I had a laptop on which I used to type my column. We were close. I never knew its name, though, mostly because I couldn't decide whether it was a male or a female. When it comes to technology, you have to be well-acquainted with an appliance before you can determine its gender.
For example, my oven is a female. I know this because it takes a while for it to warm up, but even after the food is cooked, it's still got some heat left in it. One the other hand, my microwave is definitely a male. Turn it on and it instantly heats up; when the food is cooked, it's instantly cold. Both the oven and the microwave will get the job done; it's simply a matter of time.
My upstairs shower recently has been going through a mid-life crisis. He used to be so reliable. He gave me water when I wanted it, and turned off when I was done. Now, when I turn on the water, cold water from the showerhead slaps me in the face. Apparently, the directional knob that determines which end the water will come out has taken a leave of absence for an unspecified period of time. Rumor has it that he flew to Tahiti with some blond half his age.
We're pretty attached to our upstairs shower, though, so we'll try to give him the space he needs to work through his issues. That's what supportive friends do. We're hopeful that, in time, he'll see the error of his ways and come back to his senses. Though, it may take a blind date with a gorgeous blond plumber to facilitate the matter.
The door to my bedroom is some door's mother-in-law, I think. Every time you open the door, it is whining that you never come to visit. Every time you leave, it whines about you always leaving so soon. I tried oiling her hinges, but then she whined that I was just trying to butter her up. I think maybe her whining is the result of a deeper pain. My husband and I have begun to talk about hinge-replacement surgery for her.
There are some diseases that can't be resolved so easily, though; as in the case of my laptop. It worked just fine for the longest time, which is why determining the proper gender was such a problem. However, slowly, with increasing frequency, it began to lose its marbles.
At first it was small things: Taking longer to get my e-mail; giving me a hard time when I tried to run programs it didn't like; popping up with ads for things it knows I would never buy. Then it would start to heat up too quickly and pass out. After passing out, it became increasingly difficult to revive it. I'd push the start button, all the lights came on, but nobody was home. When the end was near, I had to push that button about twenty times before I got a reaction.
We put it up on blocks to help it get cooler air into its intake doohickey. That helped for a while, but eventually, it started passing out randomly, whenever it felt like it. Sometimes it even did it in the middle of typing a column. I swear that it knew that what I'd typed wasn't saved yet.
What could it be? Perhaps it was a stress-related, computerized form of narcolepsy. I don't know, but it was chronic and as it turned out, terminal.
Then the hinge for the screen got cantankerous and would fall down as I was typing. Sometimes it fell backward and spilled my coke and sometimes it fell forward and smashed all my fingers. It was as if it was trying to bite me. My husband thought we should put it down. What if it bit the children?
I started putting pillows behind it to give it a little more support. I think maybe it had osteoporosis combined with a touch of dementia.
One day while I was struggling with it to stay on and, ideally, upright, I knocked over a desk lamp onto the keyboard and destroyed "e", "2", and "3". The numbers aren't such a big deal - I don't use them much - but "e' is a vowel for crying out loud!
Because it was mostly my fault that it was missing a vowel, I tried not to hold it against the laptop for being so handicapped. I had to develop a callus on my middle finger, because getting an "e" to show up on the screen was now much more difficult.
There came a day when I knew that taking care of my invalid computer was becoming more than I could hand
le. I began looking for a nursing home for computers. I think it knew my plans because, one day, it simply passed out cold and nothing I did would revive it.
Of course, when something like that happens, you try to remember the good times. The one thing I regret is never knowing my laptop's name.
Goodbye old Mr. or Mrs. Whatsitsname. You were a good friend.
(EDITOR'S NOTE: You can reach Laura at lsnyder@lauraonlife.com Or visit her website www.lauraonlife.com for more columns and information about her books.)
