Slightly less than three years ago I wrote this post about the death of my laptop. It came close on the heels of some of my best writing which was, unfortunately, about the death of my mother. Well, I’m not sure what it is about MacBooks but they seem to have a life span- with hard use, lots of airplane travel, cat fur all down in the keyboard and a couple of slip/drops- of just under three years. Hurrah for the three year extended warranty program.
The monitor on mine went black and then it started making ominous noises that clearly fell under the heading of computer death rattle so I called up my trusty customer support person and held up the phone and he promptly mailed out a pre-paid box. He was quite certain it was the logic board so he wrote a note in the service record DO NOT ERASE THE HARD DRIVE. Cuz, you know, unlike you, I don’t think to back up my life until everything goes dark and then it’s too late. Well, those service people did not erase my hard drive. Nosiree. They just took it out and threw it in a dumpster in Niagara, Ontario, along with my logic board and the fan that takes care of hot flashes. So, that was it. I was disappeared. Gone. No identity, no pictures of my beautiful home in Asheville and of course, no memory of any user name/password combination ( and we’ve discussed previously how 3 user names and 3 passwords equals 4867 possibilities.) No investment accounts, no ongoing scrabble games (which I was winning, for a change) and no BLOG.
Further exploration led to the discovery that I also had no software to speak of, other than that little puzzle where you move around the pieces trying to make an Apple. I called customer support again and asked them what I was supposed to do for say, writing documents, and a woman on the other side of the world asked me, “You are veddy sure you had a process worder already in you former computer?” New fan or no, I started getting hot and it took considerable restraint to not get sassy, as in, “No bitch, all I did was play the Apple puzzle for the past three years. Yes, I’m veddy sure.”
But I didn’t, because it’s a clean slate around here. I’m going to be an all new person: kind, patient, faithful and loving. Beautiful, too, with skin that tans nicely and a slim, trim youthful figure. Not like some middle aged person who weighs three pounds less than when she gave birth to a nine pound baby, with stitches sticking out the side of her neck, ala Frankenstein’s mistress.
(A little aside on the neck: all is well because it almost always is with basal cell cancer. It merely maims rather than kills. And I have complete confidence in my wonderful dermatologist who sews like a dream. He told me that the stitches would dissolve of their own accord but I could come back in a week and have them taken out for comfort’s sake. What? Spend 30.00 co-pay for the sake of comfort when nature could take it’s course for free? Nonsense! Anyway, I must of missed the part where he said they decompose at the same rate as bituminous coal because now they are just sort of a random frayed mess snagging against every shirt, sweater and towel. Wheezer, the screech owl, is eyeballing them in a way that makes me nervous.)
So, back on the phone with Ms. Pakistan, I was polite and asked to please speak with her supervisor and there was some clicking and muzak and then Michael in Austin, Texas came on the line, asked me my address and said he would send out iLife and iWorks pronto, no charge. So it pays to be polite.
Other than practicing my manners for my new persona and trying to remember the name of my kindergarten teacher or the maiden name of my first pet, I’ve been up to my eyeballs in wool. And loving it. I’ve been helping to tend the BOP (Birds of Prey, for the one of you who is not a bird person) down at the nature preserve and I also started up a Saturday morning “Creature Feature” at the education center there. I get out the lovely red rat snake or the giant king snake and a turtle or two and entertain educate the visitors, much as I do at Animal of the Hour back at the zoo in Chicago. This Saturday I’ll have Wheezer out on the glove for a while unless she’s too intent on her cage mate, Stretch. It’s that season and I noticed she’s shredding up the twine on her perch in her nesting box.
I’ve been missing you, so I’ll come by now and see what’s new.
(You know that knitting has taken over your life when you look at your cat and think about all of that perfectly good fiber going to waste…)