Cold coffee and hot on the trail of the elusive email
My younger son Paul purchased a new computer recently.
He phoned from Toronto to express his delight with its many features.
“Dad, I can integrate complex information, morpg instantly from one graphic design to another and synthesize over-complicated processes in milli-seconds,” he enthused, almost coming through the phone to illustrate the point.
I encouraged him with, “It sounds fantastic! Especially the part about synthetics. It’ll last forever. I still have a pair of polyester pants from the 60s. Ah, but can it make a decent cup of coffee?”
I was joking, of course, though not by much.
Came his sly, snake-like reply, “Do you want ‘caf’ or ‘decaf’?”
He went on to explain his other computer was now for sale and soon had me convinced I couldn’t live without it.
He was willing to throw in two pounds of Viennese decaf, free delivery and setup to sweeten the deal.
["Thanks for the computer, Paul." "Thanks for the money, Dad.": circa 1995]
I usually enjoy using our “new “ computer now, but still fumble, fuss and fume over complications that arise when involved with modern machinery.
I went to collect email recently to see if there was a response to an order I had placed at “The Wee Tartan Shop” in Port Perry. I could have telephoned but thought if I could save a long-distance charge it would go toward paying for email service.
["Long titles - because I could": photos GH]
When I went to download email the computer politely informed me that I couldn’t receive mail because the modem could not connect with our email service. Our phone was already in use.
I placed my hot coffee carefully beside the mousepad and went to see if Pat was using the phone. No, she was writing a letter and sipping a mug of Viennese decaf.
When I picked up the phone I noticed the line was busy. Someone had left a message. I dialed our message-waiting service, punched in the password and went through the process of listening to three new messages. I saved two, erased one, hung up.
***
Tune in tomorrow for the darn exciting conclusion
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