Operating on the edge

"Cutting-edge technology often works flawlessly. People are amazed...."

About a month ago, my computer had another meltdown, the third in two years. My husband's business partner, who helps with our computer issues, installed a new mumbojumbo board, or maybe it was a makemecrazy drive. Then he restored programs and data from my backup disks. It would be nice if that were the end of the (non-)story.

But it always takes more than that to get things operating again. Invariably, one or two programs no longer work and I have to upgrade or replace them. My photo database refuses to reconstitute itself without hours of manipulation. And this time, Photoshop has to be replaced. I've researched the less expensive Photoshop Elements, but I can't get the free trial version to run. As a result, I haven't been able to do much with my photos (including making a new header) for weeks now, and that's making me cranky.

As computer problems go, this one hardly counts. But it's a reminder of how these powerful, indispensable, magical gadgets complicate our lives.

A few weeks ago, I came across my ancient electric typewriter in the basement. When I bought it, I thought it was so slick. Little did I know that it was the first step toward dependency, like a gateway drug to the addicting world of instant look-ups, dazzling graphics, easy online shopping, and the crack cocaine of blogging.

It's not that I mind being hooked; I love the ways that computers enrich our lives. What I hate is being dependent on something I don't fully understand, can't control, can't fix on my own.

That, of course, is the frightening thing about life on this planet. Even in the best of times, control is an illusion. Under the spell of that illusion and in the name of progress, we humans have complicated our lives with systems and gadgets that are far too ambitious in their attempts to control and outsmart nature. We genetically modify crops. We divert rivers, drain wetlands, and build in the flood plain. We engineer oil rigs that are supposed to work just fine in deep water, and nuclear power plants sure to withstand local weather events. What could possibly go wrong? Well, other than miscalculations, carelessness, greed, bigger-than-expected natural disasters, and unintended consequences?

As individuals, we can shop at the farmers' market, try to reduce our carbon footprint, even try to talk sense into our policymakers. But there's always that risk, that something will go horribly wrong and there won't be an easy fix. There is more at stake than whether we can use some whiz-bang programs to keep ourselves informed and facilitate creative expression. No wonder we're nervous, or more than a little cranky.

"...At first, everyone worries about risk. Then people get lulled into complacency by success and they forget that they are operating on the edge, experts who study disasters say. Corners get cut, problems ignored. Then boom."  

 --from Technology’s disasters share long trail of hubris, by Seth Borenstein, on MSNBC.com 

On my birthday, I wished for more birthdays

The year I turned 19, my mom made my favorite birthday treat: spice cake with penuche icing (brown sugar, butter, etc.) with Bridgeman's butter brickle ice cream on the side. She didn't have 19 candles in a single color, so she used a whole variety of colors. I must have seemed unusually resolute as I blew out those multicolored candles, because she asked what I had wished for. I wouldn't answer, and I probably blushed.

An hour later, the sweet-faced young man who had been smiling at me all week called. We went out for coffee - the start of a lovely teenage romance - and I blushed again when I told him I'd wished on those candles for him to call. Mom and I had a running joke about multicolored candles after that, but I can't remember wishing for anything really special.

Yesterday, I had two opportunities to make a birthday wish. Peter put one pink candle in the yummy banana-chocolate chip-pecan muffin that Abby brought for my birthday breakfast. A second, in a candle holder artfully fashioned from an orange, was provided by the Chinese restaurant where we gathered for dinner. The kids helped me blow out both candles.

The wish that came to me both times was simple: Let the happiness that I feel this moment continue for a long time.

What it meant was, Let Peter and me be healthy. For a long time.

Seriously, I have everything I could want. I'm retired since December, Peter's business is both flourishing and manageable, we love being able to care for the grandkids, we have health care coverage, and we have plenty of interests and hobbies to keep ourselves amused.

Every day Peter talks about how delightful the children are, how lucky we are to be in their lives, and what good choices have brought us to this point. It's a useful habit, appreciating all the good things. But I can't silence the tiny voice in my head that says, "You'd better hope you both stay healthy so you can keep enjoying this."

As I turned 68 yesterday, that was the only thing I felt a need to wish for.

Clearly I'm not the only one thinking that way. This wonderful birthday gift should provide lots of ideas and information for eating wisely and well. It's by America's Test Kitchen, whose recipes and detailed instructions I've come to appreciate in my new role as she-who-cooks-dinner.

There are no guarantees. But with this and a little more exercise, I intend to try to help my birthday wish come true.

If you could do anything you want on your birthday...

...could you think of anything better than this?

You can't always get what you want...

Augie turned four last weekend.

Four is a great age, at least if you're a parent or caregiver. Kids are developing their personalities and their passions, they still have most of their innocence, and they are (mostly) getting past the tantrum stage so they can be reasoned with.

Augie had once told me, "Grandma, it's hard to be three." And it was. Suddenly he had to be thinking constantly about getting to the potty on time, no matter where he was or how much fun he was having. Also, his little sister, just 15 months younger, was graduating from baby toys to whatever he had at the moment. He had to learn to share, and to "Be nice to your sister."

This week, just after his birthday, I asked whether it was better being four, and he said, "Sure," which sometimes means, "I'm not wasting time thinking about that."

I'm no expert in psychology, but I know that at some point - and for me it was as a four-year-old - we realize that our parents cannot meet all our needs and wants, that the world is not perfect, that we are not guaranteed perfect love and success. How and when this hits us determines what our issues will be in later life. For example, some of us will crave unconditional love (love me for being who I am) while others will crave approval (love me for doing what I do). I don't know all the theory behind this, but I believe it. Peter says the trick is to help children come to grips with these realities without totally crushing their spirits.

Yesterday we were watching a few short videos on YouTube with Augie and Vi. As usual, Augie wanted more. We said no, it was time to go and play, and we started naming possibilities - play the drums, do some tap dancing, play with Legos, color, make sticker pictures, pound some nails, and on and on. He wasn't having any of it. He cried and carried on and buried his head in his hands. Then he looked up.

"Pa," he wailed, "Why can't we have whatever we want in life?"

There it was. The Question. Not just, "Why can't I do what I want to"? but "Why can't I have whatever I want in life?"

I gathered him into my lap and said that sometimes we want things that aren't good for us, and sometimes we want things that just aren't possible. I was on the verge of telling him the secret is finding happiness with what you  have. And yes, we and his parents will all tell (and show) him that.

But I stopped talking, and for the next half-hour we just sat and cuddled. Eventually he got interested in something his sister was doing and went off to play.

Later, during quiet time, I heard him singing softly to himself. "It's hard to be three. It's hard to be four...five, six, seven...." He counted up to twenty-something before he trailed off. He didn't sound especially upset, just interested and processing a new idea.

I don't want it to be hard to be four. But we can't always get everything we want.

So we'll have to set about being happy with what we have. And that's a lot.