogger, but I tend to vote for the computer--won't let you then you are frustrated.

I have to come to Phil's site/home/whateverthisis, because on mine I can't even pull up a web page, not even Google. Now we do have a new computer, sitting in the box but how two computer duffuses--would that be duffi?--are going to get it up and running I don't know. And, how will I retrieve my favorites/bookmarks? I will lose my people, my "I will buy this when I have money" sites, etc. In fact, how will I continue to breathe in and out w/out my memory? I have computer Alzheimer's .

Bah.

WHAT IT'S LIKE WATCHING A TV PROGRAM ON THIS COMPUTER

I've been watching a TV series on Hulu. My computer does not allow continuous action, but it does allow continuous audio. Freeze frame of a wall. Dialogue for two minutes and I never did see who either of the two men talking were.

Freeze frame of one person who is talking to another but I don't get to see the other person so I don't know what is going on, or with whom, and it was kind of a heated argument.

Change of scene. Two women talking but I can't tell who is saying what because the computer freeze frames on one of them and then in 30 seconds I see who she is talking to...or maybe who was talked to. I'm not sure who was once married to the man the other is now dating...I wonder if this is worth it.

Probably not.

Maybe for more reasons than a slow computer.

PS And I have to listen to the commercials because there is no way to skip forward. Yes, probably/definitely not worth it. Probably. Maybe.

YOUR HUT IS ON FIRE

Do you ever feel like your life is in shambles? Me too.

Tonight on the PBS station Dr. Daniel Amen--book: Magnificent Mind at Any Age--is talking about depression, anxiety disorders, ADD, ADHD, changing your perception of a problem--just about everything that might be stressful in your life (except a non-functioning computer--I hope Santa reads this blog). I think I need to read his book--he is giving lots of help to overcome the negative and encourage the positive. He says these things will be life changing. he has a weekly email. Click here to subscribe.

Also, today I got the following email in the mail. You probably have seen it yourself. It comes around every so often. (Thank you, Terri). See what you think. I'm picturing my computer on fire along with other things on fire, too. My fatness, perhaps. Man, that fire should burn for years!

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IS YOUR HUT ON FIRE?

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming.

Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions.

One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. He cried out, 'God! How could you do this to me?'

Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching the island! It had come to rescue him! 'How did you know I was here?' asked the weary man of his rescuers. 'We saw your smoke signal,' they replied.

The Moral of This Story:

It's easy to get discouraged when things are going badly, but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering... Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground, it just may be a smoke signal that summons the Grace of God.

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If you hut is on fire I hope the ship is just beyond the horizon and chugging toward your island at this very moment.

PS Here's just one of his suggestions: Write down five things you are grateful for. Meditate about them during the day--every day. This will increase your level of happiness in just three weeks. What have you got to loose? Make your list today. I'm going to do it, too.

WHAT'S YOUR PASSION?

This week I'm working on a chapter--for my YA novel--that I have simply titled "Passion."

Did you know what you were passionate about when you were twelve? Are they the same things that they are now?

My obvious passions are my religion and my family. Here are some minor ones:

THE STORY. It's always about the story and has always been so. Even commercials on TV have a story. My favorite is the Arby's "last day of school" one where the faculty is just as happy to be out of school as the kids and they all end up at Arby's. I have it recorded and watch it several times in a row. It cheers me up.

PLUCKING MY WHISKERS STRAY EYEBROWS: They shall not live.

FINGERNAIL POLISH: On September 1st I will have worn it every day for a year.

THE COMPUTER: I can read the story, compose the story, and keep in touch with my friends. Not Facebook. Not Twitter. Just email, which I love.

SLEEP: I just need to get some earlier.

LUNCH OUT WITH FRIENDS: Where I hear their stories and tell them mine.

MOVIES: Again, the story. And the popcorn.

CLEAN HANDS, CLEAN FACE: Repentance for the soul, soap for the face. And my daughter-in-law's lavender lotion, which I put it on my face and then put my hands to my nose and breathe deep for a full minute. Then I go to sleep happy.

That's enough for tonight.

What are your passions?

THINGS I DO WHILE WAITING FOR MY COMPUTER TO GET OVER ITS TANTRUMS

I pluck various hair in various spots on my face. They are black. They have no right to grow there. They must go. “I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows." (Janette Barber)

I sigh.

I paint my nails.

I press Alt-Tab.

Because I pressed Alt-Tab, in a sloppy angry way, I have to repaint my nails.

I drum my fingers on the keys.

I floss my teeth.

I get up and clean the cat box, thinking that by the time I get back the computer will be over its temper tantrum. Usually it is still holding its breath.

Because I cleaned the cat box with wet nails, I repaint.

I watch a rerun of "House."

After House has saved the person from leprosy or some other interesting disease I come back, and if the computer is functioning I have forgotten the story--email--blog and then I sigh and complain.

And then I go to bed. It is 1:00 AM. Or maybe 2:00.

THE SPEED EATER

If I didn't know better I'd think the Scottish Dreamer and Mrs. Bird were sisters. A few days ago the Scottish Dreamer bought eclairs for dinner and...oh, you just have to go read it yourself. The Scottish Dreamer is a Speed Eater.

I may not be blogging much. The computer is having a identity crisis. It thinks it's a smelly armpit. A real "turn off" if there ever were one. And that's what it does. Turns its self off. Continually.

When it's not turning its self off it thinks it's a husband whose wife had a list of things that need to be done around the house. It ignores commands.

It also thinks it's the smaller side of a side-by-side fridge. It freezes.

So, if I don't check your blogs and comment it's not because I didn't want to. I probably have sweaty armpits and have icicles hanging off my nose while holding a deaf mouse.

It could be worse. This I know but.... But, for a blogger and wanna-be writer, who has a writing convention next week, and doesn't have her chapters edited yet, I wonder how.

WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND

This is one of the lawn swings that EVERY FREAKING DAY has bird poop on it. A robin, maybe a whole herd/gaggle/pride of robins, sit here every morning, noon and evening and sings so delightfully, so happy and then they relieve themselves. On both of the lawn swings. Bird poop, lots and lots of bird poop.Until today, because last night I put flat head thumb tacks on the bar on top. I hope he didn't hurt himself. (Sarcasm, a lot of sarcasm.)

I took care of him and now, someone took car of me.

My computer turns it's self off umpteen times a day. It wipes out whatever I've been working on.

It wiped out ALL my email since May 16th. I hadn't read today's yet, except for a couple.

I have a novel I am trying to work on. Nope, computer won't let me.

I have emails that need to get sent to the students in the class I'm attending for the Writer's for Young Reader's symposium at BYU. I'm already four days late in sending that and now the computer has wiped out the names and email addresses of all the students.

I fixed that Robin/that flock, fleet, flight of Robins.

I'm getting paid back right where it hurts--in the computer. And oh, it hurts. I'd rather sit on thumbtacks.

Gotta hurry and post this before the computer turns it's sel

MINKEY, THE LONESOME CAT, NEEDS SOME LOVES

Phil and I went to the movie this afternoon without Minkey's permission. When we got home he followed me around complaining. When I sat down at the computer he sat in front of the printer telling me off.
Then he ventured onto my lap.First he checked out what I was doing on the computer. It was boring so...
...he licked me. He licked my fingers,
he licked my wrist, he licked my arm.
I moved my hand so he licked my other hand.

And he purred and purred. I won't be getting anything done on the computer for awhile. I will be scratching Minkey behind the ears and on the back. I have moved him but he comes right back. Scratching Minkey some more...and some more...sigh...and some more.

MORE HOT ROMANCE TO REPORT AND BAD NEWS, WELCOMED

Another Instance of Hot Romance at Our House.

Yesterday, Phil was at the computer. I came up behind him, put my arm around his chest, laid my head on his shoulder and gave him a hug.

"Uh oh," he said, "What have you done? Have you broken something?"

"I'm just loving you," I said.

"Have you touched something mechanical?" he said. (Mechanical things dislike me. They stop working, break or short circuit. Every car of ours that has even had a breakdown was when I was driving. Alone.)

"The nerve," I said. "Can't you just accept a simple show of affection."

"Well, it's so rare, I was worried."

And so it goes. Hot romance.

Bad News--Welcomed

This morning, when I came down the stairs, Phil met me at the bottom of the steps with a tragic look on his face.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

In that instant I thought of each child. Each grandchild. Maybe something terrible had happened to one of them. Then I thought, Well, he's leaving me. He doesn't get enough romance and he's had it. Then I thought, he's ruined something of mine. The computer would be my best guess. He knows I adore it. I might even say it's a romantic relationship, not a hot one, but still.

I finally spoke in a croaky whisper. "What's wrong?"

"Pika hawked up a fur ball in your shoe."

I have never been so happy to have unpleasant news in my life. I may even have hugged him. "Thank you, Phil," I said. "Oh, thank you."

He now thinks I'm certifiably nuts and doesn't want hot romance with the likes of me.

COMPUTER WITHDRAWAL...and...WHAT IS MY DARLING DAUGHTER THINKING?

Yesterday this is what happened to the monitor screen while Phil was preparing his Sunday School lesson. His document was reduced to a one inch width.

As you might imagine he panicked. He had three pages of his lesson done and was afraid he'd loose it. He called for help. First to me, who knows Naahthing about computers, monitors, anything technological and can't even speeal easy words.

Phil called Taylor, "Help, my computer screen is one inch wide and I don't know how to save my document?" Taylor told him how to save it using key strokes. One problem solved.

Then he called Trent, "Help, do you have an extra monitor?" Of course he does, the computer junkie that he is. Two problems solved.

But we talked to Hillary too and she had an extra one and would bring it into us if we'd meet at the mall and shop the sales the next morning. Who could resist that? Sales and seeing Ruby, the golden haired moppet.

Last night I had computer withdrawal symptoms, I itched, had facial ticks and I sulked--no checking blogs--my new hobby--and no writing on my blog, either, which isn't such a loss but you know, it's kind of a habit by now. Phil had to relinquish the TV remote and then there was more twitching as he had to watch girl-stuff.

On the way to meet Hillary this morning, on University Ave., it was 33 degrees. We saw two men. One wore shorts, a short sleeved shirt, sandals and was carrying a coat under his arm. What was the matter with that man? He thought he was in the Caribbean. What would his mother think?

The second man wore a parka, ski gloves, pants made from the wool of 100 llamas, a scarf, a this-is-a-stick-up hood with just his scary eyes showing and a very large furry hat. What was the matter with that man. He thought he was at the South Pole. What would his mother think?

When we met my darling daughter, this is how she had Ruby dressed. In a sweater! Did I mention it was 33 degrees? What is the matter with my darling daughter?

Does this child look warm?

And look at this. Dressed the same exact way in a 72 degree store as in a 33 degree parking lot.

And, to make matters worse, look how adoringly she looks at her grandpa. I would be thrilled beyond normal sanity and would give up twitching, sulking and chocolate if Ruby loved me as much as she loves her grandpa. I would give up twitching and sulking, for sure.

So, I had a heart to heart talk with my darling daughter about dressing Ruby warmer and this is the kind of a respectful look she gave me. I ask you, is it any wonder I twitch, getting no respect from the girl who calls herself "yfc"--which stands for Your Favorite Child. I ask you. Seriously.

What's a mother to do?

And notice, this respectful child is not wearing a coat, either. Really, what's a mother to do?

TIME FOR A CONFESSION--ELIZABETH DID IT

It was late at night. Elizabeth had the computer held hostage. I was bored. We were throwing things at each other, wads of paper, that kind of thing. It was her fault, it really was. She should have been more careful with her glass of water.

She should drink more water anyway, water is what keeps your brain synapses firing. Hers were sluggish, I'm sure of it. There's nothing more pitiful than sluggish brain synapses. Water makes your skin dewy, not old and wrinkly--I don't know what on earth has happened my skin because I drink a lot of water--in the kitchen, and not around the computer like some people with sluggish brains synapses that I could mention. Water removes toxins from the body--she should have drunk her water and removed her toxins. Water relieves headaches and dizziness--she probably was dizzy and didn't intercept my weapon. It is definitely her fault.

She recovered her glass of water after it emptied on the keyboard.

There was a great silence in the land.

"It's your fault," we both whispered, in case Phil was not totally asleep twenty-seven walking step and two sets of seven stairs away, through a closed door and could hear us.

"Nuh huh, it's your fault," we both whispered again.

She sat at the computer, like a dizzy person with sluggish brain synapses.

I stood up and frantically turned in a circle. That's what crop circles really are, aliens who don't know what to do next, so they just stand there and twitter. Twitterpated aliens make some amazing patterns in fields all over the world. I know these things. There was an interesting, twitterpated pattern in the carpet in the family room that night. We should have taken photos and sent them to the local newspaper.

Then our brain synapses started firing and we both turned the keyboard upside down and banged it on the desk. Water fell like rain.

"It's your fault," I said.

"Huh huh, it's yours. You were the one throwing things."

I stared in disbelief, pointing a rigid finger to wads of paper all over the room.

"I was only throwing them back," she said, "in self defense!"

I made a noise in the back of my throat, not a snort, not a growl but one of those unidentifiable noises all mothers learn to make when the their two-year-old says, "I have to go potty," and you rush them to the bathroom to find out they already did. In their big-girl-pants. The noise just gets more defined as the child grows and does more interesting things. Mine was well defined.

"Well," she said, "I was. It's a clear case of self defense." She says things like, "clear case" sometimes. She should be an attorney but with those sluggish brain synapses, maybe she will go into politics.

In hindsight I realize that the blow dryer might have been helpful. Much more helpful than the wads of tissue we squished in between the keys. Everything seemed to be fine. The keyboard was still working so we shut things off and went to bed. That's when the keyboard gremlins came out and switched wires, disconnected some altogether and fiddled with a bunch of microchips, using them as Lego's.

The next day some letters didn't work at all and others had an identity crisis. They thought they were someone else. The much used "e" thought it was an "x." We would have had to invent a new code if we wanted to communicate with anyone so we did what everyone who has committed a crime does, we decided to cover it up.

I called Michelle and explained what had happened. After she recovered from her unnecessary laughter she agreed that her husband, my son, Trent, the computer geek, had more keyboards than he needed and he would--without his knowledge--be glad to donate one to his mother. Trent's like that sometimes, being generous and doing good deeds without his knowledge.

Michelle had an appointment in Orem. We made arrangements to meet. Phil was working in the garden so I yelled over the fence, "I'm going to run an errand," and then I ran to the car, in case he asked where my errand was. I ran as fast as a person with old wrinkly skin can run when she is trying to cover up a crime. Dizzy Elizabeth, with the slow brain synapses, stayed home to guard the computer in case he washed off garden dirt and decided to check email.

Michelle and I met, we exchanged keyboards. Luckily they were identical except that the new one had a missing leg. We tried to pry a leg off the old defunct keyboard but, being weak and feeble, we failed so I grabbed the legless keyboard, hugged her and took off in a cloud of exhaust. I threw a kiss at her over my shoulder but she was laughing and wiping her eyes, and didn't see.

Once home we installed the new keyboard and put a child's orange block where the missing leg should have been. It worked beautifully. When Phil asked what happened to the keyboard leg I said, "It broke off," which is perfectly true. At some point in it's history, it broke off. I just don't know when.

"Oh," he said in a "it's no big deal" sort of way, which made me wonder if I should have just told him the story of the foolishness right then but I didn't, and now, one of these days he will read this blog and...well, he'll have a talk with Elizabeth about how she needs to drink more water in the kitchen and then we'll all have a good laugh.

Won't we?

PS Posted January 5th. I talked to Elizabeth tonight and she said, "It was your fault. You threw a pillow at me." Too bad she's not the one writing this, isn't it?

RUBY WAS HERE

Yesterday Ruby was here. She's two. She went potty. That's a big thing. I told her I was proud--as proud as a grandmother can be to see a poo-poo in the toilet. I was tending because her mom, my darling daughter and Phil went shopping for a new computer. They looked many places and found prices that were high. On her way home Hillary stopped at Office Max and bought a computer all by herself. With no advice from her computer geek brothers or her husband or her dad or nuthin'. Brave she is, my girl. I don't think I could have done it all by myself.

After they left I looked at the nativity I keep for the grandchildren--it's made of plastic and is pretty much indestructible. All the people, all the animals, were lying down. Even the chickens and the cat. Everyone needed a nap. Everyone but Ruby. Grandma, for instance needed a nap more than the camel or the donkey or the wise men or anyone else.