Running Free

Running Free

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Goodbye Bill...Hello Steve

Dear Bill,

We have been together a long time. Close to twenty years.  We’ve weathered many ups and downs; and if there was ever anyone who could show compassion as I sat knee deep in muck in the middle of the night, it was you. 

You were always there with quiet guidance and a solution,“ Let’s try a reboot,” you’d suggest.  Or maybe after studying the problem for a bit you might say, “I think we need a  Control+alt+delete. ” Whatever the case, you were there for me. My knight in shining Armorall.

You taught me many things. And I am grateful to you Bill. I really am. I mean if it weren’t for my time with you, I would never have learned that patience isn’t a virtue.  It’s a necessity.  

When the Wreck of the PC came in the wee hours of the morning and claimed my hard drive as its own I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream and run stark mad out the door. I took the thing to the local tech hospital where I kept an around the clock vigil as the hardware doctors tried to perform a last minute intervention. One more breath from the drive. Just one file with all the data for my report. That’s all I needed.

“These things happen.” That’s what you said. Nobody is perfect. Well, that may be true. Today, I come to you with outstretched hand and a bid of adieu. We shared conversation across the campus of your beautiful building in 1995. Yes, you and I walked side-by-side and chatted about the newest baby, Windows 95. Oh, I know, I am dating myself here. It goes to show how time does indeed fly.

So I thought you should be the first to know – Rasta Woman convinced me with a single word.  I ran into her (literally) at the Farmer’s Market where she had the most perfect specimen of an eggplant in her hands.   Her skin glowed with something akin to love and she told me that she had seen the light. I should paint the scene for you- I was inspecting a quart of organic strawberries when I dropped them all over the hemp-strewn carpet of the stall.  I stepped on Rasta Woman’s foot in the process of collecting the perfectly ripe specimens. Oh and the scent – they were just exquisite.

But, I digress.  As I began to apologize, she shared with me the truth of the world as it applies to the computer. Lo and behold  she did it with a touch of a finger and the name of a fruit. Rasta Woman with the impeccable skin placed her cool hand on my cheek and whispered a single word, “Apple.” My cheek and me were flushed with embarrassment and the remainder of the peanut butter that at one time had been on the sandwich of my six year-old’s lunch.

Rasta Woman rules. She is the light at the end of the dark tunnel of lost data, slow boots and endless crashes in the middle of the most urgent project. No more. I'm sorry Bill.

The Apple of my eye is a guy named Steve. I am leaving you for a younger, brighter more virulent man. Yes, it's true .  And my how his Apple does shine. Rasta Woman was right. Apple. One word.   

Steve and I – well – I guess you could say we have entered into a mutually exclusive relationship. He is always ready for anything. He is awake, ready, willing, and able. He has none of this belching and creaking and groaning and stretching. He is ready to go. He hits the ground running- whenever I am ready- so too is he.

Goodbye Bill...Hello Steve…..


A former PC Groupie – now an Apple Convert

copyright 2010. All rights reserved.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Sock Troubles...

They are at it again. I can hear them giggling and whispering behind my back. It never fails. Just when I think I am in control, that I have things firmly in hand - Kaboom!

The socks of the world have united against me. I have no less than 8 different socks in varying shade of pearl grey, mud spattered white, coffee stained yellow and black with stripes, black with ribbed coating and not a one has a mate.

I feel like I have become the host of the dating game for socks. In this corner over here we have a lovely white sock with a small hole in the big toe – extra air conditioning really- looking extremely dapper and in need of a mate. And over here looking suave and sexy is gold toe reinforced cashmere sock eagerly in need of a mating…

I swear, they go in as two and come out as one. It makes no sense. Does the laundry machine eat them; chew them up and spit them out as lint bits? I just don’t know. Where do these rapscallions hide? Amidst and among the shirt sleeves and coat tails? In the lining of swim suits? In the hoods of sweat shirts? Why can’t they just stay with their mates? What is this divorce court? It is out of control.

And then just when I think I am going to just toss the bunch of rabble rousers and start over – or maybe turn them into dusting clothes for hard to reach place or puppets with bug eyes for me to use as wake up calls for DH and DS, just then out pops a varmint from the inner lining of a recently changed set of sheets or from the folds of a swim towel giving me a smug look as it plops very unceremoniously to the ground.

Failing dismally at my ability to manage the socks I see little hope for the rest of the house. I think it is time to think about a trade-in- I will talk to the DH – maybe there is a good trade in on a used model of house wife these days…

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