No patience for computer woes

I woke up this morning prepared to stare at the TV and the hurricane devastation. I was not prepared for the computer troubles that descended on me. Actually, they began yesterday when Microsoft suddenly declared my Office subscription had expire.s—you’d think they’d give you a little warning. That froze Word and Outlook, two programs without which I cannot operate. I thought I had solved it—used my credit card to renew, but every time I tried to open either program I got the same reactivate message.

This I bungled through, going to whatever web sites I was directed to, changing passwords so often that I am hopelessly confused. Finally, I “chatted” with a tech who informed me the payment had not gone through—no idea whose fault that was. I asked if she would guarantee me a refund if I paid again and it turned out I was double charged. She promised—how much authority do you think she has?

After about two hours, I seemed to have it straightened out, and I could access Word. Outlook no longer gave me the reactivate message, but it wouldn’t download messages which I knew from my iPhone were waiting. Why does Outlook still work on my phone but not my computer—another puzzlement. This time, I ended up, I’m not sure how, talking live to a woman with a heavy accent. By now I was out of patience and not as polite as I usually like to think I am. I asked for a native English speaker; she sounded offended and promised to talk slowly, which of course she forgot in the heat of conversation.

Picture this: technologically challenged, hearing challenged me trying oh so hard to understand a woman speaking rapid, heavily accented English (either Philippines or India, I’m not sure which). It was getting us nowhere very slowly, and what patience I had left was ebbing. We made a little progress, and she assured me everything was all right; I assured her it wasn’t because the program wasn’t downloading messages. Finally, I gave up. I tried to be polite about having taken too much of her time, but she said oh no, she could spend more time. I couldn’t, and I said a firm thank you and goodbye.

Then it dawned on me in my willy-nilly changing of passwords I had probably changed the TCU password ineffectively and I wasn’t sure what the old one was because I’d already corrected the file. So I went into the TCU Password site, made the change, and lo and behold! It worked. It was now 12:30—a whole morning gone.

I caught up with myself, roughed out a guest blog, picked out a passage to read on a radio interview and practiced it, wrote a review on Amazon of the book I just finished—Marry in Haste, by Susan Van Kirk (I really liked the way she wove history into a contemporary mystery). Napped—needed it by then. Fixed BLT sandwiches for me and Jacob. And there went the rest of the day

Jacob’s parents have been in Missouri for a wedding, but we were both glad to welcome them home tonight. I did enjoy however having that sweet boy sleep on my couch. I am often sad that he’s past that wonderfully cuddly young boy stage—too much a young man these days.

My goof: somehow in last night’s blog I called the storm José Jake—must have been thinking of Jacob, who hates to be called Jake.

Tomorrow is Monday, and I am ready for a clean slate, a fresh start to a new week.

Please keep Houston and the surrounding area in your prayers, as well as all of the southeastern states. For too many of those people the dramatic moments are over or nearly so, but I fear the worst is to come. TV people will pack up their cameras, the devastation will fade from the news, but untold thousands will be dealing with recovery for months, perhaps a lifetime. Pray God’s comfort for them.

Walking, walking, to….anywhere

I dream about walking all the time. Last night, I suddenly walked across a room, said to a friend, “Look at me!” and walked everywhere thereafter. My steps were sure and strong. In reality, I can take two faltering, shaky steps without the walker, and that’s all. My surgeons is not worried about this at all, says someday I’ll find myself in the kitchen and the walker is elsewhere and I’ll walk (I didn’t ask how I got to the kitchen if I didn’t have the walker with me.). He should know, and I suppose he’s right, but four months after surgery I’m impatient.

The surgeon also advises against a cane. He says a cane doesn’t give enough of a support base, and if you fall, you have to rely on your wrist to stop the fall. Most of us don’t have wrists that strong. I used to use a cane as a security stick before the fall, but it does no good now, so I take comfort in his advice. A friend had extensive back surgery last week and walked her cul de sac (with a walker) yesterday. I know I couldn’t do that less than a week after surgery, and it makes me feel timid, scared, inadequate. Jordan repeated the surgeon’s words, “Do not compare yourself to others. Your surgery was different from all others.” But the comparison is inevitable.

I do worry that it’s lack of confidence that keeps me tied to the walker. With it, I’m more confident than I was without it before surgery. Which to me means I could probably walk better if I’d just let go and do it. But when I do, the results are shaky, and I’ve been cautioned so often about the terrible things that will result if I fall again. It’s obviously not a case of pick yourself up and try again. There might be no second chance.

Feeling puckish tonight—love that word. I think it’s the rainy weather. Tomorrow will be better—the weather and my mood. A bright spot tonight: Jordan and I are eating leftovers—bean salad on toast and cucumber/avocado salad. But she, sweet thing, planted and nurtured some leaf lettuce for me, and I will make wilted lettuce, like Mom used to. All I had to say was “wilted lettuce,” and Christian said no thank you. Irony: he loves green beans seasoned the same way—bacon drippings and vinegar. He’s not home tonight for supper, and Jordan has promised to try it.