| Sunny Side Up Aug. 7, 2002 � 2002, Kathleen Gibson Old Smitty to the Rescue If you were here with me, I�d treat you to a bit of pure nostalgia. To a sound rarely found in offices anymore. Tap, tap, ring�sl-i-i-i-de. Tap, tap, tap�.. Until I dragged this relic in from the garage, I didn�t realize I missed its clatter. The voice of the typewriter is one of those lost sounds, like the lovely swoosh, swoosh, click of the rotary phone. (I have one of those in my bedroom, and I partake regularly.) Occasionally it pays to be a pack rat. I�m glad now that I didn�t toss out this aging Smith Corona along with the spider-occupied Mason canning jars and the wool dirndl skirts. The Preacher bought Smitty for me years ago, when I first got serious about writing. Eventually I graduated to computer, which brings me to why I�m typing on this clun�(oh, just a sec�forgot to hit return.)�. which brings me to why I�m building muscles around my knuckles and calluses on my fingertips using this clunker. Weeks ago, I was clicking on the touch-sensitive keys of my laptop computer, stopping for an occasional sip of herbal tea, when a dab�no more than a teaspoon�of the stuff slopped over the mug�s edge and splashed onto the keyboard. I wiped it away immediately and kept typing. The next morning, the middle keys worked, but the ones on the edges, the �a,� the �z,� the �l,� the �enter,� and a few others were misbehaving badly. I was forced to use Old Faithful, the large family computer. A mere three days later it too, gave up the ghost. (And no tea anywhere in sight.) Both computers are now in the repair shop, and I�m still stinging from the chiding I received for drinking while typing. A crime equivalent to driving while impaired, it seems. That sip of tea could cost upwards of four hundred dollars, providing my machine is fixable at all. It�s an older one, you see, and good used laptop keyboards are hard to find, he says. Computers are not man�s best friend. Woman�s either. I wandered around the house after the last betrayal in a somewhat befuddled state. I tried writing longhand, but my writing is atrocious. I could write something brilliant and be unable to read it the next day. It was then I remembered Smitty. I can write again. I can even read what I�ve written. And drink tea all the while. On the other hand, I may never recover from the dismaying discovery that without my computer�s delete, cut, paste, and spellcheck buttons, I�m capable of some pretty awful writing. Though this infernal racket may be partly to blame, and I really hate having to return the carriage at the end of each line. In the grand scheme of things, personal computer problems are featherweights. But God astounds me with his concern for all the areas of my life. So I�m adding this small problem to my prayer list. And listening for instructions. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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