Murphy, you’re not going to win: How a great day broke my heart, part 1

Yesterday, I “broke” my dear blind friend Nan out of her independent living facility, her first outing since her bout with Covid-19. I drove up to the door in that convenient wide lane that have under the overhang and lowered the window on her side of the car.

“Hey, Nan,” I shouted. “Your getaway car has arrived.”

She laughed, and since she recently had her first Corona experience, it sure was nice to hear her laugh again.

I had the Spotify ready to go, as Nan loves a good random computer generated playlist, and we pulled off. Her goals were simple.

  1. CVS for vitamin C and Excedrin
  2. Batteries for her clock, 2-4 AAAs
  3. Stop at her old apartment as there was a package for her that was not forwarded
  4. Get some cash at the bank.

Well I told her right off that we had a 40-pack of AAAs somewhere in my house. So that was easy. I then told her I had thought I might take her back to my house for chai, but thought maybe getting out of a building into the sun would be more fun. That we could listen to Spotify in the car with the sunroof open sipping chai.

“That does sound nice,” she said.

“The same theory as taking the dog for a car ride,” I explained.

She laughed when I compared her to the dog, and I pointed out that really we both liked things that the dog would enjoy.

Nan and I headed into CVS, where I found her 200 generic acetaminophen, aspirin and caffeine tablets and 100 chewable vitamin C/rose hips tablets. The original price was $31.00 before tax, but I had carefully set up my CVS app to use some coupons that reduced her total to $20.58.

We drove to my house, got the batteries, and headed to her old apartment building.

“I just thought of something,” she said to me. “How are we going to get in?”

“I suppose you’ll have to tap the lobby door with your cane until someone sees you,” I said.

But there were no parking spots on street, and I pulled into the parking lot.

“Why don’t we just drive down to the back door and see if we see any of your neighbors,” I said.

“Good idea,” Nan agreed.

I saw the maintenance man at the back door. I pulled into the middle of the parking lot and hopped out of the car, escorting Nan as I hollered, “Excuse me, but can you let this vagabond into the building?”

She got her package.

We then got my favorite teller at the bank and almost went to a Dunkin several miles away, forgetting there was one on the other side of the bank.

We remembered in time.

We sat in the car, windows and sun roof open, enjoying the sun, listening to cars and birds and all the mundane sounds Nan had missed when trapped in her room with Covid.

And then, she went home and I talked to my friend Maryann Ignatz. I did all the press stuff I had planned for my business. I thought I deserved a small rest. I went up to my room and cuddled with some fosters, including sweet Jean-Paul Sartre.

The teenager texted that her boss was stopping by later. If you’re a regular here you might recall our “cat foster godmother.”

I decided to go downstairs and clean.

I grabbed my computer, Rosie, the 13″ MacBook Air, last of the Intel processor generation, and my iPhone. Foster cat Khloe has been a member of gen pop lately, free roaming the house because she scared the dog so badly. She can be a little dramatic.

The teenager has a baby gate with a cat door at the top of the stairs. Khloe was walking out the cat door and I went to unlatch the gate and must have tilted my hand just enough that Rosie the Laptop slipped from my fingers and somersaulted all the way down the uncarpeted, hard wood stairs.

When I opened her again, her screen image was splintered.

I have three book projects underway for Parisian Phoenix, and the Easton Book Festival coming up. I’m still wondering how best to pay off the recent ceiling repair…

Now is not the time.

But life is like that. I have to remind myself that we have more appreciation for the things that don’t come easy, that real success is slow.

And then I broke down into hysterics, alone, just me and the dog. And I scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees.

This saga will be continued on Parisian Phoenix’s blog.

The plunge and the mother clucker

Tonight my neighbor (Little Dog’s mom) and I went on an impromptu dinner date and she even suggested going to one of my favorite spots— Three Mugs Pub.

I had a Yuengling and the mother clucker sandwich— very crispy and a mix of spicy, tangy and garlicky. My neighbor said she should be rolling the camera, so to speak, for one of my food review videos.

It felt good to laugh.

In a rather impulsive move, I visited the Apple.com site and looked at refurbished MacBook Airs. I ordered the $800 2020 13” in gold. I haven’t had my own computer for about three years, relying instead on an iPad Pro I bought used from Gayle.

The keyboard and the stylus on the iPad doesn’t work anymore. I don’t know if the keyboard died, or Nala broke it, or it merely needs to be cleaned.

In the spring I bought a refurbished HP laptop but hated working on a PC. It was a purchase of necessity as my boss at my previous job demanded I purchase my own PC to work at home during the pandemic.

I sold it to a friend when that job ended.

So if I really plan to start writing again and publishing, I need a computer.

And probably my Apple ID and password.

This beauty and reaching the dark side

Tomorrow will mark two weeks since I started working from home due to the Coronavirus.

I have left the house six times in the last two weeks— three times for work: once to go to the office, once to go to Staples, and once to go to the post office. Once to take a walk and once to walk to CVS to get my prescription.

I reached my one year anniversary today in the small non-profit where I work in the development office. I was hired in a communications position, and four months later promoted to a more directly fund-raising/grant writing position. And for the first five months I was the only person in the department. And this field is new to me.

So the last year has been a whirlwind, stressful and exhausting before you even consider that my husband moved out nine months ago and I live with my teen daughter, two cats, two kittens, three parakeets and a cockatoo.

I’m relishing the stillness of the Covid-19 worth. I enjoy my home as the epicenter of my universe. I love seeing how the technology forces our creativity.

But today I did the unthinkable. Something I swore I would never ever do. Something entirely against my principles and completely disgusting to me.

I bought a laptop— and it wasn’t a Mac. My last laptop was a MacBoor Air 2013 that traveled the world with me. My first computer ever was a PowerBook 165 in 1994.

But now my boss has signaled that she anticipates us working from home through the end of April. And it’s not fair to continue to borrow my just-about-ex-husband’s laptop. And the child needs her MacBook Air to do her schoolwork now.

My mom offered to buy me a laptop for my birthday— so I ordered a refurbished HP Elitebook for $300. A refurbished MacBook would have been twice the cost. Honestly, for work, Microsoft Remote Server works better on the PC. And I know that if I leave this job I will never touch this PC again.

And that’s okay with my daughter, she already has plans for it.