My computer is fussy, and I'm certain is out to stymie me at every opportunity.
Every now and again it decides to put on a go-slow and it can be frustrating when I'm trying to get stuff done in a hurry.
There are a few blogs that are full of pictures that it can take a while to manage, but there is one site that my computer consistently despises. I love checking out Crazy Sister's life over at Graze if you want to, but don't eat dirt. It is one of the few sites that I like to check regularly, even when I'm in a flying rush, but the computer will crash if I rush it at that point. Crazy Sister uses tantilizing post names so that I really must find out what has been happening at her crazy house.
But you see the only way I can actually get there is to click on my side bar, then leave the computer alone and not click on anything with the mouse or keyboard for the next 15-30 minutes. On occasion it will let me go to another program and work, but mostly if I click it will either crash Explorer or freeze the whole computer and I have to start all over again from a soft reset.
If I read the comments (or dare to actually make a comment) and it needs to think, again I must not touch the mouse or keyboard until the screen exhibits total happiness.
This evening I was smart. I often click on Graze before I go out or off to eat, so that it is ready and waiting when I get back. I just got back from church this evening and checked out the few posts I'd missed, then closed it and refreshed my own blog to see if anyone had anything new for me to read.
There was a whole new post on Graze.
A post that hadn't been there when I last hit the link to check it out, therefore wasn't visible on my computer.
What's the chance that I have time to check it out again tonight?
... Approximately None!
So can anyone tell me if the post was any good? Worth the wait?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
No. Such. Luck.
I fixed the vacuum cleaner.
The true state of emotion that goes with the previous statement can't be expressed without telling you a story. A story that perhaps my male readers will not be able to grasp, but a story that may well stir the hearts of the girls.
Once upon a time I was just starting out living by myself and bought the cheapest vacuum cleaner that there was, because I'd also had to buy a fridge/freezer; washing machine; TV; a dining table and some chairs. I couldn't afford anything fancy.
Not long afterwards I heard friends talking about saving up for Dyson vacuum cleaners. They sounded really good, and I loved the concept of the cleaners being bagless because I hated emptying my vacuum cleaner bag. Also, according to their reports, Dysons really suck (which is actually what you want in a vacuum cleaner).
My Beloved and I then married. We now had two (2) vacuum cleaners, neither of them new and one I had to purchase disposable bags for.
"My" vacuum cleaner burst its bag. Although I managed to stitch it up, the little red vacuum was demoted to my Beloved's shed. We now had one (1) vacuum cleaner.
My mother bought a Dyson. It was good.
I began to look hopefully for any signs that our remaining vacuum was about to die.
It died.
I celebrated secretly and began to dream...
One Saturday my wonderful Beloved came home with something for the new house that we needed and it was a surprise.
I couldn't guess at all.
He presented me with a wonderful, bagless...
...Volta vacuum cleaner.
Isn't he a wonderful, considerate, surprising, lovely bloke?
Well, the Volta does a reasonable job so long as the very centre of the head is placed directly over any matter with a diameter greater than 0.01mm - but it is bagless which makes it easy to empty once the dust gets in there. I've always been an empty-the-thing-after-you-use-it-each-time sort of girl, and my Beloved is not. But that's okay, I am now an empty-the-thing-before-I-use-it-saying-prayers-of-thankfulness-that-my-Beloved-actually-cleans-when-so-many-women-complain-that-they-don't-get-any-help-around-the-house sort of girl.
We've been using it for about three years now and I was surprised during post dust-storm cleaning when a little red light came on. I didn't know what the little red light meant. The owner's manual wasn't in my file of appliance manuals and neither of us can find it, so we couldn't work out why the little red light had come on. I was sort of hoping for something expensive to fix which meant it wasn't worth fixing, but then again, we recently threw our savings into a medical waste facility along with my wisdom teeth, so timing was dreadful if that was the case.
I got on the net to try to find information and found a manual for a different model of the same make. It has a little red light that indicates when the bag is full. I wondered whether this might be the case, even though our model is bagless, so I went and emptied the non-bag. Turned it on. No red light.
The chance that this vacuum cleaner will not last for 30 years?
... Approximately None *sigh*
The true state of emotion that goes with the previous statement can't be expressed without telling you a story. A story that perhaps my male readers will not be able to grasp, but a story that may well stir the hearts of the girls.
Once upon a time I was just starting out living by myself and bought the cheapest vacuum cleaner that there was, because I'd also had to buy a fridge/freezer; washing machine; TV; a dining table and some chairs. I couldn't afford anything fancy.
Not long afterwards I heard friends talking about saving up for Dyson vacuum cleaners. They sounded really good, and I loved the concept of the cleaners being bagless because I hated emptying my vacuum cleaner bag. Also, according to their reports, Dysons really suck (which is actually what you want in a vacuum cleaner).
My Beloved and I then married. We now had two (2) vacuum cleaners, neither of them new and one I had to purchase disposable bags for.
"My" vacuum cleaner burst its bag. Although I managed to stitch it up, the little red vacuum was demoted to my Beloved's shed. We now had one (1) vacuum cleaner.
My mother bought a Dyson. It was good.
I began to look hopefully for any signs that our remaining vacuum was about to die.
It died.
I celebrated secretly and began to dream...
One Saturday my wonderful Beloved came home with something for the new house that we needed and it was a surprise.
I couldn't guess at all.
He presented me with a wonderful, bagless...
...Volta vacuum cleaner.
Isn't he a wonderful, considerate, surprising, lovely bloke?
Well, the Volta does a reasonable job so long as the very centre of the head is placed directly over any matter with a diameter greater than 0.01mm - but it is bagless which makes it easy to empty once the dust gets in there. I've always been an empty-the-thing-after-you-use-it-each-time sort of girl, and my Beloved is not. But that's okay, I am now an empty-the-thing-before-I-use-it-saying-prayers-of-thankfulness-that-my-Beloved-actually-cleans-when-so-many-women-complain-that-they-don't-get-any-help-around-the-house sort of girl.
We've been using it for about three years now and I was surprised during post dust-storm cleaning when a little red light came on. I didn't know what the little red light meant. The owner's manual wasn't in my file of appliance manuals and neither of us can find it, so we couldn't work out why the little red light had come on. I was sort of hoping for something expensive to fix which meant it wasn't worth fixing, but then again, we recently threw our savings into a medical waste facility along with my wisdom teeth, so timing was dreadful if that was the case.
I got on the net to try to find information and found a manual for a different model of the same make. It has a little red light that indicates when the bag is full. I wondered whether this might be the case, even though our model is bagless, so I went and emptied the non-bag. Turned it on. No red light.
The chance that this vacuum cleaner will not last for 30 years?
... Approximately None *sigh*
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Fox in the Spring Fair Henhouse
It's that time of year again, when I'm madly preparing for the annual church Spring Fair. This year I'm helping on the Cake Stall as usual (remember the apron?), but also involved in making lollies for the Sweet Stall.
This is a bit of a conflict of interest, because traditionally these two stalls vie with each other for the stall that makes the most cold, hard cash. Fortunately the Plant Stall has been doing really well of recent years and has trumped both of us, so that I can't be called a traitor to the Cakes.
I got roped into the lollies because my Grandmother has always been the French Jellies maker. She turns 90 next year, so I offered to give her a hand (we've done a team effort before). As it turns out she had a bit of a turn on the weekend, and so it ended up being Mum and I, and everything has worked out well (both for Grandma and the jellies).
The other Lolly Ladies are also beginning to mature to a point where they groan about the week before the Fair, so a group of younger ladies had a tutorial earlier in the year to teach us how to do them to official quality control standards. I should mention that when I say younger, I mean that (apart from me) they were all reasonably recent retirees.
So I was asked what I wanted to make for the stall I offered to make a couple of trays of Caramel Fudge (because that's the one I really want to perfect - it's my favourite). It's only now in the making that I've realised that this is going to take much willpower on my part for there to be anything to give to the Lolly Ladies. I am, as it were, the proverbial fox set to guard the henhouse. And I consistently find myself eyeing off all the little caramel-coloured chickens.
The chances that I'm a dutiful Skinny Cow this week?
... Precisely.
This is a bit of a conflict of interest, because traditionally these two stalls vie with each other for the stall that makes the most cold, hard cash. Fortunately the Plant Stall has been doing really well of recent years and has trumped both of us, so that I can't be called a traitor to the Cakes.
I got roped into the lollies because my Grandmother has always been the French Jellies maker. She turns 90 next year, so I offered to give her a hand (we've done a team effort before). As it turns out she had a bit of a turn on the weekend, and so it ended up being Mum and I, and everything has worked out well (both for Grandma and the jellies).
The other Lolly Ladies are also beginning to mature to a point where they groan about the week before the Fair, so a group of younger ladies had a tutorial earlier in the year to teach us how to do them to official quality control standards. I should mention that when I say younger, I mean that (apart from me) they were all reasonably recent retirees.
So I was asked what I wanted to make for the stall I offered to make a couple of trays of Caramel Fudge (because that's the one I really want to perfect - it's my favourite). It's only now in the making that I've realised that this is going to take much willpower on my part for there to be anything to give to the Lolly Ladies. I am, as it were, the proverbial fox set to guard the henhouse. And I consistently find myself eyeing off all the little caramel-coloured chickens.
The chances that I'm a dutiful Skinny Cow this week?
... Precisely.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Praying that your holidays are excrement...
At my church we have a weekly prayer breakfast. We cover world, national and state events; personal losses and joys; church doings and issues; and anything that relates to our town.
And so in amongst prayers for our Pacific neighbours and those from our congregations who are grieving I chose to pray for our minister and her husband, who are soon to head off for some well deserved long service leave. I prayed that they be refreshed and given the opportunity to flourish, like well-tended plants. It wasn't until I'd finished that I suddenly realised that I might have got a little too much into my analogy.
Don't you hate it when an analogy gets away from you?
You see, technically I believe I prayed that this holiday be for them like plants that are given a good dose of manure which gives them the nutrients to thrive.
Yes, I prayed that their holiday be ... er... excrement.
And what's the chance I meant it the way it came out?
... Approximately None!
And so in amongst prayers for our Pacific neighbours and those from our congregations who are grieving I chose to pray for our minister and her husband, who are soon to head off for some well deserved long service leave. I prayed that they be refreshed and given the opportunity to flourish, like well-tended plants. It wasn't until I'd finished that I suddenly realised that I might have got a little too much into my analogy.
Don't you hate it when an analogy gets away from you?
You see, technically I believe I prayed that this holiday be for them like plants that are given a good dose of manure which gives them the nutrients to thrive.
Yes, I prayed that their holiday be ... er... excrement.
And what's the chance I meant it the way it came out?
... Approximately None!
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