A Day in Outer Cyburbia

We were gliding along on techno perfection while the antivirus days went into a single digit countdown. With three days remaining, we paid and began the download that would cover three computers for another year.

But six hours later, (ain't dial up grand?) there were still tweaks and restarts and two hours of it...only to discover that the download failed.
In the meantime, another company contacted, another payment and another download. There were insurmountable software conflicts rendering the new download unsuccessful. Stress escalated while we burned up cell minutes and time trying to locate the process by which one recoups financial refunds.

Many unsavory words later, the XM radio sputters like frying electric bacon and falls silent.
Not a good week. (My always Indian Tech Support people are not sure what to do with a dead radio, and have to call me back...)

The AV countdown zeros out and our computers are as unprotected as naked babies at a hungry wolves convention after a 40 day fast. We go to a physical location and purchase AV software with a real disc and paper instructions. It works on the old XP desktop and we think, what the heck. It'll be easy. It's self maintaining. No worries.

The downloads, at a local coffee shop goes off with out a hitch. Three little laptops in 40 minutes, bing bing bing! All three current and completely up to date. There are glad tidings galore.
Until a tool bar turns up missing. The protection continues, but it keeps squirreling away the toolbar download into quarantine, treating it like a virus.

At home, glad tidings disintegrate, when we realize the software is self-preserving, or more aptly, self absorbed. It will get online, but not allow ANY pages to load. This is unacceptable. We are mostly home PC users with (ho hum) dial up.

I call tech support after five hours of agonizing and they instruct me to do two things: change the Vista firewall, (I do, no change) or take out the software.

Then we discover there is a no return policy on opened software.
Instead of slamming the phone down, I try talking in a calm voice not my own, what's plan "B"? After moments of uncomfortable silences, "Mr. C" writes notes to the desk and gives me a customer number, and his name to show the return desk. Stating, "I can't fix it, and they really should give your money back... I can't promise they will..."

The next morning, I decide to do the unusual. I am alone in the house and say, "The Lord's favor is upon me. And such and so Computer software Company is going to return my money. I say, Jesus, go before me and prepare the way. I thank you that they returned my money. Thank you Lord."

Sure, I put on make up wore nice clothes and even, I never do this normally, wore that fragrance no man can resist--(Or so they said on Sunday morning) Vanilla. My only objective is to restore peace to our house and our budget. Get the money.
the deck is stacked against me. They already have the money, and their longstanding policy is NO RETURNS on software unless defective. It wasn't. The soft ware works great in the wireless places. I walk in minutes after they open and I am first in line. I explain the story.
I am remembering one thing--God plus one is a majority.
"We don't take returns on software," he says.
"I know," I say. "Here's the name of the tech, and the number of the problem we were having. "

This customer service guy is not a people person. He is dark haired young pleasant and skittish as a cat dancing in a frying pan. He keeps looking at me without so much as moving one facial muscle.

"Well, let me go talk to..." He gets side tracked.
"Do you need the card to credit the account?"
"Yeah," he says and he does the transaction anyway, even though they NEVER... "the reason we don't is because you have to give an email address to get the code."
"Yeah, I know."
He credited the account. It was almost as if God Almighty had control of him, despite his complaints, he proceeded. I'm thinking there is something to this talking out loud, like, Thank you Lord for selling my screenplay for 70G's! Thank you Lord for funding Sam's college education! Thank you Lord that XM called me back today and offered a free replacement radio! Thank you that all my friends are wildly successful financially, personally, spiritually and in their work!

From now on, you may see me talking to myself out loud a lot more.

I left there and went straight home.
And you want to know what was totally crazy?
Every light for 24 miles was green.

A New Venue

The jury's still out about whether I will continue this blog past March, but I'm getting my feet wet in another venue.

Check it out here: The Music and Arts Journal

I went out to the mailbox. Nine times out of ten, the mail isn't for me but, strangely, my daughter. I suppose being at college age explains her recent avalanche. I don't get much mail, but about once a week a magazine shows up for me.
But, I got a surprise. I found a current issue of Harper's. I don't remember subscribing to it. I though maybe I'd sent the trial coupon in. But when I looked on the mailing label, it said that the subscription is for one entire year.
Wow! This is so cool! Someone got me a year's subscription to a great magazine. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
I just wish I knew why. Of course, I wish I knew who. But there is something magical about anonymous benevolence that inspires me. So, benefactor, if you happen to read this blog, thank you. I am truly inspired.
May you be blessed. And if you're hoping that the reading of this publication will elevate my writing to the next level, I hope I don't disappoint you.

Amid the Rushing

Thursday morning didn’t start out smoothly. When I turned on the coffee pot, even though we woke up earlier than the day before, in an effort to get more coffee, while getting ready for work, juice got spilled. Not one glass, but two. Apologies were made and readily accepted. It was an accident, after all.

My daughter woke up late, desperately needing java. With 20 minutes to get ready for school, she made quesadillas for lunch and applied ointment to iron burns (don’t ask) looking very put-together.
Twelve cups of coffee brewed this morning. Thinking I’m going to merge with all the rushing, I pour a cup.
But there isn’t a whole cup. Right then, I tell the Lord I’m thankful for my family. I truly mean it with all my heart.

Right now in the next city over, a widow I talked to yesterday wakes up wondering if she wants to make a full pot of coffee, or if she’ll even bother making breakfast. Her grown kids are gone and she’s packing up her belongings in her too-big-for-one dream home that she and her late husband built together and shared their lives in.

 Shortly after that, my daughter's ride pulls in. I’m grateful for spilled juice and the coffee- swilling teenager freaking out about time and failed alarms. I love her dearly. I realize that in a moment it could all disappear. I'll take the good with the less than good and hang onto these lovely people as long as I can.

I fire up a half pot of decaf and when I turn around, I'm alone for the day. My half-cup of coffee and I go to my home-office where the radio plays.
A song that rarely airs on our local station begins just as I enter. Jim Brickman’s The Love of My Life with Michael W. Smith singing. 
It makes my heart happy to hear it, because the very first time I heard it I cried in an empty living room far from friends, my daughter was away and singlehood had recently snatched me out of a 12 year marriage.

I sit down for a moment reflecting on how different my life is, and the changes I prayed for that the Lord brought. The song is like a touchstone between us, reminding me that He still thinks of me, blesses me and helps me take time to remember what’s really important.~

Coffee with Dad

I'd taken the last of Dad's old books to sell. I have to say, this place had enough books-in-waiting to start another store, which told me I probably wouldn't be getting much for my half-dozen.

They called my name and made an offer that was the equivalent of two cups of coffee and a tip. Slightly insulted, I decided to take the offer, because I thought this might be Dad's way of treating my daughter and me to coffee.
I talked to my her about it and we decided that the next time we stopped for coffee, Dad was buying.

Later in the evening, in one of our favorites haunts, Barnes and Noble, we stood at the Starbucks counter ordering half-and-half venti's. When we got them, we both said thanks to Dad and sat at a little round table perusing interesting books we might buy.

I paged through a thick magazine size book of Post Secrets. It started as a comunity art project where people made postcards regarding a secret they've been carrying around, things they can't seem to say aloud, or to the person they want to tell. Some have been carrying these burdens for years--decades even-- and they send them to an address. Since it's inception lf less than five years, the creator of the concept has received more than 150,000 postcards from around the world. He published them in a volume of which, there are three. He also has a site: postsecret.com . ( I can't vouch for the purity of this site or its language. Look at your own risk.)

Many of them touched me, but one in paricular really got to me. When the writer's father died she was disturbed that she had not dreamt about him since. She wanted him to tell her he was alright. She happened to mention it to a friend, and that night, she had a lovely dream about him holding her face, telling her he was fine. Yeah....I'm feeling the first part of that one.

I'm saving the paper sleeve and dating it so I can remember having coffee with Dad this way.

While I looked at books, I felt particularly drawn to "God Will Make a Way" by Townsend and Cloud. It's practically a writing prompt book. I loved the questions which are designed to get one thinking, realizing and begin healing.
So we each got one.

Thanks, Dad. Coffee and Advice. You're the best.