Thursday, April 17, 2014


Anne, look, I uploaded a pic!  Thank you!

Not keeping up with the times all that well

I've had this iPad for almost a week, and what I've learned is that I'm not going to write a blog by using the touch screen.   Now I have a keyboard, which is quite wonderful and a far cry from that old Royal manuel typewriter we used to have at home for high school reports. (Like that book report I made up from scratch for Mrs. Hammond.  I still have it somewhere).

Anyway, Charles has already spent several hours with me setting up the iPad, but there's still so much I don't know. How much time can you suck out of a tekky son?

Questions about my iPad:

1.  What is the crap with this short recharging cord?  It must be all of 18 inches long.  I have to sit on the edge of my bed for the cord to reach the floor.  Come on Apple!

2.  I know how to take photos, but I don't know how to post them to my blog.  This is most urgent.  I'm vacationing in the Netherlands next week and I want to load photos.

3. I was listening to a Radiolab podcast on apocalypses today, and I couldn't turn it off.
It began again.  I swear I didn't push a button! I turned it off, but it just kept talking at me.  I already knew about the astroid destroying the dinosaurs in one fell swoop.  I didn't want to hear it a second time.  When it did go off, I don't know what I did to get the result. Now I have a fear of listening to Radiolab.

4.  I push gmail, but all I get is trash.  Fourteen hundred pieces of trash.  I think I may be missing messages that I might want to receive, but I don't know where they are or how to get to them.  I know how to compose an email, but I don't know how to receive an email.  It's a problem.

5.  Netflix imagines my iPad to be a fourth user and so late at night, when Spencer and Anne and Sam and Sarah are watching movies, I can't get on.  Spit!

6.  How do I save blog lists etc.?  How do I get back to those lists?

7.  Buying an iPad is like buying a new house.  Suddenly your old furniture looks impoverished.  You need new furniture.  Now I want a cordless printer, so I can print with this thing.

I want.  I want.  I want.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

We are still married

Yesterday, we found out that our seventeen year old serial killer car is not worth repairing.

We celebrated by eating white flour rolls with apricot jam for breakfast, which has not a single redeemable calorie. Delicious.

Then we drove out to a parking lot to empty the boot of the car. (I've decided to be British today). I was stung with regret that I had not brought a camera to record our taking leave of this car.  It was our last tie with New York City where we bought it.  We bought it because my ankle replacement failed and walking long distances was impossible.  We bought it, because Ed and Dede and family lived in New Jersey, and the one time we visited them via Penn Station was irritating.  We bought it to escape Manhattan. Manhattan sizzles with cultural accumulations, but sometimes it burns the soles of your feet as well.

Anyhow, we took our old fogey chairs, a couple of umbrellas and sun hats and paper clutter and took off for Farmington to pick up some paintings   Tom instructed me how and where to drive: a veritable  monologue of instructions. Maybe, I don't like instructions.  Maybe, I was hungry, but driving down Main Street in Farmington, I lodged this bomb: "Stop telling me how to drive; you're the one who ran a stop sign!"

If I were writing a book on marital communications, I'd say that shout-out was a ball buster. Ach du lieber Himmel!

Tom said, "We'll, you're the one who let that semi spit that iron grate into the front of the car on I-15!"

We burst into laughing.

We are still married.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

General Conference Sunday

What is the best thing about General Conference? You can watch it in your jammies. I watched it on my new iPad and whenever someone spoke about the temptation of worldly distractions, I clutched it to my bosom like a beloved child. Have I mentioned that I love my iPad?

This morning, I took photos of Tom sleeping in our marital bed. It's probably a good thing that I don't as yet know how to post photos; although I would'nt want to compete with Tom in a photo posting war anyway. I'm trying to think if there is any useful kind of competition in marriage? Nothing comes to mind.

Still nothing.

Spring is sprouting; resurrection time.  It's the best.

Friday, April 4, 2014

This and that

My computer has once again failed, and rather than go days without "connection," I bought an IPad. I love America! I'm not all that proficient with it yet, but I'm highly motivated to learn. I have not a clue how to post a photo, but I'm sure Charles can teach me.  The important thing is Netflix and Bookworm.  (I know, my life is pathetic!)

Ann and  I led a writer's workshop today with the most sensational group of women. They wrote about their lives and we laughed and cried and then laughed and cried some more. I'll never tire of hearing other people's stories, each unique in their own way.

While I was gone, Tom ran a stop sign and was side-swiped in the intersection. Neither he nor the other driver was hurt, but the car had considerable body damage. When I met him, he said, "I have a story, and I don't want you to say, Oh Tom!"  So I didn't, but I'm glad he warned me in advance.

My hope is that our seventeen year old car is not worth repairing.

Monday, March 31, 2014

House/office plants make you smarter

And who doesn't want to be smarter?  I cut this from today's Apartment Therapy.  I'm a huge indoor plant lover, so of course I'm repeating this for you with great self-aggrandizement.  What's a blog for?
To test their hypothesis that plants in an office setting would lead to benefits, the authors placed some participants in an office with four plants placed around a desk, and others in the same room without plants. ... Results of the experiment showed that the participants working in the room with plants improved their performance from the first to the second Reading Span Task, while those in the room without plants did not.

In addition to the reading retention results, the researchers also found that offices with plants reported a reduction in fatigue during demanding work.I'm pretty sure that dead plants don't produce the same effect.  Don't place plants in rooms you seldom use.  I speak from experience.  Killing a plant doesn't feel good.

Although, I could drown a bag of kittens.  (For you, Sarah).  And my grandfather often did in that canal in back of his house.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

The old ladies lunch and munch

Today our high school gang celebrated the three March birthdays at my house.  Like--I cooked.  I sliced and assembled and baked a cake.  I brought out the punch bowl and set out tea-size napkins that--oh well--had holly on them.  It was too late when I realized that was all I had.  The wonderful thing about this is that I didn't give a damn about the holiday glitch.  A napkin is a napkin is a napkin.  (Cotton napkins for the table.  I ironed!)  What I'm saying is I want full credit if anyone is grading me.

Anyhoo, we are all turning seventy-one this year and have known each other forever.  Today, we laughed for a couple of hours.  Here is why.  I won't name names:

[A] retold the story of taking a health test as a freshman at the U of U that had a females-only section.  She turned to [B](male), sitting next to her and asked, "How can I fill this out when I don't know what these words mean?"

"What words?" he asked.

She pointed at "vagina."

"Uhh . . ." He gasped for air and then leaned in to whisper, "It's where babies come out."

We all know [A] and [B].  Baaahaaaa.

This becomes funnier when one of the birthday cards mentions angina.  Or maybe the card gave birth to the story.  No pun intended.

We pass cards around for everyone to look at.  One has a picture of [C] in 1960 wearing big clunky glasses.  [D] looks at it and says in all seriousness, "Am I supposed to know who this is?"  Baaaaahaaa.

[W] walks across the room to give me a birthday card with my name on it along with chocolate candy.  I think, when is my birthday?  I'm pretty sure I am not one of the March birthdays, but I am confused.  Maybe they didn't celebrate my birthday last September and they're making up for it in March?  I can't remember back to last September.

[C] says it is a hostess gift.

Then [W] realizes that I am not one of the March birthdays, so I give the chocolates and the card to [N].

One birthday card had to do with low-hanging boobs, a favorite of girls my age.  I can't remember the details.

At age seventy-one, we are lucky to organize a lunch, remember to go on the right date and time, bring a gift and card for the birthday girl(s).  We don't have to remember who the birthday girl is.  We're happy to be alive.  Still.