Taken for Granted

I stood on my back deck gazing at the early evening sky. To the north a large dark cloud was moving overhead. My phone had just made that alarming infrequent blaring sound that causes a sudden jolt and everyone to look at each other and say “what the hell was that?” You quickly realize it’s either an Amber alert or a weather alert and one look at the sky confirmed the information on my phone.

Although the alert suggested taking cover immediately in a basement I went outside, not in some act of bravery or defiance but to simply see for myself the possible impending storm. It was quiet, eerily so, the very definition of the calm before the storm but I took great comfort that the deer were still grazing in the bean field next to us heads down munching away. A bolt of lightening flashed in the distance and then another and soon the deer were bounding for the relative safety of the woods. The tops of the trees rustled and the dark cloud moved faster.

The storm passed us without harm or even a drop of rain but soon after we lost power. It’s funny when you lose something you always just take for granted. Routines get disrupted immediately. The TV goes out, dinner plans might get changed and the usual evening activities are altered. Suddenly a search for flashlights and water becomes the most important activity.

You quickly discover what flashlights are working and which need new batteries. My wife and I look at each other each without saying anything accusing the other of not checking the batteries beforehand. Married couples tend to do this, a silent look expressing the words they don’t say.

My wife checks the website to determine how great the area is without power, as if we’re the only ones suffering. It is funny when you don’t have power how quickly you feel inconvenienced. But after the initial hope of a quick restoration comes the resignation.

Modern conveniences disappear and I briefly ponder how life was before we all had electricity. People rose with the sun and went to bed at dark….does this mean those people got more sleep. They probably did as they weren’t doom scrolling in bed or watching the latest Netflix true crime doc and then pondering if that could really happen to them. Did they read more, talk to each more, tell stories and play more? Did they spend whatever waking hours outside when they weren’t working? Without the convenience of electricity were they less sedentary and more active?

My thoughts were interrupted by my wife sighing loudly while proclaiming that the latest update said a possible restoration time of the next morning. Thankfully the power returned within the hour as if my wife’s sighing had somehow been the catalyst to its recovery.

This morning while looking over news headlines I saw a story that sounded fake or at least a story that could not be happening here but in another country somewhere far away and less developed but the people of Gary Indiana have been without power for almost a month. A combination of summer storms and an aging power grid along with expanding demand due to data centers had somehow prevented full restoration. Having just experienced a few hours without power, a month without power seemed inconceivable.

It was then that I checked my phone for the daily weather and noticed that another round of afternoon storms was possible. Better get out the flashlights and check the batteries…no excuses this time.

Peace and Love,

John

There’s Something in the Air

I stood on my deck looking out over the field behind our house. The fog hung low obscuring the deer from view. I knew they were out there. Every morning and every evening there out there, heads hung low feeding on the beans planted in the field. I often think the farmer down the road isn’t going to have a very good fall harvest. A dozen or more deer munching away twice a day throughout the field, fattening up on his harvest.

As I stood on my deck I noticed a couple of things…..first, I was wearing pants…pants for gods sake! Except for a wedding back in June I don’t think I’ve worn pants all summer. And I was wearing a sweatshirt…a sweatshirt for god sake!

As Hemingway once said about bankruptcy, the changing of the seasons happens slowly then suddenly. No, no, no, I’m not giving up on summer, there’s still too much of it left to declare it over but there are signs. Pants and sweatshirts in the morning just being two of them.

As stood there I noticed other subtle signals that summer was slipping away too soon. The coffee cup I was holding being the most obvious. I cupped it with both hands feeling the warmth of the ceramic cup, it warmed my hands and I thought of how just last week I was drinking iced mocha latte’s and enjoying their icy coldness.

I walk around my deck and kick the leaves off it. Yes, leaves on my deck is another sign. No there not tumbling off the trees and filling the gutters but it is odd to wake up each morning and find leaves scattered about the deck.

The apple and pear trees out front are both beginning to drop their fruit, the branches becoming heavy as the weather cools. I know if I arise early enough I can also catch a few deer munching on the fallen apples.

For some reason I suddenly think of my bathing suit sitting on the cedar chest in the closet. I’ve worn it exactly once this summer. Ah, the bathing suit, one of the most powerful examples of summer fun and freedom. Lounging around on the beach, splashing in and out of the water, feeling the warmth of the sand, reading a book and invariably falling asleep to the gentle sound of the crashing waves. A day at the beach is always on the summer checklist of things to do.

Unfortunately, I haven’t made it to the beach this summer and chances are pretty good I won’t and my swimsuit will sit on the cedar chest taunting me of missed opportunities. If I put it away I would be admitting defeat, defeat of all the summer activities I never got around to, never found time for. I rationalize that there’s just never enough time but I know it’s more than that. Admitting that certain activities have become less important and certain activities are more difficult (I’ve long since said goodbye to running as a form of exercise), I realize that the approaching end of summer means something more.

I think of the missed opportunities more than the activities accomplished. Perhaps that’s just being human, we tend to contemplate loss and the negative aspects of loss more than success. So for now I’ll leave the bathing suit sitting on the cedar chest and hope for a few more really hot summer days. I put my sweatshirt next to it in case I need it tomorrow morning as I sip my coffee and watch the deer grazing in the bean field.

Peace and Love,

John

No Added…. What ?

I was wandering around the grocery store the other day. My wife and I have always had the opposites attract dynamic between us and nothing illustrates this more than our different shopping techniques. She’s very task oriented in everything she does. Work, hobbies, chores, shopping….everything is a task that must be completed as quickly as possible so she can start a new task. Armed with her ear buds and list she grabs a cart and zig-zags her way through the grocery store as if on a mission. She’s very much a hunter-gatherer.

Meanwhile I wander and meander about going down aisles just to see if there’s anything new. The spice aisle might have a new chicken spice rub that I just need to try, never-mind the spice rack at home has 2 nearly full bottles of rubs that looked very tempting in the store but now sit unused for months. (note to self….might be time to clean out the spice rack)

The yogurt aisle is always beckoning me with new flavors. I usually just settle for the same ones I get every week but that confetti birthday cake flavor might just get an experimental tasting.

And so it was that I was meandering through the grocery store vaguely searching for something to replace my morning coffee. I enjoy a morning coffee but I must admit I don’t crave it in the summer-time. When I was working full-time quite often I was outside or in a cold warehouse and so coffee served the dual purpose of a hot morning beverage with a little jolt and it was something warm to hold onto. During the summer months I don’t crave hot beverages, in fact I much prefer cold, icy glasses filled with lemonade or tea. But this creates a problem in the morning and so my wandering ways of shopping led me to stop suddenly in the milk section. There before me appeared to be the answer to my morning beverage conundrum. Mocha flavored iced latte made with real milk & cream and get this…..zero added sugar.

The perfect answer to my summer-time morning beverage needs and all packaged neatly in a cardboard box. I know it contained no added sugar because it proclaimed this fact 3….yes you read that correctly….. 3 times on the front of the container. I was thrilled at the prospect of a morning iced mocha latte conveniently consumed in my own home without having to negotiate the line or drive thru at my local coffee shop. And so I purchased the cardboard container with real milk & cream and zero added sugars and felt quite proud of myself for once again my wandering ways had successfully paid off…..just like with the chicken rub in the spice aisle.

The next morning I was immensely enjoying my first iced latte and feeling quite smug that the beverage I was consuming had zero added sugars, when I began to wonder why it might be necessary to state that fact 3 times on the cover……oh container of iced mocha latte me thinks you doth protest too much or in this case you brag too much. And so I did what I rarely do but should do more often, I turned the container around and read the nutritional label.

Made with real milk and cream, no corn syrup and no carrageenan (whatever the hell that is) some protein, some carbs, some fat and then there it was…..I wish I could say it was in the fine tiny print but no right there in the nutritional table….7 grams sugar. To be fair they never said there was no sugar in their tasty mocha latte and it was quite naive of me to assume there wasn’t any sugar especially since it is quite tasty. In fact in the fine print next to the nutritional table they do say this iced latte contains 7 grams of sugar but no added sugar and their regular iced latte contains a whopping 29 grams of sugar.

A quick internet search revealed that no added sugars means that natural sugars may be present but no extra sugar was added during manufacturing. Which to be fair seems reasonable but again they seemed to be bragging about this fact by loudly proclaiming this 3 (!!!!) times on the front of the container.

I didn’t feel deceived, although I did feel slightly misled with the zero added sugars pronouncement. I’m not sure if I will purchase another container of iced mocha latte or perhaps I’ll wander the store again hoping to find another beverage for my morning summer-time enjoyment….now onto that spice rack.

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Peace and love,

John

Of All The….

I’ve always liked the movie Casablanca, which is kinda odd since I don’t especially get into old movies especially black & white movies from long ago. But there is something romantic about Casablanca….just saying it conjures up images.

The World War 2 classic tells the story of refugees from war ravaged Europe finding their way to Casablanca in hopes of securing a flight to freedom and eventually the United States. Everyone appears to be trying to leave Casablanca except Rick who seems quite happy running the most popular bar in the city. Everything seems fine with Rick, he let’s the police chief win at roulette, he looks the other way when certain activities happen in his bar and he seems unbothered by the larger world around him….until she walks in.

The stunningly attractive Ilsa and Rick had a past relationship which the memory of comes crashing back to Rick the moment he sees her. Later as he drinks the night away and laments her arrival he utters ruefully…..

“of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

Perfect, absolutely perfect….

Who amongst us hasn’t felt that pain when an old love reemerges with a new companion. Rick had hoped that disappearing to Casablanca would shield him from ever having to see her again, but old loves never really go away.

The heartache, the pain, the feelings of abandonment are always just beneath the surface. Rick eventually handles it admirably and I’m quite sure I’ll never run into an old lover in my small Michigan town but I’ve always wanted to be half into a bottle of booze and mutter the line about gin joints, old lovers and fateful meetings.

Peace and Love,

John

The Times They Are…..

I recently saw the Bob Dylan biopic “A Complete Unknown” Yes, I know it came out a couple of years ago and despite my interest in seeing it at the theater it came and went in my small town before I got there.

And so it was with great delight that I happened to be mindlessly flipping TV channels and somehow stumbled across it. I didn’t catch the very beginning but I certainly didn’t miss much. When I tuned in Bob was in New York in the 60’s playing his guitar and beginning to make a name for himself.

Now I must admit I never grew up as a Dylan fan. As a child of the 70’s & 80’s my musical interests back then was Top 40 pop rock and some limited knowledge of rock and roll in the 60’s like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones. My parents were never into rock music and pretty much considered anyone to be making music in the 60’s & 70’s to be long haired hippies who were probably on drugs.

My Dad listened to Am radio which consisted of news, information and sports events. When he did flip the dial to the FM it was for instrumental music which was also commonly known as elevator music. My Mom’s musical taste was Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow. I still know the words to a lot of Neil Diamond songs and I can definitely sing most of Copacabana from Barry Manilow. Although now it’s quite to humorous to admit my knowledge of Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow songs, back when I was in high school it was definitely not something I was bragging about.

I knew a few Bob Dylan songs but most of his music simply didn’t appeal to me. It wasn’t really played on Top 40 radio and folk music seemed like a genre from a totally different generation, a generation I didn’t come from and didn’t understand.

One of my favorite parts of the movie was him singing at a folk music festival. He strummed his guitar and sang the song….The Times They are A-Changin

I have a little better understanding of what Bob Dylan meant to music and the generation of people coming of age in the 60’s. It was a defining time in our country’s history. An unpopular war was splitting the country, trust in government and other institutions was fraying. Racism and it’s effects still plagued most of the country. So when Dylan strummed his guitar and sang about times a-changin I have to believe alot of people looked forward to that time.

I sit at my laptop each morning and scan the headlines. The problems of the 60’s don’t seem that different from today’s problems. In fact if you didn’t know better you might say we haven’t really solved much since Dylan sang of times a-changin. But at least once a week I click on YouTube and listen to that song.

It’s funny, even though I just recently turned 60, in many ways I feel like the young people of previous generations still waiting for change, hoping for resolutions to problems that nobody really wants to solve.

So…… “gather round people wherever you roam,

the times they are a-changin”……

I hope so Bob, I really do.

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Peace and Love,

John

The Keys are Calling

I’ve always enjoyed reading books and short stories by Ernest Hemingway. He wrote of far away places, of Paris and Spain after World War I, hunting in Africa, short stories of time spent in my own state of Michigan.

Besides traveling around Michigan I’ve yet to travel to any of those exotic places described by Hemingway. In my younger days I wanted to travel to Spain and enjoy the festival he describes in the book The Sun Also Rises. I have no interest in attending a bull fight but I always thought it would be cool to run with the bulls through the streets trying to stay upright while avoiding the horns of a massive angry bull in some kind of wild delusional test of courage.

Now my 60 year old self is less enthused about the idea of running with out of control animals but that’s probably due to my creaky knees and the fact that I would need at least 20 minutes to warm-up to get my body ready to propel myself forward in anything more than a brisk walk.

I recently fell into a YouTube rabbit hole of watching videos of people exploring places in Paris where Hemingway ate and drank. In fact there’s an entire tour that can take Hemingway enthusiast to his favorite watering holes. The idea of wandering around Paris getting a drink at each little cafe or bar would be a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. Sure the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre are must see attractions but close behind for me at least would be a cafe where Hemingway sat and wrote.

I recently discovered that Hemingway’s house in Cuba has been perfectly preserved and is open to tour. He lived there with his third and fourth wives for many years (he had as many houses as wives). He left suddenly after the revolution that led to Castro’s rise to power. When he left he assumed he would be back someday so he left all his personal affects as if leaving for a vacation. His clothes still hang in the closet, his eyeglasses on the nightstand, his toothbrush in the bathroom. A moment in time perfectly preserved.

As it seems highly unlikely I’ll be jetting off to Europe or visiting Cuba anytime soon, I’ve focused my attention on the place Hemingway lived and wrote for many years….Key West. That tropical set of islands at the southern most tip of the country was barely a tourist destination when Hemingway and his second wife settled there. He wrote in the warm mornings, fished in the afternoons and drank in the evenings. His carefully curated image of himself as the best fisherman, best fighter, best drinker and writer was largely forged during this time in Key West.

I remember being quite small perhaps 8 years old when we went on a family vacation to Florida to visit my uncle. I vaguely remember we took a drive to Key West and stayed for a few days. I don’t have many memories of that entire vacation, in fact it was so long ago I think the only evidence of it is some slides my Mom kept for many years. Once a year we would get out the slide projector and have a family night of looking at old vacation slides. Don Draper was right about the slide projector (if your not sure of that reference go to YouTube).

What I do remember is my Dad wanted to go to the bar where Hemingway hung out, I believe it’s called Sloppy Joe’s. Being quite small and not having read any Hemingway I was more curious about all the chickens that ran free throughout the city. Key West might have been at the forefront of the whole cage free, free range chicken craze and that was back in the 70’s.

Key West has become almost a bucket list place for people to visit, a destination all unto itself for the Instagram generation to snap pictures of sunsets and markers that proclaim your as far south as you can be in the country. I dare say most people who visit aren’t likely to care much about an old writer who drank too much, cheated on all his wives and wrote of long ago time and places, but when I visit I’ll seek out his old haunts as my father did and try to avoid the chickens.

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Peace and Love,

John

Saturday Afternoon

A Saturday afternoon in the summer….could there be anything more perfect.

I sit at my desk, a brief summer thunderstorm just rolled through. It was the kind of summer storm you hope cools things off but as soon as it ends you realize it’s just as humid as before. But the wind it rolled in on blew the smoke and haze from the Canadian wildfires out of the area. It was the kind of storm that begins with the wind and ends with a downpour that lasts approximately 3 minutes. All that for 3 minutes you think.

I had waited just long enough to begin cutting the grass that as soon as I gassed up the lawnmower it started raining, and now the grass is to wet and it’s too late in the day to mess around with that.

The rain was just enough to water the garden. As I sit here I can see the kitchen table which is already full of cucumbers. There’s at least 2 dozen cucumbers we’ve picked in the last couple of days. It’s that time of year when my wife makes cucumber salad every week and everywhere we go we take a bag of cucumbers to pass out to friends and family. At first everyone is very happy to receive garden fresh cucumbers but I know in a couple of weeks when I give them another armload of cucumbers they’ll have that look on their face, that look that says

“I don’t know what to do with all these cucumbers, everything cucumber dish I know I’ve already made, please stop bringing me cucumbers”

Sometimes I think cucumbers are the fruit cake of the vegetables. Everyone acts like they like receiving them but they quickly pass it on to someone else. But then I realize that zucchini is truly the fruit cake of vegetables as I’ve never done anything with a zucchini except pass it on or let it rot and then throw it out to the animals. The raccoons out here know that any left over zucchini and cucumbers we can’t pass on to friends will soon be late night snacking for them.

My mom loved zucchini and would always use it as a side dish in the summer and when there was too much of it, as there invariably always is, she would make zucchini bread. Knowing that my siblings and I generally detested the taste of zucchini she then did the most obvious mom thing…..she tried to tell us it was banana bread. This actually worked for one entire summer and I’m not sure which of us figured it out first but we soon grew wise to the difference in the taste of banana bread and zucchini bread. Even today when my mom presents me with homemade bread or muffins I ask if it’s really banana bread.

This blog post did 2 things…..got me to sit and write and I learned how to spell zucchini….

Peace and Love,

John

If Only it Was Real

I saw a headline that stopped me mid-scroll over the weekend. It was so delicious and intriguing I had to click on the link. The attention grabbing headline and subsequent story told of a women who had been arrested for hiring a clown to harass her ex at his rec league softball games.

The story had all the elements of a Shakespearean drama…..love, betrayal, revenge and a clown. The story even had the mugshot of the arrested woman.

This is perfect I thought for a deep blog post on relationships gone wrong, bad breakups and new employment opportunities for the clown community. I mean besides kids birthday party’s, and the occasional parade the demand for clowns is pretty low. Not to mention clowns seem to catch an inordinate amount of negativity in general. Let’s face it…..most people really don’t like clowns nor understand why a person would dress up like one and paint their face when a large majority of people are actually frightened by them.

It took me about 2 minutes of additional scrolling or research as I call it, to determine the story was fake. It had originally appeared on a website known for generating false story’s, kinda like The Onion but not as well known. The mugshot was a fake AI generated picture of a rather attractive young woman that I’m sure was a catalyst for generating so much interest in the story.

What I find so fascinating was the amount of people who believed the story and subsequently commented and shared the story causing it to go viral. Of course people had to weigh in like so many people do now days with their expert opinion.

I make it a habit not to read the comments mainly to not waste my time and to keep my naively false hopes alive that we’re not as stupid as we appear online. I can only guess that there was an equal amount of people taking the woman’s side as the man’s side. I mean who amongst us hasn’t let their mind wander to some creative type of harmless revenge against an ex who so wronged us by ending a relationship and what could be more creative than harassment by a clown.

This really could have opened up a whole new avenue of employment for clowns. Besides listing magic tricks and the ability to make dozens of different balloon animals and the singularly unique talent of wedging themselves into impossibly tiny cars and driving them haphazardly in parades they could now also note that they’ve helped many wronged ex’s get over a bad breakup. They could then list all their most effective harassment techniques. The clown in the fake story was hired to harass the ex boyfriend at his softball games by clapping sarcastically at even the most routine plays.

Oh I can see it now, clowns showing up at places of employment critiquing even the smallest of mundane tasks. A clown sitting next to you judging every email sent, every sales pitch rejected, every meeting you attended where you desperately attempted to be heard even if your sole contribution was saying “lets circle back around next week.”

Instead of that small voice in your head that stifles your creativity and reminds you of all your failures going back to middle school, you’d have a real voice reminding you of your failures and that voice comes with overly large shoes, a painted face and maybe a horn to be extra annoying.

So unfortunately the real victims here are the clowns with their faces painted to appear happy but we know it’s a a mask to hide their real sorrow and unhappiness. Not only denied new employment opportunities but used in a fake story so many of us wanted to believe.

I could end here by saying don’t believe what you see on the internet but we already know that and we still get duped…..

Peace and Love,

John

The Work Slowdown Has Begun

I came home the other day to find my wife vacuuming the living room. Six months ago this would not have been a surprise. My wife is a bit of a germ-o-phobe and a little, kinda, slightly obsessive compulsive plus we’re a household with 2 vacuums so it was not entirely unusual to come home and find my wife vacuuming at any hour. She vacuums with such gusto and vigor I often thought she actually enjoyed vacuuming but when I casually mentioned this one day she pointedly informed me how incorrect I was and oh by the way maybe I should start vacuuming and maybe I would enjoy it. At that moment I decided to keep my mouth shut about the amount of vacuuming and the perceived level of enjoyment.

Still I was a bit surprised to find her vacuuming because 6 months ago she purchased yet another vacuum. It’s one of those robo vacs that you can program to vacuum at any time. Since the purchase of robo vac my wife’s vacuuming has declined but the frequency of tripping over robo vac has increased. The spinning whirring disc seems to let nothing get in its way of completing its preassigned work….or so I thought.

I stood there puzzled watching my wife vigorously vacuum the living room wondering where the little robo vac might be acutely aware that it might blindly run into my achilles tendon at anytime causing an injury that might require me to rush to the hospital with the unbelievable story of robo vac sending me to the emergency room.

Finally my wife noticed me standing there and stopped her vigorous vacuuming. I spread my hands wide in a questioning gesture that needed no words.

“It got stuck behind the couch and then was confused so it went back to its dock and now it won’t come out.”

I shook my head in stunned disbelief….it got confused and went back to its dock and won’t come out. Were we dealing with a robot vacuum or a temperamental teenager whose told that the grass needs to be cut before they go to their friends house and in protest they lock themselves in their bedroom refusing nourishment and vowing a hunger strike.

Then I realized what was really happening. Robo vac was much smarter than I had realized. I thought the spinning, whirring disc knew only the finer points of vacuuming, dust prevention and preassigned patterns of our living room but no it had already determined that vacuuming kinda sucks no matter how vigorous and enthusiastic my wife makes it look. Robo vac had already determined a life of vacuuming was unfulfilling even if programmed for that very task.

Robo vac had also cleverly discovered that the humans or in this case my germ-o-phobe, cleanliness is next to godliness obsessive wife would actually do the work it was programmed to do. Robo vac could hang out at its home dock probably communicating its discovery with other robots in the robot union, planning and scheming and recharging for the next work that won’t be done.

I see what you’ve done robo vac and I kinda respect it. My wife will occasionally assign me chores around the house. I often wish I could disappear to my home port (man cave) surrounded by the giant TV and a stack of books I may never read and chill out and let someone else complete the chores.

So to summarize the robots are here, they don’t like doing chores anymore than we do and they’ve already figured out we’ll still do them if necessary. Oh one more thing, never turn your back on a robo vac, they go straight for the achilles tendon.

Peace and Love,

John

The Gift I Really Wanted

A few days before Fathers Day my wife asked me if I wanted to see a picture of the gift she had purchased for me. Knowing my wife for as long as I have I quickly deduced that I didn’t like where this conversation was headed so I did what any smart husband does when asked a question by his wife that he doesn’t really want to answer….I remained silent.

She continued and preceded to tell me that the gift she had ordered wouldn’t be arriving until October. Now not only was I silent but I’m sure my face looked quizzical as I thought to myself that the gift sounded more like something to be given at Christmas and not Fathers Day. But I always like to remain gracious when presented with a gift so I attempted to retain a positive look on my face.

I’m sure that look changed when I saw the gift. It was neither something I needed, wanted or would have purchased for myself and I found the item to be wildly overpriced. Now we can debate whether most things are overpriced in today’s economy and why that is but I have neither the time nor energy for that.

I remained silent for what seemed an interminable amount of time as I quickly studied my options. My silence and lack of enthusiasm was the real answer and my wife noticed.

We seemed to have reached the age where buying gifts for each other has become difficult. We rarely exchange gifts anymore as most of the gifts are unnecessary and just add to the clutter that I now constantly contemplate but rarely do anything about.

When my wife expressed the very idea that she didn’t know what to get me I suddenly realized what I really wanted. For a couple of months now I have been unable to write on this very website. That’s not entirely true as I have only been unable to write using the laptop. I have been able to login and write using my phone which is frustrating on many levels. I like to sit at a desk with a computer screen and keyboard and tap away occasionally glancing up to notice all the misspelled words and punctuation errors. A phone is not something to write blog posts on, at least not for me.

A phone is for texting, doom scrolling, accessing the entire world, getting directions to the new restaurant, booking flights, playing games, listening to music, taking pictures, sending and receiving emails, scheduling your calendar, writing notes and remainders to yourself, listening to podcasts, keeping a huge lists of contacts most of whom you never actually contact, making videos, keeping track of your workouts so you can annoy your friends with your Strava data, sending GIPHS ( which lets be real nobody still can agree how to pronounce…is it Jiffs or Giffs?) and even perhaps making a phone call.

Somehow the login for this website changed….don’t ask me how these things happen or how they always seem to happen to me but I could only login on my phone. I tried, oh did I try numerous times to login and write. I had emails sent to me with login procedures and new temporary passwords but each time left me on the verge of destroying something, probably the laptop itself, and since I knew that wasn’t a good idea although it might be satisfying, I was reduced to writing on my phone which since I find annoying I was sure it had also simultaneously curbed my creativity.

So when my wife asked me what could she have possibly gotten me for Fathers Day I actually had an answer. As I mentioned earlier there are few gifts I need or want. I have numerous polo shirts, too many books, gadgets I don’t use, memorabilia and mementos that sit around getting dusty, t-shirts I still wear from 20 years ago and golf clubs that are one step away from being taken to the curb on garbage day. What I really appreciate now that I’ve grown older is time spent with others and somebody doing something for me that I either can’t do or find frustrating to do, and believe me anything to do with a QR code or password is at the top of my list of frustrating things.

But since my wife is an IT professional I figured it was the perfect time to have her fix my login problem and get back to writing. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t ask her sooner, I admit I was stubborn and didn’t want to ask for help with a tech issue and I know that she deals with IT issues all day which her usual response to is “it sounds like user error”…..of course she’s not wrong about this. And since I know when she comes home from a long day of programming, helping others with their passwords and proclaiming “it’s probably user error” well the last thing I wanted to bother her with was a password login problem.

A few clicks on the computer and a few clicks on my phone and the problem that had thwarted me for months was solved in less than 5 minutes. She then proceeded to cancel the other gift, the Fathers Day gift not scheduled to arrive until October (seriously what was she thinking) and I know sit happy at a desk typing away and misspelling every other word. Now if only I could figure out how to get the text the right size.

Enjoy time with others and have smart people around to fix your passwords

John