Computer woes

 

The computer gods are against me today. Nothing, but nothing, I touched went right. It started when I tried to upload a book to Amazon. The book, Skeleton in a Dead Space, is something like twelve years old, and Amazon shows it for sale in paperback. But when I went to my dashboard to order a discounted copy, it said it needed to be uploaded. So I dutifully entered all the information again but was stymied when the form called or a PDF of the cover and I only had a jpeg. So I sent the cover to a designer friend and asked her to send it to me as a PDF. She did, but it took me four times to figure out how to save it—I’m sure my friend began to rethink her initial wiling patience. I finally got it saved, had to do a lot of figuring and experimenting to figure out how to go from the saved download to the Amazon upload, but I got it done. So Amazon said in effect “Yay! All done. Now preview it.” But the preview wouldn’t launch because my browser window isn’t big enough. I cannot tell you how many books I’ve uploaded to Amazon without this becoming an issue. I have no idea what to do about it, but Colin will be working from home tomorrow and will help me with it. He can remotely take over my computer.

I made a doctor’s appointment and went to put it on my calendar, only to discover the calendar had somehow switched its format and would allow only one skinny line per hour. That would never do, so I set about changing it—and in the process totally messed up the way Outlook displays email. I maybe could live with the calendar wonky, but I must have my email in a format where I can manage it. I probably spent forty-five minutes trying to fix it. Finally, something I did worked, and it once again displayed the Favorites bar that had disappeared into cyberspace. Now I can’t tell you what I did.

Next I checked notifications on Facebook, something I can really do fairly quickly because a lot are just viewers liking something I’ve posted. Notifications, for the uninitiated or the multitudes who hate Facebook, have a blue dot next to them; when you’ve clicked on one, the blue dot goes away. Only today it didn’t go away, so I had a wealth of messages and couldn’t tell what I’d read and what I hadn’t. I should have rebooted at that point, but I was lazy. I did let the computer rest while I napped, and apparently it collected itself because when I came back to it, the blue dots were gone.

At happy hour I served the dipping spices I’d made, and Mary Dulle was so taken with them she asked for the recipe. No problem, I’d scan and send it to her. Except the printer would say it had scanned when it hadn’t and then ask me if I had something else to scan. Yes, I did—the original scan. I tried auto feed, and I tried putting the recipe on the glass plate. Nothing worked. I still haven’t solved that one and may end up typing the recipe—and it’s not a short one. Lots of spices.

My woes weren’t confined to the computer but apparently included all electronics. I mentioned that the wonderful display of colored, pinpoint lights that shows on my neighbors white wall had suddenly gone all red. Jordan said I had pushed a button I shouldn’t have (I haven’t touched the remote in months) and there is a multicolor button. I pushed it. Nothing, but it was daylight. So I pushed the on button. Nothing. Jordan said wait until dark. Once dark came, she tried, announced the on/off button doesn’t work, and when the lights come on, I should push the multicolor button. Now, nearing ten o’clock, the lights haven’t come on yet. I’m sure she thinks I broke it.

Jordan says my trouble is I got clickety-click all over the place too quickly. She took the mouse, dragged it down somehow, and sort of semi-fixed the calendar. Her advice was to leave it alone for now.

So maybe tomorrow, after a reboot, all my troubles will be over. Ha! Do I really believer that? Meantime the only really good thing I did today was to cook a pork tenderloin with tiny new potatoes around it. I served it with raspberry/peach/chipotle sauce—so good—and Christian did Brussel sprouts, shaved, with lemon and butter. Jordan announced that meal must be in our regular rotation.

I’d blame my woes on the computer—and maybe it will fix itself—but when so much goes wrong, you can’t avoid user error. I think many of us are so tense right now about the imminent midterms, that we are losing our grip. I’m not sure what I’ll do election night although Jordan said we’ll have dinner as usual and watch returns. I’m not sure, and already we’re hearing about decisions that will probably come down “after midterms.” It’s as though the whole world is holding its breath. One of the Halloween guests, a political consultant, said to me that Tarrant County Democrats weren’t voting in the numbers hoped for. I brushed by and said I didn’t even want to hear it.

A day of off timing

 

Ever have days when it seems you’re either early or late for everything you do? That was me today. Yesterday Jordan raised a glass and toasted, “Happy Friday.” I replied, curmudgeon-like, that Friday didn’t seem any different than any other day to me, and she replied, “It should. I’m a different person on Friday than I am on Monday.” So I took that lesson to heart and vowed Saturday would be a lazy, slow day\

It wasn’t. Sophie got me up before seven. She came right back in after taking care of business, and I harbored a hope that she’s learning she’ll get a treat if she comes right back. But she got me up again a bit after eight, and I reluctantly gave up and put aside thoughts of going back to bed. Still, I lazed through the morning, waiting for an 11:30 Zoom meeting. But about eleven several things landed on my desk at once—choose the newsletter issues to submit for competition, finish the half-written guest post on the food wars in Irene in Danger, and deal with the frozen spanakopita Jordan fetched from Mary who had brought it from the Greek Festival for me.

I connected to the Zoom session. Sponsored by the Grand Canyon Writers chapter of Sisters in Crime, it featured Delia Pitts talking about the importance of setting in mysteries. Delia, who has an interesting background as a journalist, a diplomat with the U.S. Foreign Service, and an educational administrator, is a former colleague. She served at TCU for several years, and we were friends, so it was fun a while back to discover she is now writing mysteries. We also have Hyde Park in Chicago in common—Delia also grew up there, and earned degrees at the University of Chicago, ending with a doctorate in African history. Check her out at http://www.deliapitts.com.

A lifelong reader who dabbled in writing since second grade, she has taken up the mystery genre and made it her own. Her 90-minutes presentation today was spot on—knowledgeable, lively, fun. She made me see some things about my writing—I too write short and always have to go back and add words, and I tend to write long dialogue scenes that float in space without trying the participants to a time and place. So now I’ll go back to the few words I have on Irene Keeps a Secret and read them again with Delia’s advice in mind.

I had tried to call Colin all day because he was to help me with a computer problem. I have that secure new password storage system, 1Password, so secure that it locked me out of paying my ATT bill and retweeting on Twitter. The latter not serious, but the former forced me to change the password on our joint account which always frustrates Jordan. So, when Sophie woke me early from my nap, I called Colin—no answer, so I gratefully called back into bed. Colin called about ten minutes later, and then I was glued to my computer. The fix took longer than I thought, and I began to look at the clock. I had company coming at five-thirty, and I was still in my pajamas.

‘Finally, I told Colin I’d have to leave him to the computer but would take my phone to the bedroom while I changed clothes. He had access to my computer, but he’d still ask me questions and I’d have to say, “I can’t look right now I don’t have any pants on.” I was sure Mary Volcansek was going to arrive while I was half-dressed.

She didn’t, put it was close. Colin got the computer fixed just before she walked up the driveway. I had made pan bagnat sandwiches (fancy French tuna sandwiches that you put in the fridge and weight down overnight) so fixing dinner was simply a matter of unwrapping the foil and serving the delicious salad Mary bought. We had a good visit, and she was on her way by seven-thirty. I felt like it was midnight and I had to go to bed.

I think there’s a sleep virus in the air, because I have been so ready to go back to bed all day. And I am again. Sweet dreams, everyone.

The blues of time change and computers--a frustrating day

 

Sophie on her princess pillow
looking a bit pensive
maybe it's the time change

I can adjust fairly well to the spring and fall time changes. Sophie cannot. Apparently she has a rather rigid interior clock that tells her when to do what. At seven this morning, she thought it was eight and wanted to go out. At three she thought it was four and I should get up from my nap—never mind that I didn’t even lie down until two-thirty. At four, she thought it was five and I should feed her. I’m hoping she’ll adjust, as she always has eventually, but it may be a rough couple of days.

I have my own problem with the time change. Apparently re-setting my Apple watch is beyond my pay grade. I don’t remember ever having to do this before, but now it is giving me messages about pairing it with my phone. On the phone, there are two options: automatic or manual. If I’m reading it correctly, the automatic requires a position only a contortionist could achieve. So I tried manually—zipping right along until it wanted my Apple username and id. And of course Apple didn’t recognize my log-in. Knowing my fingers are clumsy I had Jordan try. Still no luck. I am convinced that if you don’t log in frequently, web sites erase all your information, because this happens to me a lot. I have sent an urgent message to the granddaughter who works at an Apple Genius Bar, but she replies via text that she isn’t getting my emails. The internet gods are against me.

I did have one small victory. I was stymied getting to all the ancillary files offered by the Sisters in Crime subgroup, the Guppies. In fact, when I went to groups.io, it didn’t even show that I belong to that group. I put out a help plea, the president answered, tried to help, referred me to the web-guppy. Turned out to be so easy. I logged out and when I logged back in of course io didn’t recognize my password (another of those mysterious disappearances). But I hit change my password, corrected it, and all is well.

That was a small victory in the face of overwhelming obstacles in another arena. I am trying to upload audio files of Saving Irene to two platforms—with luck, it will someday be my first audio book, but I am not holding my breath. Again, I sailed along entering metadata, and then came to uploading files. It simply wasn’t going to work—neither platform could get beyond the zip file to the individual files. I kept getting the message that my files were not MP3. But they were—if they could browse beyond the zip file. I have written for help to both companies. Meanwhile, I am gnashing my teeth.

And, yes, it was dusk and gray far too early today. Like when we were just beginning to think about dinner. Grilled chicken because I bought bone-in breasts by mistake (the perils of drive-by pick-up grocery shopping—I never can figure out what kind of chicken I’m getting!) and asparagus the way Aunt Reva used to make it. A sauce of sour cream, mayo, and lemon juice, topped by buttered bread crumbs. Aunt Reva (no real relation but much beloved) was a good Missouri farm girl, and oh boy, could she cook. But that’s another story for another day.

Stay safe everyone. And buckle up for an unpredictable week. If you can stay home, please do. There will be ruffians—nay, terrorists—abroad.

Computer complications

The Christmas decorations are still up—we leave them until Epiphany—but otherwise I’m almost caught up from Christmas. Today, December 30, is one of those in-between days—not a holiday but a nothing day sandwiched between holidays. Hard to tell yourself to buckle down to work when the next holiday looms. But I have made a dent on the pile on my desk and am ready to get back to my various projects.

I had a tough lesson the other night about how much my daily life revolves around my computer. I tried to log on about ten o’clock at night but couldn’t get in. The screen showed the space for my code already filled in and flashed to the message that the code was incorrect, but it wouldn’t let me erase the incorrect code. It just kept entering strings of the number 2. Luckily, I had enough sense to know that it was late, I’d had a bit of wine, and things would look different in the morning.

But I sure had a sleepless night, worrying about the computer. At one point, I convinced myself I’d been hacked, and someone was making off with all my banking information even as I tossed and turned in bed. Then I thought it was malicious hacking—someone unknown who gets jollies from messing up people’s computers. What if it wiped out everything? I began to catalog what I’d lose—the final version of my current work-in-progress is with my editor for safe keeping (thank goodness!), a lot of my work is backed up in Dropbox, the blogs are available online. But all those family pictures from the last twenty years! And the manuscripts of my cookbooks—now I’d have to go to the actual book and retype to fix a dish. And a host of individual files I didn’t remember and wouldn’t miss until I wanted them.

Finally towards morning I slept fitfully and dreamt—of computers, of course.

Next morning, I avoided the computer. I didn’t want to know if it was going to do the same thing over again. But there was a glimmer of hope. Just before I turned it off, I got a message that said, “Something went wrong. Please try again later.” Well, morning was for sure later. I made tea, straightened the kitchen, talked to the dog—and finally took a deep breath and booted the computer. It started! I had to change my password—took a couple of tries—but finally I was in.

Still, it was wonky, still giving me strings of the number 2 and jumping all over when I tried to scroll down a list of files. In a moment of inspiration,  I abandoned the remote keyboard and opened the laptop to work on the real keyboard. Magic! Everything was fine. So now I’m working on the laptop, with the lid only partly open so that I can see the remote monitor—it’s like taking a blind typing test all those years ago in high school typing class (probably the most useful class I ever took anywhere). A new keyboard is scheduled to arrive today or tomorrow, so my computer complication was not the end of the world. But it was a close call.

I don’t necessarily want to become less dependent—I don’t think that’s possible—but I want a better insurance program. There are two experts in the family and several who are knowledgeable. One son-in-law  has a graduate degree in software engineering, and my oldest granddaughter works in the genius bar at an Apple Store. I guess I should ask for help. I don’t want any more sleepless nights.

Whoosh! What a day

My day started early with an appointment to be fitted for new hearing aids. I’m excited about this, especially since I have a difficult time hearing on my cell phone. I don’t even want to talk about how old the ones I have are, but the new ones will be about a third the weight and half the size. Sound quality is dramatically better, and I’m told I will be able to talk on the phone without holding it to my ear. Noisy restaurant? No problem. I’ll just put my phone in front of you, and then both the phone and my aids will transmit. Can’t wait.

And after all the fuss I made about getting my car back, I don’t get to drive it often, so it was a treat to go all by myself to the hearing clinic. Made me feel like a grown-up girl. Also made me sad, because even close to our neighborhood I discovered new houses, new condos, buildings that have sprung up overnight. Development is destroying what was a neighborhood of modest charming bungalows, particularly around the university, and replacing them with condos and the dreaded stealth dorms. I am so dedicated to preserving the inner city that this destruction hurts.

After that, the day was a mess, though mostly in a good way, I guess. The mowers who couldn’t come last week because of rain came today and plowed through about five inches of weed growth—fungus killed much of our grass. What excites me is that they leveled off the ground cover, so now it should grow thicker instead of leggier. But they were noisy folk. And then the air conditioner guy came and was here for two hours. Don’t get me wrong—I’m as grateful as can be, but it was my nap time. 

While he was working, I was struggling with computer problems, one of which I finally resolved but not to my total satisfaction. The other, an email glitch that keeps me from communicating with two groups I value, continues to plague me. Most frustrating.

A bad day too because it started with Jordan delivering the news of a neighborhood tragedy, a family who lost a grown daughter in a wreck. Later in the morning I heard her ordering a large sandwich tray, fruit bowl, tea, etc. and I asked who we were feeding. It was of course for the bereaved family. It struck me that the custom now of assigning different nights to different people to provide a full meal in such a situation is a good solution, but I was raised to believe you cooked for the bereaved. I have made and delivered a lot of casseroles in my day, and somehow the idea of “store-bought” food seems a little less personal. You used to take a ham, or a big bowl of potato salad, or a cake. I remember once taking a batch of blueberry muffins (homemade of course) in a pretty basket. The times, they are a-changing.

Technology almost defeats me

What a twenty-four hours! Yesterday afternoon, my printer wouldn't work because it told me the yellow cartridge was damaged. Bought a new one and installed it, and still the same message. After much frustration on a site I thought was Hewlett Packard and was really JustAnswer--and $26.00--I was told to clean the cartridge bottom and the carrier. Worked like a charm. And  you know what? That was a lot easier than hauling the printer down to Staples.
My cell phone wouldn't access my bank so I could digitally deposit some checks--bank's advice was not helpful. Christian asked me this morning how I fixed it, and I told him I turned the phone off and then back on. But I had two checks to deposit--one a nice refund from the IRS--and it still wouldn't take it, so Christian went off to deposit it.
My final trauma was that my publisher sent me a zip file of all the various forms of my new novel, Desperate for Death. I couldn't do a thing with it--have found that problem before--and Christian told me you need a special program to open zip files. So I sent it to Melinda at TCU Press and she decompressed them and sent me individual files, most of which I couldn't open--mobi for Kindle, and others for various digital platforms. All I really got was the cover and the pdf.
Still, Christian was my tecchie hero for the day. And I wish I could find the funny picture of him in a fringed Mexican hat clowning around--he swears it was taken at 10:30 in the morning yesterday.
So this morning I was riding high--thought I had all my tecchie problems solved--but the printer told me it was out of paper when it clearly wasn't. I hadn't got the back tray or whatever on properly. Fought with it for a long while...and managed to set off my emergency alarm, on a bracelet, so the alarm service kept demanding to know if I was all right, making me repeat after them that I was all right, making me repeat my address, etc.
Tonight I think I'm all over those problems. And other than that, it was a good day. Got a caricature of me that I'd ordered and will work into the blog sometime soon; got the cover to my chili book, Texas is Chili Country, which is due in November--the cover is really great. Good lunch with one friend and good dinner with another. My cup runneth over...and I am sleepy.

A simple day--or not

My goals for the day seemed fairly manageable to me--get a haircut, stop at the health food store and the alterations shop (they're moving and said please come back next week), home to make a pot of chowder to take to a friend's house tonight, monitor Sisters in Crime listserv, grab a nap, pick Jacob up at three, have wine with Jordan at 4:30, go to dinner at 4:45. An easy day, right? Actually it worked out that way--the new me did not let myself feel rushed, and I got it all done with time to spare.
Two new computer problems reared their heads today: I get no audio on Facebook or other sites--particularly bad because I'm trying to listen to an audition for an audio version of my book of short stories, Sue Ellen Learns to Dance and Other Stories. I haven't had audio on Facebook all along, which didn't bother me much--didn't have to listen to all those speeches before people dumped ice water on their heads. Rosa, who cuts my hair, explained something to me about that--you're supposed to be dumped with ice water, then dumped again so you feel the numbness that ALS patients feel all the time. Made a lot more sense, and I think someone should have made that very public before this. I'm afraid too many people get on the ice-dumping bandwagon without even knowing anything about what an awful condition ALS is.
The other one is that I cannot print from a web page. Got a recipe I'd like to save and a really nice review of The Perfect Coed--can't print either one. Will forward them to Jordan, but I've got to solve that problem. The cooking part of my day went well--the chowder smells delicious. Bacon, onion, chicken broth, potato, zucchini, and yellow squash.. Just before serving I'll add cream and frissons of basil. Smelled delicious as I cooked it.
Maybe I didn't get any writing done, but it was nice to have a day with simple goals. Last week I was inundated with projects--the audio audition, the neighborhood newsletter, posting The Perfect Coed to Amazon (where it now has it's soft opening, as restaurants say), getting a start on the sequel to The Perfect Coed, and getting organized to help promote the boxed set, Small Town Charm, which will include my novel, Murder at the Blue Plate Café. Some of those balls are still in the air, but I'll try to deal with them as I can. But the chowder is made, the newsletter is off to the designer, and The Perfect Coed is posted. I'm moving ahead.