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.

 

"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.