Titles, Inc.

All the Way From Switzerland

While I was holding them and wondering what the heck it was, a friend came in and said, "Awesome!"

My daughter and her husband had been to Davos, Switzerland, on business, but still it came as a surprise when an oddly shaped package was delivered to me on my birthday.  Long and somewhat cylindrical, the cardboard was forced to bend around whatever this was.

As I was releasing it from its heavily taped packaging, a delivery chap came in bearing roses.  He waited while I released the "thing," two shiny poles affixed to each other with circular things attached.  I was unsuccessfully prying at the little black plastic gadget holding it together until he took it from me, squeezed, releasing two poles which we turned this way and that, twisting the round things, trying to make sense of it.  Heidi came in, looked at it, said, "Awesome," and quickly assembled the Leki walking sticks.  She told me they are used when climbing mountains or on snow trails.  She was so excited when I assured her she could borrow them anytime.

I called my daughter to thank them.  She said everyone in Davos walks with a pair.  And since we had been talking about all the ice and snow covering Chicago this winter she thought it would be perfect.  She advised that I always use two.  Only the old people use one, as a cane.

I eyed them when the next snowfall hit us.  It still looked like plain old Chicago out there, not Switzerland,  so I went out in my rubber soled boots. 

But really, it's much nicer than a box of Swiss chocolates which would be gone by now.  Instead I still have my walking sticks eying me hopefully from their corner.

---Florence

A Computer Gasping its Last Breath

Don't ask!  I'll tell you anyhow.  Being without a computer is like, like what?  This should be a contest, actually.  I can't describe the anguish.  It started small.  But every pair of hands "fixing" it set it further back.  Finally when it was inoperable we carried the tower to a store specializing in repair, about 35 minutes away.  After bringing it home again, and tenderly putting all the wires back in (Art very cleverly took a photo of it before it was disconnected), I discovered I didn't have email, any of it, Send, Sent or Saved.  Horrified I phoned, and the repair guy said, "I backed up everything except that.  Maybe I can get it, bring the tower back."   After trying to use this "repaired" computer, I now had another long list of things to retrieve and set right from this new mayhem - like where are my Documents? Where is Word?  He found four documents.  He reinstalled Word.  And told me he put in a virus program.  I wrote a page of his instructions on how to implement it twice a week.  The mail?  Gone.

At home I realized my virus program on the computers at the store works automatically.  I call him.  He says, "Oh, you can make it run automatically.  I'll tell you how to set it up."  I stop listening.  Blog?  What blog.  Gone. So I think I'll write on Word and print it out, carry it to the office and copy it to the blog there. I can't write at the shop - too many distractions.  I test Word.  It doesn't print!  I phone, "It doesn't print!"  "Of course it doesn't print," he says, "How could it print, you didn't bring the printer."  Art wants to make one more trip, carrying all the equipment.  I say that young man doesn't put his hands on my computer one more time.  I do not say it calmly.

The happy ending. Weepily, I call a fellow book man who recommended someone who, by golly, fixed it.  And oh joy, he got my mail back.  Including, oddly, a deleted two months of 2006 which made for interesting reading.

Let's see if it works.  Here goes.  I hit the Save button to send it out.....

---Florence

A Fish Story

A self described obsessive book buyer was in today, and as a store proprietor that gladdened my heart.  He fit the predictable pattern of store visitor - in town (for bar mitzvah, wedding, funeral, reunion - pick one) with time on his hands after the major event. 

He was with his wife.  She asked about the local pancake house and its famous apple pancake.  I assured her it was super-delicious with a guaranteed sugar shock aftermath.  We discussed the luncheon place around the corner.  She asked about antique shops and I directed her to the next town north.  She called Goodbye to her husband who nodded without looking away from the wall of books, and she asked whether I could look after him.  Alarmed I asked, "Does he need attending to?"  She waved airily and left. 

I approached him gingerly and asked whether he had a problem.  He looked puzzled, so I assumed it had been a bit of humor I misinterpreted.  I kept an eye on him a few moments longer then went back to the computer.  He was absorbed in the books.

Eventually he put several books on the desk and sat down.  We talked about his selections.  He gave me a quick summary of one, and I admired his brevity as he described the story line and essence of the book.  I told him an anecdote about the other author.  He talked about Michener who was able to write so very many wonderful books about different countries because he had a stable of college kids doing the research on the histories and technical details and background studies laid out by the master. 

Politics, with passion, next.  And what do you do?, next.  The state of employment and unemployment. Travel - have you been to Alaska? and the great fishing there.  I learned that the large delicious salmon in Alaska have a slab of body fat on them.  Really.  And he told me about going after another fish (I forgot which one) so huge and heavy that when you finally reel it up to the boat you have to shoot it in the head otherwise its thrashing could take the boat down, and then you tie it to the back of the boat so that it drifts in with you.  How big?  Spreading his long arms, this big.  Wow!  Does it make me want to go fishing?  No.

He looks over his shoulder for the wife who doesn't show up.  I ask, "She has the car?"  "Yes," he says.  "She's gone," I say positively, "gone."  No, finally she does cheerfully return.  She knows she can leave him for hours with books.  Whatever city they find themselves in, he finds the antiquarian bookstore, and she does her thing.  They did leave together for a rather late lunch.

Such a lovely visit.  Such nice people come it.  When I holler, "Come again," I really mean it.

---Florence