Useful life . . .

I have been thinking back to those days when I used to occasionally install new computer equipment and troubleshoot software before I retired. I was a first responder, so to speak, who did triage and dealt with things like dire lockups and blue screens. I was the one who called in the experts when things were beyond dire.

Those days are long gone. Now we can have new drivers for the asking. Just visit the manufacturer's web site . . . unless. Unless a new operating system comes along and compatible drivers no longer exist for older peripherals. Sad. Really sad to see perfectly useful things like our deskjet have to be surplussed because it doesn't have USB capability.

I am beginning to identify with it. I don't have USB capability, either . . .

Mew waiting . . .

BigEd has gone upstate with friends for the weekend. They left yesterday and Mew was in the back bedroom asleep when the luggage left the house. She was unsettled by its appearance when he pulled it out of the closet. She knows when those close-able, fancy boxes get filled with stuff that they mean change is coming.

She misses BigEd and has been just inside of the front door Saturday, curled up and waiting for him to come back.

It's not only dogs who are faithful . . .

The ice, not tagged

During hurricane season, our freezer becomes less fully stocked than it is the rest of the year. We are inclined to ignore the buy-one-get-one-free sales until we are pretty sure the winds will not start to circulate around us like a Tilt-a-Whirl gone mad. We store extra ice, pack rat style.

This year, because the season was quiet for us and is nearly over, I released the extra ice back into the wild. Of course, now we are watching the progress of a storm in the Caribbean. The meteorological models don't really show us under threat. But the weather people probably did not factor in the state of our freezer.

You never know . . .

Da what?

Our nearby Blockbuster Video rental store was replaced by a Pet Supermarket. We are not too happy over the switch but Mew is ecstatic. You see, because I asked about it, they now stock Da Bird.

It is a cat toy that mimics the flutter of bird wings as it swoops through the air. She absolutely loves it and has lost at least six ounces of weight due to increased exercise.

Now, I have to admit that for the first two days, I did not realize it had a string which was wrapped around the whippy wand. I was merrily waving the wand around and she was chasing it just fine. Then I realized there was a navy blue string wrapped around the navy blue wand and secured by a navy blue piece of tape. When I undid the tape, the (excuse me) da bird was liberated to fly. Now we are doing feline ballet and human wand wielding in sync.

Much better . . .

Carded . . .

We have . . . there is a . . .why is there a . . .

I don't know how to ask this:

Do greeting cards have a mind of their own? Do they disappear for other folks the way they do for us? Do other people buy birthday cards and graduation cards and baby shower cards which silently disappear?

Do we buy too early? Probably. This gives the cards more time to plan their getaway. There is one beautiful card which has an eagle on it. Somewhere. We lost it before the scheduled birthday arrived. We found it some months later and it again disappeared. If it turns up again, I will capture it and hand it to the recipient whether it is his official birthday or not.

I am beginning to feel that cards might be an unnecessary evil. Unless, of course, the birthday in question happens to be mine . . .

Now where . . .

Ever put something away carefully to keep it safe until you need it? I am in the middle of one of those situations, now.

I would write more about it but I have to keep searching. I have looked everywhere except the freezer and the garden storage shed. The scary, rusty one. I don't like to go there so perhaps there is a tiny shopping trip in my future.

Oh, Hall-(oween).

No celebrations . . .

This was a sad sports weekend for our football enthusiasts. There were hard contested losses-by-inches. Close, they said. Tried hard, they said.

The cat, at least, remains calm. Not too much triumphant yelling going on. She gets a little fussed when that happens. BigEd says she just needs to get used to it.

Echo of the Echo . . .

Just closed An Echo in the Bone. Knowing that there would be loose ends left unbound at the finish of it helped greatly. I do not have a feeling of outrage at the way the book closes because there are foreshadows visible to allow the imagination to voyage on past the written word.

People are separated and some find one another. Even the wolf finds his happiness. All in all, there was plenty to savor.

It was like an excellent banquet at Valentine's Day with the dessert promised for Christmas, probably.

Maybe two-three years or so away, though . . .

Silence is . . .

Our house is not totally quiet with the air conditioner running and a television on in the living room. We are used to these background noises and think little of them. Unless they are not there.

Day before yesterday, I cracked one living room window and cooled the whole house. Fall had dropped by without calling first and brought some friendly winds from the North.

I sat alone in the living room with my newest, long awaited, library book. It was quiet, peaceful, silent.

I couldn't stand it. I had to turn on the ceiling fan . . .

Falling into books . . .

Finally Fall fell. It took its time arriving down here.

I R reading "An Echo in the Bone." Will not be doing much else but wallowing in it. I am trying to make it last a while, but it's difficult, once I get going, to remember to slow down.

o1 Doc, I did finish "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and am waiting for "The Girl Who Played with Fire." Did you know the author had died? And that there is a third book of his that was sent to his publisher but who knows when, or if, it will be released.

I was thinking the girl was mildly autistic but did not tumble to Asperger's Syndrome. "Tattoo" got better and better as I got into it. It is sad that there is only the possibility of three books in this run.

D. Gabaldon had better not *finish* before her series does. There would be some ticked-off readers, no? :p

It's the little details . .

Charlie's Auto Glass has amenities such as fresh coffee, snacks, huge HDTV, lots of hard but contoured chairs. Charlie's tech said that the crater in the Camry's windshield was too deep to repair and so they replaced it this morning.

They also vacuumed the car and washed the side and rear windows. Can you imagine how clean it looks? Window-wise, I mean.

The rest of it is receiving a free rinse courtesy of some semi-tropical squalls moving in.

All I need is a Sham-Wow to dry it off when the rain stops. It will look like we had it detailed.

Maybe . . .

No whine with dinner . . .

I don't need any whine, thank you. I have a sufficient amount for myself. We (meaning I) are tired of feeling like cwap.

Yesterday, we (meaning BigEd and I) went to the (big box) store.

It was too soon. We are all worn out. Today, J (who put away what we brought home) is back to sleep on the couch. Today, BigEd went back to sleep in his room. I (yawn), after loading the washing machine, am headed for a nap also.

For the evening meal, there is left over spaghetti with Dreamfields pasta and I don't think they had better wake me up to ask what's for dinner. Not that they would ever do that, but, especially not today . . .

Wa-Hoo!

* * * HAPPY BIRTHDAY * * *
ZETA!

This is as close to cobalt as I could get.

Vroom, vroom, with regrets . . .

We all three received our flu shots. Not the Swine/H1N1, but the regular, garden variety, only-one-available-now, flu shot. Mine didn't sting when injected, J's did, and BigEd felt his too, he said. Strange, no?

The day after BigEd got his, and waaayyy before any immunity could have built up, BigEd began with a sore throat. This was late Friday afternoon and on Monday he went to the doctor, who gave him an antibiotic.

Of course you can guess that J and I came down with it sequentially, J first and me afterward. Antibiotics for all. We're an equal opportunity family.

The worst aspect of this commonplace tale is that Zeta's birthday is Sunday. The family, minus the three of us, is meeting at the coal fired pizza place on the Dixie, tomorrow.

Not wanting to provide the family with a total equal opportunity experience, the three of us have text messaged our regrets. We texted because Zeta and M are at an event and the noise can prohibit conversation. They usually are that close to the cars. Nice, huh?

Believe me when I say we really regret not helping Zeta and M to celebrate. Her birthday will, therefore, be extended for a week or so.

Still, we regret . . .

INCOMING . . .

Be it officially recorded, via this document, that no one asked me if we should bombard the moon with a rocket. It's not my fault.

I know it has been dry, here in our end of the state. Temperatures have been above the norm and bouncing against the glass ceiling of becoming a record. Personally, I don't blame the moon.

Poor thing . . .

An Echo in the Bo- . . .

Yeeeeaaars ago, when I bought the first book in Tolkien's "Lord of the Ring" trilogy, I had never heard of it. I read to the end and was completely indignant at the idea of such a cliff-hanging finish. It was as if the last sentence was not intended to be the end of the book at all. As if the publisher had made a mistake in the book-binding process and omitted the final few pages.

Of course, I finally clued up and, as of now, the whole world has heard of Strider (well, Aragorn), Gandalf, and Frodo. They no longer belong just to me.

According to the reviews by readers on Amazon, author Diana Gabaldon has done a similar thing with the latest book of her "Outlander" series: "An Echo in the Bone." She even put a (sort of) disclaimer on her web site which I quote:

A word about the ending...I did say, did I not, "Nobody's going to hit the end of _this_ book, and think it's the last one?"

One of the reader/reviewers on the Amazon site recommended that people not read this one until the next one comes out.

If it were not already in transit to my account at the library, I might think about doing that - for about two seconds. I do appreciate the heads up, though. I won't gallop through it in order to find out what happens next. I will savor and enjoy as I go, in the knowledge that the end will indeed leave me a-la-Tolkien.

Forewarned, and all that . . .

Little, bendy-legged . . .

It really is all o1 Doc's fault. I blame her, completely. She has a link to Woot on her website and I clicked on it, today. They had a little, bendy-legged tripod. I have been thinking about getting small one because when we went up a mountain, I became shaky from the altitude. I am never shaky. As long as I reman near sea level, my hands are steady enough to perform brain surgery. If I were capable, that is.

Up high, say 3,600 feet, I needed a tripod and probably a keeper for the first couple of days. This particular Woot item is not for heavyweight cameras. But then, neither am I.

So little bendy-legs and I were made for each other. Thanks o1Doc.

Fold up the tent . . .

Today's Origami class was a little different. We finished three projects when we usually do one or, at the most, two. We listened. Those inclined to take up time with jokes or questioning kept quiet.

There is one lady who is a bit of a a control freak. Even though she needs instruction and admits the fact, she still rebels when told to wait and not get ahead. But today, even she kept quiet for the most part.

We were all a bit subdued because we discovered that our county's head librarians are all being transferred to other locations. This is in an effort to even out the coverage, so to speak, and prevent job/budget cuts. We could not argue with the reasons behind this action.

Since our Origami instructor is also the head librarian at our branch, next Saturday will be our last class.

I dread to think that we might be folding a penguin as the farewell project . . .

Outta the way . . .

Mew is nine-and-three-quarters years old. She seems a bit less active than she used to be but not by much. She still plays tag. By her rules you are almost always *it*. If you hide and peek, she will chase you although she will run for a short distance if you *fluff* yourself at her.

Yesterday, she demonstrated how easily she can recover the steps we thought she may have lost. It wasn't raining. Yet. Seemingly out of nowhere a crack of thunder hit. This was immediately followed by an orange and white blur which may or may not have been using its feet to move. We couldn't tell, it went by so fast.

Our orange and white middle-aged cat was heading for sanctuary. Lose a step? Not when its thundering . . .

Another duh moment . . .

Yesterday, I turned my cell phone to vibrate when I was going into church. Then I dropped it into my purse instead of putting it back in the side pocket. Of course, it migrated to the very bottom.

You would think I'd know better, by now . . .

Squash fold, water bomb, flapping bird, frog . . .

Origami classes have started at the library, again. Origami does require practice to get the folds precise. There is a geometry involved which ensures that any uneven small fold will provide a major skew to the final result. There is no standard deviation in Origami.

Sometimes the paper is not cut exactly square. Or we insist that it is not. Worse still, the diagrams are almost impossible to follow on a step by step basis. Many of them illustrate the fold lines and leave it up to you to decide how to achieve that result. We are taking baby steps and our teacher is an excellent guide.

When we try to go ahead of her, or try to figure things out too soon, she threatens us with the dreaded penguin. I saved the one I folded in the previous class.

Who knows when I might have to prove I know how to do it?

Or rather, that I used to know . . .

Open wide . . .

Yesterday, the truck came to pick up the results of the story of BigEd and the Alligator Lopper. As BigEd said, I should have taken a before and after picture of the yard. The only things not cut to 3 foot lengths were the fronds from the large palm.

They weren't very heavy and the truck only had trouble when the bucket picked up the tip of one frond along with its giant mouthful. The truck managed to swallow all of the stuff. Thank you truck.

And thank you, BigEd . . .

Read any good . . .

Word of mouth recommendations for books are a prize. 01 Doc has recommended so many that we both have enjoyed. Today, I found a new source for recommendations.

Our doctor recommended an Icelandic author, Arnaldur Indridason, and said he was, at present in the middle of one of Indridason's books which I understood to be: Jaw City. I came home, looked up all forms of Jaw City. Google gave many references to Peter Benchley's Jaws. Nothing for Jaw City.

So I looked up Icelandic authors and recognized Arnaldur Indridason, who, it turns out, wrote Jar City. My recommender is originally from New York, hence the misunderstanding between his faintly northern pronunciation and my decidedly southern ears.

At any rate, I put it on reserve and will let 01 Doc know what I think. Strangely enough, she likes well written police procedurals, too . . .

One of my best buds . . .

Our library system escaped county budget cuts again. Programs for senior citizens and children also escaped. It is a little sad to list the library's escape first, but that is the line item in the budget that would impact my life most immediately.

I depend on the library system. Reading is not an interest nor an avocation, in my case. It is a vice, carried to extremes. I could not buy all of the books I read in a year. Nor would I want to. Some of them are not keepers. Others are and those I may buy for they become old friends to be revisited time after time.

I have gift certificates to book stores which I spend as carefully as if they were gold nuggets being traded in for gold ingots. Since the advent of the 'net, the library and I are closer than ever.

I expect to find it on Facebook, any day now . . .

Wielding an alligator . . .

The Alligator Lopper: Chain saw for the non-chain saw user. It grips. It bites. It demolishes. It spits sawdust. It is altogether satisfactory.

BigEd, wielding the lopper, has been a deadly force to our hibiscus hedges, small palm trees, and overgrowth.The only thing that refuses to bow to its superior power is a tree with full girth, such as our sickly palm which reached full adulthood before developing the blight. Still, the fronds are destined for lopping.

And then, we'll see . . .

Please, I just want to know . . .

I was standing in the parking lot, in the shade of a tree, and focusing a camera on this. A gentle voice interrupted my professional-type concentration through the viewfinder.

"May I ask you why you're taking a picture of a CVS pharmacy?" it asked. "I hope you don't mind my asking?" she invited a reply with her upward inflection.

Talk about feeling sheepish. "The brick tower." I explained, "It doesn't look like a pharmacy and . . " I trailed off.

She laughed and made pleasant conversation, telling me where she and her husband had come from. Turned out she retired from the other university in my home town. You know, the famous one where S-the-guru was on the drum line. That one.

For a second it had crossed my mind that she thought I was taking photos for a terrorist group. But, it was only a pharmacy, not a bridge or a tunnel.

Guess not. She was just nice and curious . . .

Defunction and stuff . . .

It has become evident that our appliances missed us while we were away. One air conditioner committed seppuku upon our return. A replacement was ordered yesterday and it is being installed, even now. No sentiment there.

Bless Scott Appliances and Air Conditioning. Bless air conditioners with remotes. Bless the coolness both are providing, or will soon.

Our car, which went along with us, was wounded in the windshield by a rock thrown up by a passing truck. I will call the insurance company this afternoon to see which auto hospital takes the walking wounded. Rolling wounded?

I hate to see the windshield go. I had bought Rain-X windshield washer fluid and discovered that it is marvelous stuff. The current windshield absolutely sheds water and bugs. One hardly needs the wipers.

I guess the new one will learn that trick, too . .

Who's bigger?

Isn't Buttercup a mouthful of a name for tiny white poodle? It does rather roll off the tongue, though. Especially when shouted.

Buttercup's owner is J's (87 year old) mother. We spent some time with her and Buttercup on the way back from North Carolina.

When we arrived, we took our luggage in through the opened garage, up the steps, and into the back hall to our usual bedroom. Buttercup ran barking to greet us while cries of: "Buttercup! Come back here!" rang after her. Buttercup had to be shooed back into the living room before she thought about answering the frenetic calls.

We found J's mother ensconced in her throne-like recliner which has extra cushions on the seat, the better to rise from it. Sharing the chair with her was the newest member of the family: a small Cocker Spaniel named Molly. Unsure of Molly's temperament, I held out my hand to let her smell the back of it. She sniffed and then licked it with a dry (thank you) tongue. Molly, it turns out, is a sweetheart.

She is also not trained completely. Housebroken, yes. But she considers herself top dog, after Buttercup. J's mom comes in as a distant third in the canine hierarchy.

It was interesting when we took Molly to the vet for a checkup. I walked her, not allowing her to pull me, nor to lead me through doors.

When we departed after three days, Molly would (most times) sit at the back door and wait for permission to cross the threshold instead of bolting.

We'll see . . .

What do you think this is?

I took a picture of this brick structure with the tower entrance because it was being put to an unexpected use. It is deceptive because, taken from the side as it is, one can't see the sign with the name and function of the building. Any guesses?

I confess, before this picture was taken the camera was set to video by accident. I have some very moving video of my shadow and my hand.

And no, I won't post it . . .

There and Back Again

J and I have been gone for over two weeks. BigEd was away for part of the time and Mew boarded at the vet's office while he was away at the same time we were.

A week of the time was spent at 3,600 feet, in Roaring Creek Cabin between Maggie Valley and Waynesville, NC. The cabin was halfway up the mountain via a gravel road with winding (and one hairpin) turns. But it was beautiful being up on the side of the overlook with trees originating well below us and stretching the canopy up to surround us with flowing, light-spattered green. We rocked on the screened porch and felt the stress melting down between the floorboards under our feet.

Being sea level dwellers, at first we felt the effects of the altitude. The local populace calls it mountain sickness. After we acclimated, we did not want to leave. There was no cell phone signal in the cabin but there was a land line, satellite television and wireless internet.

My kind of roughing it . . .

Better than asking directions . . .

We have decided to look into owning a GPS. Not knowing anything about the differences between types, research seems appropriate. The easiest sort of research, asking around, is my method of choice, today.

Any ideas? Would Zeta ask the Guru what he thinks? I value his pronouncements immensely.

Meanwhile, if WOOT dot com would hand me one, I'd be happy . . .