X

This is a story about Roberta.

Roberta is a gadget girl. She can’t live without ‘X’. Pick any ‘X’ as long as ‘X’ resembles a cell phone or laptop computer or an iPod. It could be a GPS system in her new car. It could be the ‘X’ in Xbox. Roberta gets a new camera or recording device every time new technology leaps forward. Roberta is a Mac, though she also owns a ThinkPad for work, a Kindle, and a Blackberry (as a backup to her iPhone). Roberta travels with an extra suitcase just to transport the miscellaneous devices and plethora of needed power cables. Even her cat has a micro-chip imbedded under its fur as a digital cat tag in case the animal gets lost or stuck in a tree someplace.

In the ‘70s, Roberta was the first girl on the block to get Pong. She had both Beta and VHS and an eight-track in her Camero. She was the first to jog with a clunky Sony Walkman. Roberta was cool (in her bell-bottom jeans and feathered Farah Fawcett hair). She had a lot of friends and admirers (and a daddy with a lot of cash).

Not much has changed for Roberta. She leads the charge in the digital age. She is a technological, Charles Darwin study in the flesh. She simply can’t live without the next ‘X’ today. She depends on it. It is her livelihood.

Roberta was at the local wine bar a few months ago. She was there on a stool at the bar, socially active and engaged in the scene, yet paying her bills electronically from her phone. She sent the transfer from her bank with a push of button on the tiny screen, twittered her location to her friends, and then casually sipped from her glass of Spanish Grenache. She talks, techs, and sips at the same time. Roberta is impressive.

On her way home she stopped by her neighborhood TJ’s to get a quick something to heat up for dinner. Given all her talents and good looks, Roberta doesn’t cook and her hyper-efficient refrigerator with the digital blue screen on the door houses little for actual sustenance inside. In the parking lot, for some unknown reason, she left her purse in the car, opting for a moment or two where she didn’t have to shoulder all that stuff in her bag. And, while she browsed the isles of packaged food with only her debit card in her back pocket, her car was stolen.

Imagine what might happen if one’s entire digital and electronic life vanished. What would you do? How does one repair the personal, albeit technical, violation of one’s life?

For Roberta it started out with a private moment on the curb next to the vacant car slot and a recently purchased bottle of beer. She didn’t panic, but she did start counting all the missing gadgets: both cell phones, her iPod, two laptop computers, her camera, numerous thumb drives with vital information (some classified), a Kindle, and one military grade Taser ( a gift). Oh, and the car. She did still have her debt card.

So, she trudged back inside the store and asked for help and a phone. The first call went to the police. The second call she placed to work, as she was at that very moment taking a two week vacation.

I’m sorry to say, there is no end to this story. Yet!

The car was never found. Her gadgets have never been recovered. And Roberta is still on vacation. The cat is still home. Somebody, I’m sure, is feeding it.

Last week, a small crowd of friends gathered around that neighborhood bar. They read from a postcard with a Mexican stamp. The postmark showed it was mailed from the Yucatan. All it said was, “Dear Friends, Life has improved. I miss you guys. But, I have to go. My next margarita has arrived and I want to finish the last chapter from my paperback before the sun sets. Take care.” And then it was signed with an ‘X’.

Roberta is not returning texts and emails. So, nobody can confirm if 'X' is Roberta.

Can you get to that? I want to know

I once had a life, or rather
Life had me
I was one among many
Or at least I seemed to be
Well, I read an old quotation in a book just yesterday
Said "Gonna reap just what you sow,
The debts you make you have to pay."
Can you get to that?
Can you get (I wanna know)
I want to know if you can get to that (hey!) (get to that!)
Can you get (can you get to that)(I wanna know)I want to know if you can get to that – Funkadelic

I must admit to bit of writer’s block, although it feels more encompassing. My computer archive folder with all my “thoughts on paper” looks more like a smattering of words on the screen with little current meaning. Now that I have (almost) completely unwrapped my brain from last month’s move and merge, I look at myself and feel nowhere close to any expected routine. Granted, there has been little regular practice of any sort for a year or so now. And it isn’t just the writing now either. Cooking, exercising, music, reading, painting/drawing, as well as this creative outlet called writing, have all fallen off the regular radar.

But I have to admit, I feel ready. I want to get to that.

A day or two ago, I read in a fitness magazine (while in line at the grocery store) that even if one doesn’t feel like exercising or working out at least get up and make the attempt, that each individual has a personal “point of no return,” where, once you’ve reached it you’ll complete the workout. For me, my “point of no return” for exercise is simply getting my feet on the floor at 5 a.m. and out from the warmth of the snuggle. Once upright in the morning, I have no problem with the rest of the exercise program (as long as my iPod is charged).

Cooking still happens out of necessity, love, and fatherly duty. But it is far away from the way it used to be organized. I once had a chalkboard in the kitchen that displayed the scheduled meals for the week. Originally, this was out of necessity in order to avoid the post-work “what do you want to have for dinner?” conversation, the post-work run to the store, and the subsequent unhealthy options that inevitably became dinner due to the lack of time. With the chalkboard, there was no stall to think and debate. I simply made what was planned and on the board. Early Saturday mornings the quiet of the house is rather Zen-like with a cup of coffee, the weekly grocery ads spread out on the kitchen table, and blank menu board awaiting the plan for the week’s dinner menu/shopping list. In fact, the Saturday morning ritual only got better as The Girlie joined in on the tradition. So, what is the P.O.N.R. here? It is simply the chalkboard. Unfortunately, at the last house I created a bad, bumpy chalkboard with blackboard paint. I’ve been artistically offended at my own handy work since then. So, using it ceased. As a result, the weekly routine suffered. So, this weekend the board is getting sanded (after some quiet time with a cup of coffee and the grocery ads). I can get to that.

I can get to that!