Tech Frustrations, Take Three

I am really lucky. My Florida D-I-L is a computer maven, and she is willing to come when I cry for help. Her husband – my younger son - told me it was okay to download Internet Explorer 8. “It works better.” Famous last words. Ever since I did that, my D-I-L has made two trips to my house to undo the damage that the download has done. My new rule is never mess with a functioning computer program that this senior citizen is using without hassle. It seems Internet 8 is not compatible with many programs I use such as Word, My Space, Blogger, etc and without the aide of my D-I-L, I still could not cut and paste my blog onto My Space or Blogspot.

The computer techs at My Space could not help me find all the missing comments people made on my blog, but my DIL found them. She has the patience of a saint, a skill necessary to be a computer maven. She actually reads directions carefully and then follows them without taking short cuts – another helpful skill when fixing things. Even better, she understood the secret language the computer geeks a.k.a tech support people at My Space were telling me in their auto response. Their latest unhelpful letter was different from their usual one where they tell me to clean my computer. (I take this as a personal insult. It is clean. I dust it and use alcohol wipes on the keys. Hubby is in charge of cleaning the cookies. He gets rid of them often because, according to what My Space techs usually write me, my computer is diabetic and can’t tolerate them. My husband detoxes our computers at least once a week with various spy-searching programs. Cookies, I am usually told by My Space are the root of all-evil. I am beginning to think having a cookie in my computer is responsible for every problem that occurs on My Space.)

However, when the blog comments disappeared into cyberspace, this time My Space said it had something to do with I think the word is caches. To me Cache is an expensive dress store with clothes designed for anorexic females. Fortunately, my Florida DIL knew what they were talking about and immediately corrected the problem. And like magic, my readers comments appeared! After she left yesterday, I tried to open something on a new web site. My computer told me Adobe is not responding to my requests and I need a special disk to reinstall it. Now, I have to wait until my D-I-L has another free day to come and find where Adobe is hiding in my hard drive.

I have one question for all of you that don’t have free computer mavens a stone’s throw away. Is it possible to ever figure out how to fix these messes by yourself, or do you choose between food and functioning computers?

Hot Time in Old Town

There was a hot time in old town last weekend. My development – a.k.a. active senior community – had a Margaritaville dance. Our social hall was decorated to resemble the Keys and margaritas were handed to each of us as we entered – which helped loosen-up what normally is a very reserved, prim and proper group.

The DJ played just enough slow music to keep Hubby up and moving for half the evening. Our social director planned contests for the ladies, but, alas, not the wet t-shirt ones that Key West is known for. Not even the free booze was enough to tempt the gals of this community to partake in that kind of contest. Instead, we had a Best Key West Outfit contest. Let me tell you, during the parade around the room some of these women proved they still could do a wicked shimmy. I watched one with envy. If I shook my upper torso as she did, Hubby would have had to rush me to the nearest chiropractor.

The nicest entertainment of the evening for me – and others who admitted it – was watching evidence that new love – be it at 16 or 66 – is always a joy to view. Two neighbors, who had become engaged that evening, had many eyes on them while they snuggled during a romantic slow dance. I asked Hubby why we didn’t dance that way anymore. He studied the couple and then whispered to me, “Because my hands don’t need to be warmed.”

I laughed and was relieved that he didn’t tell me that my rear was too wide for him to reach around, or that my pants were too tight for him to easily slide his hands into my back pockets.

Tight Squeeze

Trying to hang family pictures, awards, and a collection of maps was the greatest challenge I’ve had since the move. You see, they once occupied the walls of a long hallway and two bedrooms and my challenge was to get them all into the walls of a 10 x 12 foot office that I share with my husband. Unlike our old house, these ceilings are the high ones, so I did have equivalent wall space – it’s just that Hubby didn’t expect me to literally use all of it. While I was nailing away, he was insisting I was making his office look like a cave decorated with floor to ceiling paintings. I pointed out that there were two desks and two computers in our office. By the time I was done, we compromised. The space directly over his computer was an “eye resting area” – not a picture for him to see - just a plain bone colored wall as he wanted.

I’ve always had one unwritten rule for hanging pictures and mirrors in highly visible spots: make sure I like what I’ll see since I’ll see it a lot. I intentionally hung a picture of a skinny me facing my desk and placed another one of skinny me with my grandkids on my desk. I have literally taken off 3 pounds since I unpacked and hung our pictures a few days ago. Every time I’m tempted to get up from my desk and head to the kitchen to stuff my mouth, no matter which way I turn, I am confronted by images of a slender me. Until now, I never thought of pictures as diet motivators, but obviously, they work for me.

The unofficial rule for family pictures is not to display them in your formal living room – unless you are the descendant of famous people like George and Martha Washington and have their portrait to hang over your mantel. I think a decorator who had an ugly family or infamous relatives and didn’t want them on display came up with this rule.

There is another unofficial rule someone told me about today for family pictures in the bedroom. Only put up pictures of relatives who never upset you. If you stare into the face of a loved one that has just upset you, you might not have sweet dreams. Hmmm. That eliminates anyone over 21, including Hubby and yours truly. It leaves only my grandkids and their dog.

Facebook: Delete Home Phones

I have an idea of how of how the Facebook, Twitting, and Texting generation can save money: they should take out their telephone. They don’t need anything other than their iPhones. When I call my sons’ home, either they can’t find the telephone so they can’t answer it, or they’re too busy with their over committed lives to take a moment to say, “Hello.” I assume they realize that if there father or I were ill, I would leave a message.

It is obvious they feel they have more control of their time if they email me news or post it on Facebook. For the first time in my life, I can truly understand the joke about senior parents telling their kids over the phone that they were getting divorced. (The joke predates iPhones and caller ID.) Their kids immediately dropped everything to come and fix the problem. When they left, their old Papa said to their aged Mama, “Okay, I thought of how to get them here this time. Next month, you think of a way.”

This morning I called one son’s home. No one answered. Then I went to my computer to do some work. Within the span of half an hour, I received one email from their home and there were two postings from two different residents in the house on Facebook. I know because I checked to make sure my children were alive and well – after all, they were out of their house before nine on a Saturday morning, which is unusual for them.

Maybe next time they call and ask what is doing, Hubby and I should give one-word answers and make sure we get off the phone in less than 30 seconds – the time it takes to post on Facebook or write an email. Perhaps once they realize we won’t take up that much time of their very busy lives, they will actually use the phone to communicate with us again.

Years ago, teachers learned that the attention span for a great lesson was seven minutes – the average time between commercials on television. Now senior citizens must learn that our conversations must be limited to no more than 30 seconds if we want to actually hear the younger generation’s voices. I guess it is a problem in the classroom also. Getting kids to write quality work with more than 150 characters is probably a challenge also – especially if spelling counts.

I wanted to end this with a texting short hand comment related to the blog, but all I know is r u :) 2day i hope u r and I’m not even sure that I “spelled” that right.

No Need to Phone :(

“My daughter told me your son is in Tennessee with his family,” my sister-in-law told me over the phone yesterday.

Since my son is addicted to a Blackberry and not a phone, I realized my niece must have read his Facebook “wall” and told her mother. I do have a Facebook account, but have never invited anyone I know to befriend me. However, I decided it was time. It didn’t take long to figure out I just needed to input his name and high school to bring up his page. Then I requested he approve me as a friend. He must be “on” 24/7 because he immediately accepted my friendship, which brought me to his page and then “wall.”

Instantly, the diary of his week’s vacation as well as a link to all of his pictures, complete with comments appeared on my computer screen. I felt as if I was with all of them. I repeated the process with his teenaged son and got the same results. Wow! Now I have a way to know not only what was going on in my son and grandson’s lives, but also what their friends had to say to them. Eavesdropping has become socially acceptable!

No wonder so many of their generation don’t feel the need to call friends and relatives they don’t see daily. All those who care about them need to do is read their status reports on Facebook or twitter or tweet or whatever. Only one sentence is needed to keep all their friends and relatives abreast of their current joys or frustrations and that is so much more efficient than four or five phone calls everyday. What a wonderful idea for the over-committed generation!

When done reading their walls, an old “guilt” sentence popped into my head. Knowing if I posted it on his wall he would have justification to delete me as a friend – even at my age I run the risk of embarrassing him in front of his peers - so I sent him an email and requested it be read with a heavy Yiddish/New York accent. “Ya got time to write all this and no time to call your parents?”

He didn’t call right away. He waited an hour.

The Computer Swallowed Grandma

I never cut and paste or even send jokes on but this one is worth it!

The computer swallowed grandma.
Yes, honestly its true!
She pressed 'control' and 'enter'
And disappeared from view.
It devoured her completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
She must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm.
I've searched through the recycle bin
And files of every kind;
I've even used the Internet,
But nothing did I find.
In desperation, I asked Jeeves
My searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative,
Not a thing was found 'online.
'So, if inside your 'Inbox,'
My Grandma you should see,
Please 'Copy,''Scan' and 'Paste' herAnd send her back to me.
This is a tribute to all the Grandmas
who have been fearless and . .. . .
Learned to use the Computer......
WE are the greatest!!!

It's All in a Name, Or Is It?

When I started to write blogs and send essays to newspapers, for many personal reasons I desired anonymity – and still do. Hence, the use of a pen last name for me and an invented nickname for my husband. However, a hot discussion has come up today about the use of “Hubby” for my other half. During the last several years, I noticed many writers were using it, albeit my generation never did. I wanted to be up to date in my vocabulary and adopted it.

After reading my first blogs, my husband’s much older sister called me and told me the word irritated her so much that she found she could not read the anecdotes. “My brother is not the “Hubby” type she insisted. He sounds like a henpecked wimp, and he’s not.” Since lately she has begun to complain about everything, I ignored her criticism.

Today the discussion took on another turn. My blog readers Hubby’s age – and he is a few years older than me – just a few – don’t like the word. Women, near my kids’ age and younger, use it or don’t object to it. This is a predicament. Characters’ names are important, even in a humorous book. I am almost ready to send in my manuscript –or self-publish – and need to decide ASAP. Being a true Gemini, I can’t decide. All day I’ve been craving chocolate worried that the use of the name “Hubby” could cause my book to be rejected by editors or readers.

Since it involves his public image, I decided to ask my husband of 47 years what he thought. He looked up from his newspaper and gave me the standard cliché that has been used by every husband and/or hubby for generations. “I don’t care what you call me, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.”

Now I turn to my readers, what do you think of the word “Hubby?” Is it demeaning, endearing, or irrelevant? I hope you are not Gemini’s like me!