Barbara J. Hamby

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Where Are You, Spring?

I spent about half the day today trying to get my newly spiffed up notebook computer to operate my semi-new printer. I hadn’t hooked it up before, and had some problems getting everything in the right place at the right time. If I live to be 100, I’ll never think the way computers and their components do. I finally succeeded in getting a document printed.

On Sunday, my son-in-law Richard moved my computers where I had decided I want them to live by switching desks. Now I have the desktop computer in the spare bedroom closet and my notebook in a corner of the large bedroom. With a new battery, I can move it around the house and even out on the balcony, weather permitting, then bring it back in, hook it up and print away.

In the six days I spent in California, I managed to turn my sleeping hours around to the more normal routine my sisters keep and I’m still struggling to get back my usual sleep schedule. I woke up at 4:30 this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep until about 7:30, so I did some reading. I’m working my way through a biography of Capt. James Cook, an interesting character.

While I was away, the trees around our place greened up and now I’m getting anxious for the colorful flowers my neighbors provide along the sidewalk in front of our two apartments. They love to dig in dirt. That love affair cooled for me some years ago when my joints began to complain loudly, but I have put a few pansies in a pot and have a yellow mini rose on the shelf on the front step. There’s a little space around the step that I can fill in with planted pots and I’ll get to work on that soon.

The weather still teases us with a lovely day here and there and a bunch of gray and/or drizzly ones in between.

The pictures I took on the trip are on the computers now and I hope to get some of them up with the travel log account. I’ll spare my readers the shots of the gravestones. They must have been what prompted Floyd to come up with an epitaph for himself at dinner tonight: “I’d have lived five years longer if my roommate had been more strict about my eating ice cream.” I thought it was pretty funny. Since we share that addiction, I can’t very well slap his hand when he reaches for the ice cream spoon. But we do buy “No Sugar Added” frozen desserts.

Since I didn’t get to the pool today, I’ll have to add extra time tomorrow. That should be fun.