Happy Father's Day - in Memory of My Dad

 

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and I’ve been missing my dad all day.  Well, that’s not exactly true…I miss my dad all the time – not just today.

 

He’s been gone almost five years now and in my head I can still hear his voice say, “Hel-lo, Jane” when I’d call my parents every Monday afternoon precisely at 5:01 p.m.  He’d even answer the phone that way before he heard me speak. And my parents were not extravagant enough to spring for Caller ID back in the day.

 

Guess we were both just creatures of habit and it was a pretty safe bet that I would be the one responding, “Hel-lo, Dad!”

 

I miss him. I miss his quiet, calm presence. I miss his words of advice and his selflessness in taking care of us. If I were visiting, he’d get up and, before I knew what he was doing, he’d come back with a glass of wine for me. Before every visit, Dad would go to the store to buy a bottle just for me since neither he nor my mother drank red wine.

 

Granted, it wasn’t an expensive bottle. Anyone who knows anything about wine would probably turn up their noses at the choice he made – but, to me, it was the finest of wines just because he picked it out for me.

 

Toward his later years, I was honored to return the favor. When it came time for a meal or happy hour, I’d be the one heading to the kitchen to prepare and provide. It was my pleasure since they had both spent years taking care of me and my siblings.

 

When I was cleaning out my parents’ home in Alliance almost five years ago, I came across an old yellow platter with a flower design on it that definitely had a 60s vibe to it. It had been stashed under the sink for years – decades even – and it brought back happy memories of my childhood.

 

Mom normally cooked breakfast and dinners every day of the week. And at some point, she decided that on Sundays it was Dad’s turn to prepare a meal for the six of us.

 

Somehow he invented the charcuterie board before it was a “thing” and we had meats and cheeses and crackers and fruits and all sorts of goodies on that round yellow tray. Granted, it was probably bologna and Kraft singles and Saltines, but we thought it was the coolest new tradition on Sunday afternoons at the Domian house.

 

I can’t remember how long we enjoyed this new style of eating, but I’m guessing it wasn’t long. My parents were admittedly frugal having grown up during the Depression and would have been horrified if anything had been left uneaten.

 

But no matter. It is still a happy memory for me – all of us sitting together around the platter snacking on our favorite bites.

 

Other happy memories come to mind. Summers in Cape Cod at Parkwood Beach. Walking down the street to the beach carrying our towels, plastic shovels and pails to build epic sandcastles. Splashing in the water and showing off our newfound swimming abilities. Getting up way too early and driving to Plymouth to go deep sea fishing with my dad and siblings. Remembering my dad – even in later years – with his line in the water, turning to me and saying with a grin, “Here, fishy, fishy!”

 

Of course, I can’t think about happy memories without also thinking of the sad memories. But I don’t want to dwell on them today. I have enough sadness in my life right now and it takes very little for my tear ducts to get a workout these days.

 

So I think I will close with my wish for all dads out there – have a Happy Father’s Day! Enjoy. Make happy memories with your kids, whether they’re infants or middle-aged.  They will remember.  (Well, maybe not the infants quite yet – but you know what I mean.)

 

And anyone who is still lucky enough to have their dad here with you…visit him. Pick up the phone. Make sure he knows you care. Life really is short and you may not always have the opportunity.

 

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you and I love you.

A Love Letter to my Friends – Old and New

I cannot thank you all enough for the love and support you’ve shown me since the passing of my beloved Vince. I’ve read every card and note and text and email you’ve sent. I’ve written more than thirty thank you notes for the flowers and food and gifts you’ve sent. If I’ve neglected to send you a thank you note for something that slipped by me, please know that I am very grateful. (And I apologize for my oversight.)

If I had to write thank you notes for all of the sympathy cards I’ve received, well, I’d be suffering from severe writer’s cramp right about now.

But please know – I have loved hearing from friends and family and am in awe at the outpouring of care you’ve all shown me.

So many of you have asked how I’m doing. I am okay. Sometimes. I have days where I feel semi-normal and other days when I feel completely lost. I have moments where I’m doing all right and moments later where I’ve collapsed in a puddle and I’m not sure how I’ll go on.

This is grief. Intellectually, I know it – and I also know I just have to go through it.

It’s not easy. And it’s not something I’d planned on. But who does?

One of the daunting tasks I’ve been working on since Vince’s death has been to (try) to declutter this house. It keeps me busy and I need that sense of purpose.

Vince and I moved here nine years ago with barely enough furniture and things to fill a couple rooms. Through the years, though, we made use of the ample space and somehow managed to fill every nook and cranny.

There were several reasons we did this:

 

1.     In clearing out my parents’ cottage and home, I brought back many, MANY things. I was feeling sad and nostalgic and couldn’t bear to get rid of everything – so I kept more than we needed.

 

2.     I like checking out discount shops like Home Goods and TJ Maxx and found many little treasures to brighten up our home. If something didn’t “work” I tended to keep it and try it in another room. But sometimes those treasures ended up in storage.

 

3.     Vince was very practical and pragmatic – and loved “saving” things. Like old computer towers and pieces/parts of equipment. He thought there might be some later use for it. So much so that when he’d go to work, I’d sometimes go to the electronic recycle bins and fill them up. Nobody needs a three-versions-ago computer tower or cords that fit no technology we currently owned.

 

4.     And, finally, we were both sentimental ol’ fools. We kept things that brought back long ago memories.

Through the years here we made several attempts at clearing out some of those memories. Particularly after I spent so much time cleaning out my parents’ homes. I didn’t want to leave that overwhelming task for anyone – so a few years ago we made a New Year’s Resolution to toss cards and notes after only a few weeks so they didn’t end up saved in a bin somewhere.

In the back of my mind, though, I knew I had two large gray storage bins that I’ve had since I was in college. They were cards and letters and memories from that long ago time.

Back in 2001, shortly after 9-11, I went through those cards and letters. I didn’t read them, but I did organize them in folders by year. Do not ask me why. I guess I was bored. Or I thought they would be a marvelous trip down Memory Lane some year when I was old and grey.

Hmmm. I’m guessing that perhaps I now qualify? After all, I AM a member of the AARP and the Westerville Senior Center.

Egads. When did that happen?

Anyway, for the past few years I’ve known that no one – and I mean NO ONE – will be interested in those cards and letters from my youth. They will not read them or care about the Valentine’s Day card my Nanna sent with a $5 bill enclosed.

Nor will they know that when she told me to have some “fun” with it, I promptly translated that to mean go to the Thirsty-I and buy a pitcher of 3.2 beer for my friends.

Instead, should something happen to me, and someone is tasked with clearing out my belongings, they will simply dump those well-organized folders into the trash.

As well they should. Ain’t no one got time for that nonsense!

On the other hand, I am still here – and I have been finding comfort at looking through those old cards and letters.

So I’ve been reading them. And, yes, most of them are going in the trash afterwards. Some letters or notes I’m sending back to the person who wrote them to me so they can remember that long-ago time, too. I think they will get a kick out of it. And then they’ll most likely toss the card so they also don’t accumulate stuff that someone will someday have to clear out.

Such is the mindset of people as we age.

But what struck me as I read through these letters and cards is that so many of those people are still in my life.

I love that. And I thank God for their loyalty and friendship these many decades later.

Last night I had dinner with Debbie, one of my many roommates during my years at Ohio State. She was in town from Florida and said she wanted to give me a hug and spend a little time with me. So we talked and cried and laughed a little and caught up on each other’s lives.

I had saved a note her mother had written to me – and when I pulled it out of my purse, Debbie immediately recognized her mother’s handwriting. And she was excited to show it to her mom when she sees her later this week.

Debbie and I discussed that how “back in our day” (Ha! We definitely sound like old fogies now, don’t we?!) we had to write letters to keep in touch. We didn’t have social media to keep up with each other, nor did we have smart phones to text each other. And even our phone calls were very limited as most of the time it would mean a long-distance call – and our parents frowned on such frivolous spending.

I was struck by how we actually had to sometimes mail a note to the recipient to try to schedule an upcoming get-together.

But we made that effort. And I believe it led to richer friendships and relationships through the years.

So to all of you in my life (and you know who you are), I thank you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for caring about me during the ups and downs of college life, and my working life, and all those romantic relationships that didn’t go anywhere.

And to all my “new” friends – thank you, too. Vince used to tell people that becoming my friend was like joining the mob. You can get in – but you can’t get out.

That always sounded a little intimidating to me – and might’ve also been a little scary to someone hearing it. But he was so proud that I was the kind of person who could cultivate friendships that persevered through the years.

Most of all – I thank you all for your support now. Because my relationship with Vince was the best thing that ever happened to me. And while I’m so unbelievably sad that he’s gone, I’m also unbelievably happy to have had him in my life for the past thirteen years.

And I thank you for being in my life to witness my happiness.

Smart Phone Antics

Lately I’ve had this disconcerting feeling that my cell phone has taken on a life of its own. It’s doing things I haven’t given it permission to – and, frankly, I think it’s turning on me.

 

Recently, Vince told me that I’d posted a video on Facebook and he wanted my phone so he could delete it. That had me a little weirded out since I rarely take videos – let alone post them anywhere.

 

Fortunately, it was mostly a black screen and the audio was unintelligible. Whew. But, okay, how weird is that? Do you know how many steps it takes to open the photo icon, change it to video, take some sort of bizarre video and then post it to Facebook? I’m not sure…but I think it’s a LOT.

 

And then, about a week ago, I saw an alert that a friend had liked my post. Only I hadn’t intentionally added anything to Facebook – so, naturally, I tapped on the icon to see what magical addition I’d added to my page.

 

And there I saw that I’d shared my niece’s new profile pic. Well, that was a little odd. I certainly hadn’t intended to share it, despite the fact that it was a great picture of her and her son.

 

Makes me wonder what else I’ve liked…or added a laughing emoji to – or, God forbid – an angry emoji.  Eek.

 

It’s scary. Why? Because if I’ve ever inadvertently laughed at someone’s sad post or added an angry emoji when someone shared good news, well, I would feel absolutely awful about that.

 

Because that’s not something I would ever do on purpose.

 

I also have never – and I mean never – reported anyone on any social networking app. My feeling is that if I don’t like someone’s post, I just keep right on scrollin’. They have a right to their opinion and their posts, whether I agree with them or not – and it’s not up to me to be the Barney Fife of Facebook or Instagram or Snapchat.

 

But my phone doesn’t really seem to care who I am or what I intend to do or say. Why just today I got a notice that someone I don’t even know and have never met or seen before accepted my friend request. What?? She looks like a perfectly nice person. But she has her friends list blocked, so I can’t even tell if we have any friends in common.

 

And why would I want to add people to my friends list that I don’t know? Yeah, my answer is the same as the question: I don’t know.  But I feel a little awkward about removing her as a friend. I mean, she accepted and all.

 

Maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with all this modern technology and I should just go back to a dumb phone. Do they still make those?

 

But it all starts from the moment I get up and goes on until my head hits the pillow again that night.

 

Every morning I follow the same routine. Maggie Minx jumps from the bed to the floor and stands next to my head and whines because it’s time for her walk. Doesn’t matter if my alarm hasn’t yet gone off – she decides the wake-up time. (Which is why I’ve recently stopped setting the alarm. I mean, why bother?!)

 

So the first thing I do is pick up my phone. Probably my first step should be to settle my glasses on my face because I’d eliminate the step of having to put in my security code. Evidently, my iPhone doesn’t recognize the squinty-eyed, cranky, disheveled woman in front of it and insists that this strange woman enter the proper code to be allowed access.

 

It's hard to remember new processes when I’m still half asleep – but I’ll work on it. Glasses first, Jane!

 

Nevertheless, once I’m granted access to my home screen, I turn off the security system to the house lest I forget and Maggie and I stumble out the front door setting the alarm to shrieking and bringing the cops to our address. I mean, who needs that sort of commotion before they’ve had their first cup of coffee?

 

And a couple days ago I had another odd occurrence with my phone. I received a text from my sister saying she saw I called but she was in a meeting – and did I need her to call me back right away.

 

Hunh. I had no concept that I had called my sister. And even now when I looked at my recent calls, I don’t see a call on there to her. So that’s weird.  Ooh, but what’s even weirder is that I just looked down at my phone again and there it is…the phone call to my sister.

 

Doo do do do… (or whatever the notes are that will make you recall the theme to the Twilight Zone…)

 

Oh, and another thing I’m always doing without meaning to is rearranging and/or deleting apps on my phone screen. As a creature of habit, I know where my text messages app is and where the weather app is on my screen. But when they move down or over one spot, I have no earthly clue what has disappeared! Or why.

 

Sigh.

 

I never thought I’d say this, but I sort of miss the old flip phones. Once you clapped them shut, nothing would accidentally happen. No “butt dials,” no random posts or videos to social media. No inappropriate likes or dislikes. No adding strangers or removing friends.

 

It was a simpler life back then, wasn’t it?

 

But I probably couldn’t take it. Once I realize that I couldn’t access Waze to plot my route or see the restaurant availability through Open Table, I’d quickly jump back to my smart phone.

 

I just wish it wasn’t actually smarter than me…

Top O' The Mornin' To Ye!

I’m wearing green today in celebration of St. Patrick’s Day. Sort of. I mean, green is just not in my color palette. I have one top that is green-ish and I’ve worn it a couple years for St. Paddy’s Day, but it’s really teetering right on the edge between blue and green. 

Instead, this morning I opted for a “celery” green jacket, which truthfully also barely qualifies as green. I did, however, accessorize with a true green glass necklace and earrings set that friends brought back from their recent cruise. 

So I think I’m safe from pinching. 

 Maybe I should go out and buy one Kelly green top so I don’t have to go through this angst every St. Paddy’s Day. Either that or I could pick up one of those “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!” pins and be done with it. 

 Ah well. It’s the Irish spirit that counts – right? 

I do have Irish blood in me, and I’ve been to Ireland, which is a truly lovely (and very green) country, so those should also count in my favor. 

I really don’t know why I’m so concerned with wearing green today, because Vince and I don’t even have specific plans this evening. No pub crawls or green beer imbibing plans are in the works. Perhaps we could go to Kroger and pick up some Guinness and a hunk o’ corned beef and make do with Reuben sandwiches and a beer and call it a night? 

Yeah, that could work. We wouldn’t even have to designate a driver, unless one of us has trouble maneuvering the stairs at the end of the evening. (Yeah, well, the solution to that would be the couch.)

My mom’s side of the family is all Irish, all the time. Many years ago my grandmother was visiting and somehow we started talking about marriage, of all things. As I recall, I was in college and not even dating anyone let alone considering marriage, but that didn’t stop Nanna. 

She told me I needed to find a nice Irish Catholic boy and marry him and have lots of babies. Oops. Vince is neither Irish nor Catholic. And, as it took a long time to make a decision, the “lots of babies” thing ain’t happenin’ either. Sorry, Nanna! 

But I think she would have been happy with my choice and she would’ve loved Vince. She probably would’ve even done the cheek pinching thing, which is apparently a prerequisite for anyone applying to be a tiny white-haired Irish grandmother. 

My Uncle Joe (who was really a cousin, but he was older than my parents, so we weren’t allowed to call him just “Joe”), well, anyway, Uncle Joe used to tell lots of stories about his Irish heritage. And whenever he’d want to curse, but really didn’t want to, he’d say, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” So that didn’t count as cursing. But you’d hear the word “Jesus...” coming out of his mouth and you’d think, Uh oh… but then he’d add the “…Mary and Joseph” and you’d think, Whew! 

I smile whenever I think of Nanna and Uncle Joe – and all my relatives who are no longer with us. I miss them, but I’d like to think they’re all together up in Heaven having a big ol’ party today in honor of St. Patrick. Wonder if they have green beer in Heaven? No matter. Whatever you do and however you celebrate, I hope it is with people you care about and who care about you. Be safe. 

And I’ll leave you with an old Irish Blessing: 

May love and laughter light your days, 

And warm your heart and home. 

May good and faithful friends be yours, 

Wherever you may roam. 

May peace and plenty bless your world 

With joy that long endures. 

May all life’s passing seasons 

Bring the best to you and yours!

Spring is in the Air. Today, Anyway. (And I’m Happy ‘Bout That!)

It has been warm and somewhat sunny here in Columbus, Ohio the past several days. The snow and ice are all gone – for now, anyway. The weather here is rather unpredictable and we can’t rule out another snowstorm before we’re done with winter for the year.

 

Of course, this makes early morning dog walking a conundrum. Before I’m even fully awake, I have to blearily consult my weather app to determine what coat to don.

 

If it’s too thick and heavy I’ll be wiping sweat out of my eyes throughout our entire walk. (And I only have enough hands to hold the dog leash and her poo bag. Just what am I to use to remove the perspiration?)

 

Imagine how tough it is when rain is added to the mix and I have to try carrying an umbrella? Yikes! 

Heyyy…maybe I should get one of those umbrella beanies? Or…maybe not. Those things look a little too dorky even for me. Perhaps I’ll just get soggy.

 

On the other hand, if I’m wearing too light a coat, and it hasn’t warmed up above freezing, I’m shaking and jiving throughout the entire walk. Plus, I pretty much drag Maggie through her walking routine rather than the other way around.

 

As the day progresses, it gets a little easier to figure out what to wear.

 

Yesterday was one of those days.

 

It was sunny and warm and I was – for once – willing to take Maggie on an extra long walk.

 

She was happy. And I was happy.

 

Interestingly, I talked to more neighbors during this one walk than I had all winter.

 

I swear, if I had known that no less than four neighbors were going to buzz down their car windows to chat with me and another three were going to stop me as I passed by their driveways, I would’ve paid a little more attention to hair and makeup.

 

As it was, I hadn’t even washed my face or run a brush through my hair.

 

Fortunately, nobody really cared what my hair looked like or that I hadn’t applied blush or lipstick. Which is a good thing because I find that I'm not fussing with that sort of thing all that much anymore.

 

But what I noticed was that my mood lightened considerably on this walk. I was getting some exercise without shivering in the cold or thinking about the wind chill factor. It was nice to see my neighbors again.

 

And the sunshine was completely welcomed as I soaked up a little Vitamin D.

 

Even Maggie was relatively well-behaved and didn’t bark ferociously at the lady who walks her three tiny dogs in a baby carriage. Instead, the dogs in the carriage were yipping ferociously at us. Points for Maggie for being the better-behaved dog. (And she doesn’t often earn those “Good Dog!” points.)

 

Later when I was at the grocery store, my mood was still light and happy – and I treated myself to some spring-y posies to keep that good feeling going.

 

I can’t wait for spring! How ‘bout you?

 

I, Too, Will Miss You, Michael Stanley

Over the weekend as I was scrolling through Facebook, I saw the sad news that Michael Stanley Gee had passed away on Saturday from lung cancer.

 

That’s a name that may be unfamiliar to many people outside the Midwest. Heck, I’m not sure I would have even known for sure who it was – unless I took off the last name.

 

And then I’d know in an instant. The news made me sad.

 

Michael Stanley was a Cleveland icon.  And, while I didn’t technically grow up in Cleveland, Alliance was in northeast Ohio. Close enough.

 

I fell in love with the Michael Stanley Band when I was a freshman at Ohio State and was introduced to the album, Stagepass.

 

Well, okay, so the album cover intimidated the heck out of me. Even at eighteen, I couldn’t have looked like that on my best day. But, anyway…

 

When the very first notes of the song, “Midwest Midnight” began, I was hooked. I listened to that album over and over again. And many of the band’s subsequent albums.

 

I actually owned the albums, folks. Yep, I’m that old.

 

Albums eventually gave way to cassettes, which meant I could listen and sing along in my car. And then I even bought a few of the band’s CDs.

 

Now, I just have MSB songs arranged on a playlist on my phone.

 

I didn’t go to any Michael Stanley concerts. I was never really a live show concert-goer. Guess I’m not a big fan of crowds. Either that – or I don’t like having to figure out how to deal with traffic, parking and finding my seat in a big stadium.

 

I’d venture to say it was more of the latter. Even now when forced to go to some sort of event at a big venue, I am the follower. And once I finally arrive at my assigned seat, I stay there until it’s time to leave lest I get lost on the way back from the restroom.

 

Wonder if GPS works in those situations? (But I digress.)

 

I’m on a “Michael Stanley Band Fans” group on Facebook – and I have seen a plethora of tributes to him. He truly was an icon in Cleveland. After the MSB days, he formed new bands and new groups. He was on radio. He was on television. And he entertained new generations of fans.

 

But was struck me was how humble and kind he was to his fans, always.

 

I will never be able to drive at night around 270 and not sing out loud (if I’m alone) or in my head (if I’m in the car with someone) the line, “Thank God for the man who put the white lines on the highway” from the song “Lover” off the Heartland album.

 

So for the past couple days I’ve been playing his songs in my AirPods whenever I walk Maggie. I remember about 99.9% of the lyrics. And there are some great lyrics.

 

Whenever it has been dark while I’m walking her, I’ve been lip-syncing to songs like, “Midwest Midnight.” I lip-sync because I really don’t want my neighbors grimacing in my direction, avoiding eye contact and crossing to the other side of the street whenever they see me.

 

This, just so you know, would probably be because of my bad singing and not the fact that I’m belting out Michael Stanley tunes while walking my dog.

 

But anyway.

 

With Michael’s passing, it’s evidence that yet another big part of my youth is now gone.

 

And as his family and friends mourn his loss on a more personal level, his many fans also mourn. And I am but one.

 

Rest in peace, Michael Stanley. You were one of the good ones.

Part II of Another Edition of This ‘n’ That

Another thing that happened in Jane’s Domain in the past week is that Vince and I got our first COVID immunization.

 

Apparently, some people didn’t show up for their shot and the pharmacy didn’t want them to go to waste. So we beat feet and made it in time to snag the last couple they had available on Tuesday.

 

We’re grateful – especially since I know some people have had a difficult time getting an appointment.

 

I had my injection in my left arm since I’m right handed and Vince had his in his right arm since he’s left handed.

 

We thought that was a smart move…until we realized that my left arm is the one I fell on recently when I slipped on the ice. And Vince? Well, he has been having some trouble with his shoulder. Yes, his right shoulder.

 

Guess you could say we’re a hot mess over here!

 

The first night was fine other than some pain we both experienced at the injection site. We’d heard that would probably happen, so we expected it. And, truthfully, when I saw Vince get his shot I wasn’t surprised. Man, that needle seemed to go in deep!

 

Oh, and maybe it didn’t help when I rolled over in my sleep and whacked Vince smack dab in the upper arm. When he yelped, I woke up and apologized all over myself. Oops!

 

In the morning he was still complaining about the pain, so I must have really gotten him good.

 

Later that second day, though, I was the one who was doing the complaining. OMG. I had chills, I had a low grade fever. And I felt awful.

 

So I covered up in a bajillion blankets and tried to sleep for a bit.

 

The next day I still had muscle and joint pain and a major headache. Frankly, I felt like I did when I had COVID in December.

 

But by Friday, I was fine.  

 

Vince didn’t have as bad a reaction as I did, although he did feel a bit badly the second day. But by Friday, he was fine, too.

 

The nurse who gave us the immunization had told us that people who had COVID within a few months of getting the immunization had more incidents of this sort of reaction after the first shot.

 

So we did. But we’re doing well now.

 

And hopefully as more people get immunized, we’ll start to see our world returning to normal. (Whatever that is.)  I mean, I’d seriously love to ditch the face mask one of these years!

 

Another Edition of This ‘n’ That

It has been an interesting couple of weeks in Jane’s Domain. It all started with me slipping and falling on the ice while walking Maggie Minx one morning.

 

It was a balmy 39 degrees outside and much of the snow and ice had melted the previous day, but there were still patches of ice on the sidewalk.  And despite my careful sidestepping, I still managed to find that one small patch that sent me sprawling on the ground.

 

Immediately I did the furtive look-see to see who might’ve seen me take the tumble. Once I determined that there were no obvious observers (although who knows who was looking out their kitchen window at that precise moment), I began an inventory of my bones. Nothing seemed to be out of whack and no bones were protruding where they shouldn’t be, so I started the comical process of getting back up on my feet.

 

It was only then that I realized that I still had a hold of Maggie’s leash, which is a major accomplishment. Because if I had let go, Maggie would have taken off for points unknown with her leash bouncing merrily along behind her. 

 

But the fact that I hadn’t let go of Maggie’s leash wasn’t the biggest accomplishment that morning. No, what was even more impressive was that I still had a firm hold of her previously collected doggie poo bag.

 

Wow. Extra points for that little victory.

 

Because let me just say that if that bag had gone flying and anything inside it had come anywhere remotely near me, you would not be reading this right now. It would have been too disgusting for words and I would probably still be in the shower two weeks later.

 

So other than a sore left hand and arm, nothing was bruised or sprained or broken – and I felt exceedingly grateful. And I credit my heavy parka-like winter coat that evidently cushioned my fall.

 

By the way, I was not wearing my winter boots with the little spikes on them because – again – it had been above freezing and I figured I would be okay in just regular ol’ snow boots.

 

Still livin’ and learnin’, I guess.

 

The next morning, then, I donned the spikes – and felt completely silly as there was barely any snow left on the ground, let alone ice.  (Insert favorite idiom here…I’ll start: A day late and a dollar short...)

 

A few days later, then, I sat down at my trusty computer and penned the wittiest, most perfect blog ever. But did I post it? No. I thought I would wait until the next day so that I could add a photo or two and make any final edits.

 

Big mistake.

 

Yeah, sure it's autosaving...

Because when I sat down at my trusty computer the next day, the wittiest, most perfect blog ever was GONE. Not saved, even though I thought my autosave was autosaving my pithy writings every 2.3 seconds.

 

Not so much.

 

I was so traumatized, I can’t even remember what I wrote about and I couldn’t sit in front of my computer again for several harrowing days thereafter. Because I have never been able to recreate a blog – the words just don’t flow and I’m never satisfied with the second attempt.

 

(And I guess you’ll just have to trust me that it was the wittiest, most perfect blog ever!)

 

Hunh. Evidently my trusty computer is not so trusty, eh?!

 

Turns out that our yearly Microsoft 365 subscription had ended and my computer was no longer saving things. My computer was even sending out little death threats and ransom notes unless we ponied up the $99 for an update.

 

This is how little I know about computers. If I sit down at one and it doesn’t work, I have no clue what to do to fix it. Oh sure, I can turn it off and then back on, but that’s about the extent of my technical abilities.

 

Now here’s the worst part. Vince had already updated the subscription with the third and final key card that we had purchased when we bought his computer and, since it was for a family subscription, it should easily have covered my computer as well. Only when I asked Vince to make sure I was included in his “family” – and he did – his computer was not showing that he had updated the subscription.

 

Huh?

 

Yeah, that was my response, too.

 

We tried poking around on his computer. And on my computer. We tried reading the prompts offered by Microsoft. And we tried calling, but couldn’t get through to a real-life human. We even bothered our sister-in-law, who seems to be able to figure that sort of thing out, but she couldn’t make any headway either.

 

Points to Vince for his perseverance, because he finally reached someone at Microsoft (a guy in the Philippines who had live chickens squawking in the background), but he was extremely helpful and figured out the problem. Turns out that Vince has way too many email accounts and had used the wrong one.

 

Now my autosave is back on merrily autosaving every 2.3 seconds. I just need to make a note next year to renew our subscription before the ransom notes start appearing. Because I don’t think I could take another experience of sitting down to a blank page where hours before had been the most amazingly perfect blog ever.

 

Trust me.