Where's the Cord?

Here's just one of the reasons I am terrified of electronics: there are too many cords. Especially with computers -- cords (or a wireless connection which I think still has a cord somewhere) for printers, mouse, etc. If I want to download photos, I have to find the cord that goes between the camera and the computer. Same with my iPod.

I can operate most household electronics; I just can't set them up. In days past you had to connect the television to cable and then set up the VCR and the DVD player. Now people have Blue Ray, which I have no clue what it is except it's the newest generation of a way to watch movies. Some people can set up elaborate stereo systems and surround sound. Not me.

I'm pretty good at figuring out remotes, computer software and recording programs through various electronics. I just need someone whose brain is wired differently than mine to deal with the set up and find the cords.

What If?

I have always considered myself a good student. I used to self-assign homework. That does not mean I am capable of teaching myself. I much prefer to follow smart people and soak up their knowledge.

My Internet connection went out on Friday. I plugged and unplugged. I went a little crazy. Then I resigned myself to the fact that it would not be fixed until after the weekend.

Years ago I was on a magazine assignment and I had the honor of interviewing some very talented and accomplished people. One was Scott Jones who invented voicemail. (This is not a lofty statement like Al Gore inventing the Internet -- Scott Jones actually received several patents for this idea.)

Here's when I figured out that I will never be that smart or make a b'jillion dollars with an idea. He told me a story and I'll boil it down to this:

In college, he had a fascination with computers. (He's my age so please remember that the memory on your cell phone used to take up an entire building.)

He took out a teensy classified ad in a national magazine asking for people to send their old computers to him.

He convinced his parents to turn their basement into a laboratory.

He took them apart and put them back together until he completed the puzzle.

He jotted idea after idea. He plugged away until he understood.

During our interview he pointed to a pile of notebooks. He will not run out of ideas.

He's started several more companies and received several more patents.

Being a good student is a good idea. The smartest people I meet also combine that with asking, "What if ..?"

A Cool Pad

In the 70s, I aspired to own a cool pad. I was enthralled with Mary Richard's cute place on "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" It was small but charming.

Did you know if you use your laptop as your primary computer, you need a cool pad? I did not. I had a flashback to the 70s when "cool pad" had a completely different meaning. Computer guy did not understand my hysterical giggles.

So now I own a cool pad. It's just not the one I had in mind.

Dating

No, I have no plans to start dating. But, between the data transfer needed and some issues from our latest round of storms, I'm starting to feel like I'm going steady with the computer guy. He's the perfect date: he's pleasant and polite; he's patient with my questions. He doesn't touch me and I don't touch him. He fixes things and generally does what I ask him to do.

Of course, it stops feeling like a date the moment I get out my checkbook.

Most women will list traits like kindness or sense of humor as qualities they want in their ideal mate. Yes, they are important but they're not enough. I think you should aspire to a well-rounded person who can fix or do things, including:

Fix the computer, fax machine, printer and scanner;
Remove the overgrown trees and bushes, plus the rampant poison ivy;
Prepare your taxes;
Manage your finances;
Advise about real estate;
Understand investing and the markets;
Answer your legal questions;
Fix the plumbing and/or electrical problems;
Fix a leak in the roof;
Understand politics and explain its historical context.

I realize it's a pipe dream for all of these talents to come wrapped in a single package. Especially if you expect a sense of humor too.

The husband has many of these talents so I'm not complaining about him. But, his passions are music and golf. I don't tend to have a lot of emergencies or urgent needs in those areas.

At least he's not the jealous type. He doesn't mind that I'm spending more time with the computer guy than with him.

In the Same Room

If you have an older home, as I do, things are guaranteed to go wrong. Ours is a money pit but I still love it. I actually love it more knowing that eventually we will have to make the smart decision to downsize so that makes me cherish every tree and the view from every window.

When something goes wrong, I do my best to fix it. But, I have this fantasy. Could we get everyone in the same room? The water company tells me I am using an absurd amount of water -- there must be a leak. The plumber tells me he can't find a leak and the water company is messing with me. The sprinkler/irrigation people tell me I need to talk to the water company.

If there's a computer problem, I have to call the cable company (supplier of my high-speed service,) the Internet provider and the hosts of my domain names.

When we had the oldies, we skirted between VA doctors (last count was 8) and our preferred physician. A conversation in the same room would've saved everyone a lot of stress. (I must admit our doctor did his best to make it happen.)

The same is true of personal relationships. Spouses and friends can clear the air but it helps to be in the same room. Hey, you can always walk away.

Six-Word Memoirs -- Part Two

I'm changing computers. Yesterday involved a lot of data transfer and time I couldn't be on the computer. Yikes!

After laundry and as many errands as I could tolerate, I took one of my notebooks into my sun room and I played the six-word memoir game. If you don't make this list, trust me there's more to come.

Mom:

You still think you're the boss.

Jan/Deb:

To the grave; not long enough.

Patsy:

You knew me then. Please forget.

Kim:

The childhood mirror shows us well.

Rich:

Punch. Poke. Wasn't it all fun?

Connie:

Just give me Donut and Grape.

Cess:

When I grow up, I'm her.

Beth:

Y'all is southern for you guys.

Probably not the most constructive use of my time. So, I'll add one more for me:

Waster of time, one more time.

Office Weirdness

As you know, I write on every available scrap of paper. I keep loose notes and ideas everywhere but most of them wind up in my office. Some may pertain to client thoughts; others can run the gamut from gift ideas to menus. When the stacks get overwhelming, I try to bring the paperwork into the manageable range.

The computer in my office is slow but it's the fastest one in the house. There are laptops and another desktop computer in the baby's room. Yet, everyone seems to want to go in the office. I allow it but it makes me crazy.

I have an inexplicable desire for space that is just mine. I've gotten pretty militant with commands -- "You may not download anything on my computer!" I put notes on boxes, i.e. "Not Trash!"

Hangdog and the Belle used to wander in my office. I never thought I'd say it but I miss that. They never touched anything. They just sort of hung out in the doorway like it was off-limits.

The husband can occasionally rival Heloise. He feels like he's helping if he puts things away or consolidates stacks of papers. The problem is that I probably just spent an hour sorting those papers. I leave pens and notepads everywhere. He puts the pens away and moves the notebooks. I have a meltdown. I put them back where I wanted them. We'll do the same cycle until the end of time.

I've (Almost) Run Out of Teenagers

The baby is happily off at college. My next door neighbor's child (and my friend) is there too. My elder goddaughter is attending a different college, but she's out of here also. I'm a mess.

I don't know how to throw a party without some teenagers to help with errands and hauling. If I go brain dead with some computer issue, I need a teenager. When work calls me away for hours at a time, I could count on a teenager to help with Gabby or the oldies. Why can't I program my iPod or my cellular phone? My usual answer would be provided by one of my teenagers.

The teenage years are when the young ones test the waters. It's a little dance. The rest of us who survived the teenage years cha cha back. We've been there. We remember. That's especially scary for parents, even parents of "good" kids.

I need my teenagers. I want them to have this great experience of college and the big, wide world. But, I hope they come home for the holidays because I need some help.

Do You Ever Get Off the Computer?

The husband asked me this question the other day and I had to really think about it.

I travel. I go many places without access to email or blogs. Unless it's a business trip, I rarely take my laptop. I enjoy downtime as much as anyone.

But ...

Most clients and friends are on to my dirty little secret. I check email compulsively. I read the comments on my blogs and then I check other blogs. If I can't sleep, I get on the computer. If I have a writing thought, I like to go with it.

The parade of people in and out of this house know where to find me. Anyone looking for me comes in the kitchen door, hangs a right and pops their head in my office.

I guess the answer to the husband's question is "No." Even if I'm not sitting in front of the computer, I'm mentally still there.

I'm the Secretary

My mother made me take typing in high school. I fought it tooth and nail. I did not need this skill. I was not going to be a secretary. (This was way before the computer age.) As usual, she was right.

I learned to type on a manual typewriter. I sat beside some show-off who had worked in her father's office. I can still hear the "ding" of every time she hit the manual return. It jarred me. We used carbon paper and correction fluid.

This skill has served me well. When I decided to go to journalism school in college, they expected us to type -- in class -- on a manual typewriter. My jobs post-college involved writing and marketing. I went from the manual typewriter to an electric typewriter to a computer on my desk. I may not have been a secretary but I typed every day.

Now, I am the secretary of my home. I type something for the oldies almost every day. Last night, Big Daddy was writing a script and some letters for some committee he's on. Guess who typed it?

You Might Be an Oldie

You might be an oldie if ...

You take your weight in medications.

You spend more time in bed than out of it.

It's 90 degrees and you're cold.

You feel entitled to anything free from the government.

You don't have email and you don't know how to check voicemail.

Knowing where your cell phone is doesn't seem very important.

Your social list is doctor's appointments.

When you get your hair done, you go to the "beauty parlor."

"What are we having for dinner?" is the focus of the day.

Getting dressed is optional.

The mail is a HUGE deal.

Every story starts with, "When I was young ..."

You don't understand what your kids do for a living.

You can't hear and you can't see but you're not interested anyway.

You regularly call your children and/or grandchildren by the wrong name.

You're not worried about global warming or social security running out. It won't be in your lifetime.

Your laptop is not a computer. It's where you balance dessert.

Are you an oldie?