?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Technology

Posted on October 10, 2015

If I had to characterize this past week, I’d say it was fraught with technical glitches.

First, my anti-virus program went down, leaving me feeling vulnerable to hackers.Next, the printer refused to talk with my laptop. There were no security issues here, but it still left me feeling vulnerable to frustration.  And then, my website was shut down by the server that hosts it for a variety of infractions I didn’t even know existed. This left me feeling vulnerable to stupidity.

I soldiered on. Contacted the security company I use and waited on the phone for almost fifteen minutes.  Finally I chose the option of leaving my telephone number for a call-back. The wait began, but my phone never jangled. Next morning, however, there was a lengthy email in my in-box with instructions on how to fix my security problem.

I’m pretty good at deciphering instructions; so I followed the itemized clicks to here, there, and elsewhere in my security program.  Eventually the program downloaded its latest upgrade and my files were safe again.

Next I coaxed the printer into a tentative relationship with my laptop and realized I’ll probably have to do this regularly, because HP and Brother and Canon all want me to spend money on a new machine.

Finally I tackled the shut down issue by logging onto the appropriate site. While I trolled, the invisible Dimitry offered to help via Live Chat. (This is a misnomer, as no chatting is involved; rather, it’s all keyboarding.) Back and forth Dimitry and I went, and in the end he actually helped. My site is up again, although there are still issues.

So what is my point?  Mostly I’m struck with how tech problems are handled these days.  While I wanted to use the telephone – which was once the epitome of technology  — that isn’t how things work anymore. It just goes to show that I’m the dinosaur.

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Bookmarks

Posted on October 9, 2015

Back in the pre-Google® age, a bookmark indicated the page where you’d left off reading. And there were various ways to do this.

I often use a photo, and the one I use most is of my son Keith and me standing in front of the gates to Elvis Presley’s Graceland. Every time I see it, I think of that trip we took years ago. It adds extra enjoyment to my reading.

There are readers who purchase bookmarks.  I belong to this category too, as I often use the leather one I bought in London’s Westminster Abbey. It too reminds me of a trip Earl and I took, the one where we encountered the one-hundred year hurricane.

Some people fold the corner of the page into a little triangle, although others find this offensive.  Perhaps the first group also makes notes in the margins, while the second wouldn’t dream of defacing a book in any way. I belong to the former group. And if the book has a dust jacket, I admit to using the inside flap as a built-in bookmark.

Our local independent bookstore also has a variety of bookmarks; there is a myriad of videos on YouTube® showing how to make your own; and teachers help their students turn them into Christmas gifts for Mom and Dad. Occasionally, one hears of a lost lottery ticket, a maple leaf, or a business card being pressed into service.

And now we have the Internet, which has modified the use of the bookmark.  It still serves the same purpose – to help return to a certain place – but it isn’t half as entertaining.

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Back in the Pool

Posted on October 7, 2015

On September 30, I wrote about my search for an indoor swimming pool in my community that met my requirements. Over the past couple years, I’ve felt like Goldilocks:  one pool was too warm, the other too cold.  Was there one that would be just right?

On the basis of two swims this week, I believe the pool at the YMCA is the proper bowl of porridge for me. And I intend to eat it up. Or, since I’m a lap swimmer, I’ll lap it up.

The pool is big and bright. The deep end is over twelve feet, so there are diving possibilities.  The swim lanes are wider than average; and even though you have to share them at times there is plenty of room to pass another swimmer without concern about arms colliding.

The locker room is not fancy, but it has all the necessary items: lockers, showers, hair dryers, even a cosmetic mirror. You do have to bring your own towel and your own lock, but those are minor adjustments.

Best of all this Goldilocks thought the temperature of the water in the pool was just right!

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Peeps

Posted on October 6, 2015

Tuesday morning coffee is always interesting; in fact, the ladies involved call it “Therapy.” And we’re apt to reveal our innermost struggles, knowing they will stay at the café.  Perhaps this is why one friend felt comfortable admitting she’d never eaten a Peep®. (I have her permission to reveal this.)

The rest of us were surprised, given S is on the social security side of life.  That’s a long time to go without eating the marshmallow-y confection that just turned sixty-two itself.

Since we meet in a supermarket, two of us decided to see if it stocked Halloween Peeps®.  It did.  So we snatched a package of white Marshmallow Ghosts, paid for it, and returned to therapy.

For the record, Peeps® are gluten free and fat free. They are a negligible source of cholesterol, fiber, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, calcium, and iron. They are low in sodium, but high in sugar. Three ghostly Peeps® equal one serving with 110 calories and 28 carbs.

But each of us only ate one ghost, so the damage wasn’t significant. Later S emailed her appreciation for our expanding her universe.  In fact, she wrote two Haiku to the experience that I offer here:

Haiku to Peeps® I

Sugar, gelatin

Eyes that never stop staring

Nothing else like Peeps®.

Haiku to Peeps® II

Little ebon eyes

Permanently fixed on me.

Peeps® everlasting.

 

Therapy is a wonderful thing.

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Brushes

Posted on October 5, 2015

I’m a minimalist kind of person, willing to use a butter knife for a screwdriver if the situation calls for it. Willing to save dilapidated toothbrushes to use as cleaning tools. And willing to repurpose small cottage cheese containers for next Spring’s seedlings.

So . . . when a catalog titled “The Best Brushes” arrived on my doorstep last week, I wondered what type of brushes it advertised. I already understand baby bottle brushes, shoe polish brushes, and hair brushes.  It’s just that I haven’t found a secondary use for them.

This catalog opened my eyes to the myriad selection of brushes at our fingertips. There are cockpit duster brushes for landing on those dirty airstrips, spoke brushes to make your bicycle gleam, radiator brushes, gutter cleaner brushes, the dinner table brush in the shape of a hedgehog, the PC brush for keeping your keyboard immaculate, the laundry scrub brush, the back scrub brush in three versions, and the child’s massage brush.

With this last, I couldn’t tell if the child is receiving or giving the massage. No matter, these are a lot of assignments to give a dilapidated toothbrush. Perhaps I should do further research.

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Book Club

Posted on October 3, 2015

The first time Alice invited me to join her book club, I declined. She explained that one didn’t have to read the book to attend the meetings, and that seemed oxymoronic to me.  Why join a book club if you’re not going to read the chosen work?

I don’t know how many times Alice invited me, but she isn’t one to give up easily.  Finally I caved but secretly vowed I would never attend a meeting if I hadn’t read the book. I’d also heard that seeing the movie was the same as reading the book; and, as a purist, I paled at the thought.  Still, it might only have been urban legend.

This all happened almost a decade ago; since then, I’ve concluded that the B4 Book Club is exceptional. (B4 stands for “Books and Broads Beyond Belief.)

You really don’t have to read the book to attend the monthly meeting, but almost everyone does.  Still, there’s no an added pressure if life gets in the way. And since we actually discuss the book, as opposed to pretending to discuss it while really discussing personal problems, it’s always a stimulating morning.

I confess I have attended more than one meeting where I didn’t get to read the book; but after listening to my fellow bibliophiles I’ve gone home, sat down, and opened it after the fact.

We have other rules too.  We meet the first Thursday of every month, no matter what. In January we plan the entire year’s offerings, and someone compiles and sends a synopsis of each book to every member.  Those of us who want to track down library copies have time to do so.

If you recommend a book that is chosen for the coming year, you pick the month and lead the discussion.  You also decide if you want the meeting in your home, the local library, or a café.  You decide if you want to serve treats and coffee or if each person brings their own. There is no set protocol; what works for the leader works for her followers.

But what I like most is that all opinions count. One person who joined after I did told me she was surprised the first time she came and she heard another member say she didn’t like the book. The leader was not offended; rather the discussion was enhanced by the opposing viewpoint.

I’ve heard of book clubs that are really therapy sessions.  I’ve heard of others that require specific types of books.  One club wanted only religiously oriented selections. And I’ve heard of others that don’t do well with dissent. The B4 group is none of these things. In fact, Alice, I’m sorry I took so long to join.

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Tea Anyone?

Posted on October 2, 2015

I found a story in tea cups during book club at my home yesterday.

I was preparing to serve the usual coffee, tea, and water.  Got the mugs out for the Joe; found my pitcher for the water; and then opened my China cabinet. There were two tea sets on the same shelf.

The bottom of a saucer from the first set told me it was made in China. It was white and delicate with flowers on the inside and outside of the teacup and smaller versions smiling from the saucer.  The second set was ivory Haviland, and the patterns were reversed.  The smaller flowers graced the cup while the larger ones danced on the matching saucer.

How these two sets came to be on the same shelf is what struck me for the first time, because the first set belonged to my Father, whom I met at age 48 (My age, not his.), and the second belonged to my Mother.

I inherited the first set when my Father died, and out of the blue I was contacted to remove his final possessions from a locker in California.  I inherited the second set when my Mother died almost twenty years ago.

These two people weren’t really suited for each other and early on went their separate ways. Yet, here are remnants of their lives – as exemplified by tea sets – living comfortably side by side in my cabinet.

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Poetry

Posted on October 1, 2015

Today the local monthly book club I belong to was held at my home.  Only it wasn’t “Book Club” this time.  It was “Poetry Club.”

I love poetry, possibly more than the general public does. The oldest book I own is a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses, given to me by my grandmother in 1950.  I treasure it, not only for the poems but also for the inscription she wrote on the front papers.  It says, “To Anne, with love from Grandma – Christmas, 1950.”

My mother loved poetry too.  Her favorite was a sad piece by A. E. Housman called “When I Was One-and-Twenty.”  I suspect it reflected how she felt about her failed marriage those many years ago.

My son now teaches poetry at a university and is published more than once in the genre. His hope is to be our country’s poet laureate sometime.

My hope is more modest. I want others to appreciate what poetry offers.  To that end, this was the second time in a couple years I’ve pushed it onto my book club friends. Maybe they’re just humoring me, but when one of the members suggested that we bring poems to each meeting and read one or two if we feel like it, I felt validated.

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Doing Swimmingly

Posted on September 30, 2015

For several years I swam at a local health club two to three times a week. I even took some refresher lessons and learned to do the butterfly. Almost mastered the breathing that accompanies it too.

But then I became disgruntled with the facility and decided to move my membership to another club.  This decision was based primarily on the fact that the second club had a brand new pool. It was to be a lap pool only, instead of one I shared with aquacise classes, toddler lessons, and family swim.

The pool is beautiful: walls of windows bathe it in sunlight (that is, when the sun shines in Michigan); since it’s a lap pool, the water is five feet deep everywhere; and there didn’t seem to be rules about signing up to use it. There is, however, one small problem.

The water is cold.

I understand swimmers get hot, and avid swimmers probably like a cooler temperature than I do.  But this pool is so cold to me that I can swim fifteen minutes and never get warm.  It has discouraged me from using it.

So this week I went in search of a third pool that is bright, warm, and user friendly for lap swimmers. Turns out it was the one I rejected about a dozen years ago when I decided to join a club in the first place.  It’s the local YMCA.

I went and interviewed pool staff there.  Asked about the temperature and the rules for swimming.  All were to my liking.  Additionally, the Y is recruiting new members by waiving the sign-up fee.  And, best of all, it turns out my health insurance company will pay for my membership.

All in all, it’s turned out swimmingly.

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Memory’s Tug

Posted on September 29, 2015

Keith and Chris gave me a snow globe several years ago that had two scenes of New York City.  One was above ground and showed various famous skyscrapers, while one was below ground and showed various subway stops.  It is charming.

Additionally, you wound the key for the music from Leonard Bernstein’s “New York, New York” rather than a Barry Manilow or Frank Sinatra version from the late twentieth century.

Now that I’ve moved my “office” into my piano room, I’ve found the perfect place for this snow globe.  It sits on a shelf at eye level above my computer.  The book beneath it is called “Grand Central: Gateway to A Million Lives.” I look at the globe and reminisce about times gone by when I went to New York for Fred Flare, the company Keith and Chris started. The company that closed in 2013.

I never miss the work I did . . . except when I play “New York, New York” and watch the bus and the taxi move ‘round inside the globe. And I recall what a wonderful time that was.

Maybe that’s what snow globes are meant to do.

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