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Uh oh! Your computer is acting up again, and you're not a techie. If only your daughter (or son or grandson or granddaughter) were there it would get fixed without a hitch. If only there were a magic wand that would just make it all work again. Taking the "you don't have to be there to be there" of today's communications technology even further, there is a way to get a tech expert into your computer without either one of you having to leave your desks. When an octogenarian in New Hampshire wanted to finally learn to use a computer, his grandson, a graduate student in California, set it up while he was home on...
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Above the archway leading to my daughter's country kitchen is a long wooden plaque that says "Home -- Where you story begins." The story of my grandson's 6th birthday party is not an unusual one -- tables lined up with white paper tablecloths on which the dozen young guests crayon while waiting for the cake and ice cream, members of the family and extended family bustling around each other and gathering around for traditional candle blow-out. The theme of my grandson's party was a little unusual: Massachusetts State Trooper hats and badges and ticket books young guests created themselves. Even the cake was decorated with an image of the official State Trooper car. What will...
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One of the distinguishing characteristics of the Halloween witch is that bump on her nose. Well, not only do I have one; I have three. I guess that makes me officially a witch. The dermatologist says they are "fibromas," which are benign kinds of tumors. Mine are under the skin, and so they are not really noticeable. I can have them "sliced off" (the doctor's words), but insurances don't pay for that because that's considered a cosmetic procedure. He says it's not a big deal to take them off, or out, or whatever they do to remove them. (But he'll have to cut the...
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When I bought my non-hybrid 2008 Ford Escape, I just couldn't resist all the bells and whistles I got on this demo model. I had thought about a hybrid. But the wait was long and my old Subaru would consistently refuse to start, and no one, including the dealer, could figure out how to fix the problem. Anyway, here I am with a car that averages 22 miles a gallon at a time when gas prices are spiraling and the only place I don't have to drive to get to is the mailbox. So, I get on the Net and google "turn gas engine into hybrid." And, guess what! There is a way to do...
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As I'm cleaning out old files, I found an old receipt from the vets with my cat's age on it. (I've been trying to remember when I rescued her from the tiny pet store cage in which she could only sit in her litter.) As far as I can figure, she's almost 12 years old. For a fat old cat, she sure is doing well. Because I'm anticipating moving her with me when I finally get to my daughter's, I invested in a large carpeted "house" for her litter box. If I had known that it weighs 50 pounds (the inside is melamine), I might not have ordered it.
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If anyone in the western Massachusetts area is considering using Sturdy Home Improvement construction company, you should check with my daughter, first. Read about her experience here.
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Nope, not Rachel Ray. She's sort of the antithesis of the Rachel who has really impressed me recently. Rachel Maddow, who has her own program on Air America, and has been on MSNBC's Countdown as a political analyst, recently has stood in for usual host, Keith Olbermann (who, by the way is the one man with whom I'd like to be stranded on a deserted island.) Maddow has the presence and the personality of a true news media star. She's brilliant, articulate, appealing, confident, and down-to-earth. She's also openly gay, and the way she presents herself visually reflects that fact in a very professional way. She has developed her own...
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The title of this post is an ineffectual parody of the Crew Cuts "Sh-boom." The point is that I'm singing the praises of T. Boone Pickens, whose ad I caught during some television show. I think maybe it was during Countdown tonight. I wrote down his website url, and I'm blown away. Well I probably would actually be blown away if I ever made it out to his wind farm. PIckens has been an oil man all of his life, and he has come up with a plan to create a renewable energy network so that this country can break its dependence on foreign oil. It's all there...
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For a while before his death in April 2008, non-blogger Myrln (aka W. A. Frankonis, i. frans nowak), posted here on Kalilily Time some kind of rant or other every Monday. Our daughter, who has salvaged his published, performed, and none-such writings, continues to send me some to post posthumously. POEM WRITTEN IN THE CITY
OF LANDLOCKED PEOPLE WHO
THINK THAT OCEAN IS ONLY
A WORD AND SUN IS A BALL
FOR SUMMER SUMMERTIME FUN (for mdf) bobbing seaborne
on flashing flat planes
of sun's bouncing image,
a single dory --
oars shipped and tucked
inside for keeping --
seems adrift and lost
...
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Actually, as much as the weeds around here need whacking, they're not getting it. They are pretty much out of control. Weeds: plants considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one growing where it is not wanted, 
It's not just the weeds around here that are out of my control. I am still living under the tyranny of my mother's growing dementia and dependence combined with my brother's demoralizing rules and realities. Not much freedom for me here, on this Independence Day. Maybe I should go out and buy my own little weed whacker, vent my frustrations on that army of undesirables that are intruding over...
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1984 -- the year my dad passed away and the year that my son b!X acquired his first Macintosh. I unearthed it from under the steps in my brother's cellar today, padded khaki case covered with at least two and half years worth of cobwebs and twenty years worth of the dust it has accumulated as I've hauled it around through move after move. B!X long ago moved on to other parts of the country and other versions of the Mac. I don't know why I kept it. And I don't want to have to lug it through one more move. I can't help wondering if it's worth anything, this boxy Macintosh...
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Here's a piece of performance art that needs to get lots more exposure.
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The poem below by Billy Collins (one of Jim Culleny's daily poetry emails) makes me sad and angry and wistful and hungry. I'm not hungry for sweets. I surely eat enough of those. Rather it's a soul-deep hunger for the solitude to watch circles become salt, to reach for and conjure the words that make magic of metaphor. And so I am angry that with each passing year I have had to move farther and farther from that place where destiny can be designed. And I am sad because those years can never be recovered. And I am wistful, finally, because that is what comes of and with age and the utter exhaustion...
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That's been my ear worm for the past several days. The song is from the 1940s stage musical "Finian's Rainbow." -- How Are Things in Glocca Morra? When I hear that song, I am back in my little cocoon of a room where my asthma has me ensconced for days on end listening to the radio and playing with my endless supply of movie star paper dolls. The sun is shining through the sparkling window panes, opened just a bit to let in the fresh air. The room is filled with my breath and my music and an otherwise silence that negates any stress. My imagination takes me wherever I want...
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I haven't seen anything appear through a search yet, but both Brian Williams and Keith Olbermann mentioned that, as the people gathered at the Kennedy Center to honor Tm Russert, a rainbow appeared over the NBC Washington Studios. That is such a lovely and uplifting piece of synchronicity. Not surprisingly, there are no rainbows over here in the mountains -- just lots of thunder and rain and some kind of blight happening on my little "oasis in the wildnerness" garden. And I can't take a photo of it to see if anyone knows what it is because I dropped my little camera while away the other weekend, and it broke. I bought a...
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