www.cindypackardrichmond.com

Wednesday, June 2, 2021

Death by Root Beer


Once again, I have killed my laptop computer with spilled root beer.  The MacBook pro was seven years old, surely living on borrowed time.  I was determined to keep it going. Not out of sentiment, but because it ran Photoshop Elements #6.  My business depends on photos, for paintings and for sale.

I inadvertently upgraded to BigSur OS last year and discovered to my horror that it would not run my antiquated photoshop software.  In a panic, I purchased Photoshop Elements #20 and bought the 'for dummies' book.  I tried, I really did. Then I called Apple and reverted to the old OS.

My new computer uses the futuristic Photoshop Elements 2021.  Another app paid for, another 'for dummies' bought.   I have leapfrogged into the future and it is not pretty.  What was once so simple is now tortuous.

I considered repairing my old Mac. The technician quoted a minimum of $650.  Only the track pad fell victim to the root beer but it is of one piece with the battery and the keyboard.  Clever apple.

A few days after its death, I turned on the old laptop.  The track pad did not work, but I reasoned maybe a new magic mouse would.  I was right!  Some files are missing or corrupted, but I can process and  print images.

It will take another pandemic for me to untangle the future.

 

Monday, April 26, 2021

"I Should Say Something...."


    It has been five months since I posted the blog about my brother's death.  I cannot explain my absence.  It wasn't a 'slough of despair' that kept me away.  Just a general torpor.

   Above is a photo of my husband when he was in college.  We have been together, despite some epic clashes, for a very long time.  I cannot clearly remember who I was back then.  Probably just as well.  He always tells people 'we have a tempestuous relationship: I am temperate and she's the pest.'  True enough.  

  There is an urban myth about a couple celebrating their 20th anniversary. He gives her 14 roses, one for each good year.  She saves six and throws the rest in the garbage.

     I had little notion of the woman I would become or he would be.  I do remember standing outside the church and wondering whether we would make it.  Next month is our 50th wedding anniversary. It boggles the mind.




Tuesday, October 27, 2020

Brudder

   




What can you say about a  brother who once sprinkled Tabasco sauce on your Easter Jelly Beans.  Not all of them, I would have tossed out the whole batch. Vance was fiendish.   I had to pick my way through the landmine of the Easter Basket.  One was not surprised that he shared a birthday with Adolph Hitler.

  Vance was six years older than me.  He died this morning.  He had been ill for a very long time.  Oddly, knowing something will happen does not lessen the jolt when it does.  

I have another brother whom I adore, but Vance loomed large in my life.  He never once said a nice thing to me or my other brother, but his wife says he was very proud of me.  He was better with wood than with words.  He crafted beautiful furniture, forged wrought iron, took amazing photos, made wonderful castles and houses for his nephews and nieces.  By trade he was an industrial archaeologist.

   The three of us  took ownership of our childhood summer home in 1985.  The house is very old, and prone to disaster.  It  still stands, largely because of the years Vance spent bending it to his will. He was tireless.  We all worked on the house, but always under his direction.

  I wrote a few novels and  Vance became one of my best characters. ( I think he really enjoyed that.)  But really it wasn't much of a stretch of imagination.  Here is a true story: Vance came home for my wedding weekend .  My parents  had two crazy, excitable Weimaraner dogs, Misty and Storm.  Vance always addressed them German commands.   I don't know where or why Vance got the bullwhip, but he started thwacking it on the driveway.  Not at the dogs, but it riled Storm and he bit Vance.  My parents had offered us a honeymoon at their house of the Vineyard, provided we take the dogs, (My parents would arrive in a week.) Off we went with two crazed hounds. Storm had to be quarantined in a shed  for a week.  He howled and clawed at the door.  It has been fifty years, but that is all I remember of my honeymoon.

  My brother was cantankerous to us, but known for his generosity to others.  An enigma wrapped in a puzzle I never solved.

Saturday, August 22, 2020

Time Limps (But May Gallop)

 



I started this blog ten years ago, sitting on Chappaquiddick, on the very same sofa.  Thankfully, the view has not changed.  No pink condos or mega-mansions intrude.  This view is my happy place.  

The pandemic has spoiled summer.  Massachusetts doesn't want anyone outside of New England to enter without a very recent (72 hours) negative Covid test.  Otherwise, you must self quarantine for fourteen days. There is $500 a day fine.  But, alas, the state is relying on the honor system. Given the furiously snarled traffic when we drove from the big ferry, I suspect many are not honorable. 

Chappaquiddick is a small island off of Martha's Vineyard. Usually, it is free of the drama on the main island. But just this week there was 45-car lineup to take the eight minute, three-car ferry to Chappaquiddick.  When my father bought our house in 1953, there were 75 houses on the five mile (tip to tip) island.  Now there are upwards of 400.

Usually we have lots of company with friends that gather once a year.  Much of my time is spent gathering recipes, making beds, buying liquor and grocery shopping.   Usually, I hit the Stop and Shop every other day. I love the time spent with friends, but not the time required for organizing.  

This year, no guests.   

The morning after we arrived ( with our recent, negative Covid test results) , I felt odd and a little elated. No lists. I feel as if I am in suspended animation.  I have not been to the beach, or to town or to Stop and Shop. 

I sit on the porch where time passes quietly.  

Monday, July 13, 2020

Night Music

Add caption


Summer night music. The sound of cicadas and frogs at night is a favorite balm.  Some nights, when I am unable to sleep, I will sit on the porch and absorb the lulling hum.  It has been a banner year for lightening bugs.  But this summer, there has been no night music.  It's mid July.  Where are the frogs and cicadas?  Is it just my neighborhood?

Friday, May 22, 2020

A Pandemic Life


  My Pandemic life has been better than I thought it would be.  I have been on 14-day quarantine twice, but so far, so good.  I never felt house bound or bored.  MOMA offered free online courses.  I took Design as Fashion and Seeing Through Photographs.  (I highly recommend both.)  I became a jigsaw puzzle enthusiast.  I painted, albeit in cramped quarters.  I missed my studio at the Torpedo Factory.  The Factory is closed but we must still pay rent
   My dog walks increased in distance, from 45 minutes to 3.5 to 4 miles a day.  I think the outdoors kept me sane. I assumed walking over 25 miles a week would result in weight loss, but it has not.  I don't understand why. So,  I have a drink every night. It used to be just weekends but the days became indistinguishable.  Oh,  and I have developed a habit for Lindt Dark Chocolate with Sea Salt, buying them by the case online.

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Beware of what you wish for....


  My grandchildren live with their parents in Niger, West Africa.  They were home for Christmas.  I would not see them again until late summer before their next posting to Laos. (Two years ago when they were in Korea, I thought it was a long haul.  Laos is nearly 24 hours away.) 

Covid-19  swept through our fragile lives with a vengeance.  When they closed the schools and playgrounds, I could only be grateful that my kids were grown. No homeschooling for me!  My husband and I selfishly hunkered  down with a full freezer, stack of books, a full bar and netflix. 

 My daughter -in -law and grandkids (3 and 5)  caught the last plane out of Niger before the airfield closed down.  They were to quarantine for two weeks.  Our health is less compromised than her family's, so they stayed with us.  I really enjoyed their company and was sorry to see them go to an isolated cabin in the Shenandoah area.

My son was still in Niger where Covid 19 wasn't considered as serious as malaria and Colera.  Until the State Department thought, maybe it was.  A cargo/sickbay plane flew from Madagascar picking up the Americans. It was thirty-five hours and several stops before it got to Niger.  By the time it landed at Dulles, my son had a fever.  He stayed in a hotel room. I suggested it was Covid-19. He insisted that it was "Niamey Crud" not Covid-19.  Eventually the State Department ventured that he did have Covid-19 and monitored him by phone.  He is on the mend and looking forward joining his family.

Once again, I am reminded, everything hangs by a thread.