Category Archives: -Claire Murray

If It Wasn’t for Bad Luck

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When it comes to electronics, I often think of that old saying, “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

For some time I’ve been thinking about buying a new printer. My old HP Photosmart worked fine until I bought a new laptop. Actually, it worked great. Whenever I wanted to print something, I’d go to the File Menu, click on Print, decide if I wanted black or color, how many copies, and click Print again. That was it. The printer would start right up and in less than a minute I’d have my copies.

Last fall I bought a new MacBook Air and that’s when my troubles began. I’d click on Print, choose black or color, the number of copies, click Print again and nothing would happen. I mean NOTHING. The printer was as silent as a tomb.

I’d start over again. First I’d click on my wireless connection to be sure I had a strong signal. Then I’d click on the Print box. It would say things like, “Printing page 1.” or “Not connected to printer.” It didn’t really matter what it said because nothing would happen.

I would restart my computer. Then I would restart the printer. After that I would start over with the Print menu. I would try clicking Pause and then Resume. Nothing helped.

But sometimes, when I was having a lucky day, after 5 or 25 minutes, the printer would start to make noises like it was waking up from a deep sleep. Then it would grunt. Finally, and I could never figure out what I had done to make this happen, the printer would print.

I phoned Apple. They told me the printer was several years old. My laptop was too advanced for it. But, not to worry, HP would soon come out with a patch that I could download and my printer would go back to printing like it had before.

That was last fall. This is now June. HP has yet to come up with this patch, and frankly, I don’t think HP’s going to. So, much as I hated to get rid of a perfectly good printer, I decided to bite the bullet and buy a new, state-of-the-art one. After all, the man at Apple said that would solve my problem.

Come back next month to find out what happened when I bought my brand new, state-of-the-art HP printer and you’ll understand why, “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all!”

A Match Made in Hell

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Do you ever feel that your computer is driving you crazy? I do. Lately, every morning after I pour myself a cup of coffee and turn it on, there’s a message on the screen from my security service with an ominous black border around it. It says: “We have encountered a critical error in your files!”

“Oh no! What am I going to do? Has someone hacked into my computer while I was sleeping? Is it going to crash?”

I immediately start looking for this critical error. I try everything I can think of. Nothing works. The next morning it’s there again: the same unnerving message with the black border around it.

Three days ago, I think, “What do I have to lose?” I click on the tab that has the list of infected files and read each of their names. I don’t recognize any of them. They don’t sound like infected files. But, then, who knows what an infected file name sounds like?

“Maybe I should just delete all of them. But, what if I need them later?” A few years ago I’d almost deleted some files I didn’t understand. At the last moment I stopped when I suddenly realized they were system files. I don’t want to make that mistake again.

Then I remember my security service. I click on the tab that says it will tell me what to do. I don’t know who wrote the instructions. They might as well have been written in Mandarin Chinese pictographs for all the help they gave me. I can’t understand a thing.

Then I have a brilliant idea: “I’ll email my security service, describe the problem, and ask for help. They’re supposed to know about these things. They said they’d send me an answer overnight.”

When I wake up the next morning I can’t wait to get to my computer and check my email. There it is: a message from George at my security service.

The first paragraph gives me hope. It is all about how he is going to help me. The second paragraph is more problematic. George tells me to quarantine the infected files and send them to him.

“Quarantine the infected files! How do I quarantine files? If I knew that I probably wouldn’t need George.”

I shoot George an email saying, “Thanks for offering to help, but I don’t have the faintest idea how to quarantine files. Can’t you just remotely access my computer and take the files? I don’t want them.”

When I checked my computer yesterday morning, there it was again: another error message with an ominous black border around it and another email from George. “No problem,” he said, “I’ve just sent you directions.”

I read his directions carefully, all twelve of them. They are single-spaced, in ten-point font, and take up most of the page.

Right after breakfast I sit down and start working my way through the list. After two hours I feel really good. I’d finished eleven of them. “One more to go. Then this will all be George’s problem.”

I read number twelve, three times. It makes no sense to me. I haven’t the faintest idea what he is talking about or where to look.

Then I realize, “I’m really in trouble now. The first direction told me to unhook my security system. Now I can’t do number twelve and I’m exposed to every threat on the web. I have no protection. I have infected, probably very dangerous files, and I don’t know how to send them anywhere.” My head is beginning to throb!

I decide to email George. I tell him, “I’m a mere mortal. I was created before the Age of Computers. Although I have a college education, a master’s degree and a successful career, I can’t figure out number twelve. Please help me!”

This morning I get up and look at my computer. “I think I’d better fortify myself first.” So I take two aspirin and drink a big glass of water for the headache I know I’m going to have. Then I check my email.

There it is, George’s message: “Call this number.”

“Call this number! Why didn’t he tell me this in the first place? I didn’t need the twelve single-spaced directions in ten-point font. The phone number will solve everything.”

I phone and Tom answers. He asks me a few questions, gives me a few simple directions and within five minutes everything is solved.

The critical error message with the ominous black border around it is gone. My screen is clear. I have no more infected files and I don’t need the two aspirin. But, I still feel that my computer and I are a match made in hell.

Why Travel?

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Why Travel? by Claire Murray @ClaireAAMI

Why do people travel? Why do I travel? I’ve thought about this a lot, especially the first night when I’m back home from a trip. I’m warm and comfy in my own bed. As I snuggle in I think, it’s so good to be back home.

But, the next day or week or month, there I am: Thinking about our next trip. There is so much to see, to do.

A week ago Michael and I left cold Ann Arbor for sunny Florida. We had signed up for a Road Scholar in St. Augustine. What a change in scenery and weather!

As the driver took us from the airport in Jacksonville to the hotel in St. Augustine, we drove down a smooth, new expressway. I looked carefully: no potholes, not one. Tall trees with green branches lined up neatly on either side of the expressway for miles. It was very different from the rough and tumble of California where you have redwood forests on one side of the highway and the ocean on the other. Everything was so neat in Florida. I almost wondered if someone had come out that morning and swept the road.

The driver kept talking about how cold it was: 55 degrees going up to 72. I kept thinking: How wonderful! 55 degrees and the sun is shinning. I don’t need a parka or gloves or a scarf. This is heaven!

After we checked into the hotel, we grabbed our dark glasses and walked down to the beach. Things had warmed up a little by then. I could feel the sun’s heat. I felt like I’d been wrapped in a warm blanket.

The hotel was directly in front of the Atlantic Ocean and had a swimming beach but it was a long straight walk to the water’s edge. Apparently in Florida, no one is allowed to build on the beach or back just a little. The closest you can build is about a block or more from the ocean.

The sand was smooth and the waves made it squishy under out feet. It was tan and glistened in the wet and heat of the afternoon.

The Atlantic Ocean here is so different from the Pacific, which I’m more used to. The Atlantic is much quieter and calmer near the shore. It’s a darker blue and extends way out with very few waves. It was a very calm, peaceful experience. I was glad we had come and we hadn’t even started our Road Scholar program yet!

Coming from cold and snowy Michigan, I felt like I was entering a whole new world. The climate, setting, and ambiance were so different.

I think that’s why people travel. It’s an opportunity to experience a whole new world for a short time. Then it’s nice to go home. That’s why I travel.

I Do Not Believe…

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This is an opinion piece. It expresses my opinion and only my opinion. I hope, after you read this, you will agree with me. I understand that you may not. Either way, I look forward to reading your comments in the Comments Section at the end. – Claire Murray

“I Do Not Believe…”

At a private dinner featuring Governor Scott Walker, Rudy Giuliani said, “I do not believe, and I know this is a horrible thing to say, but I do not believe that the president loves America. He doesn’t love you. And he doesn’t love me. He wasn’t brought up the way you were brought up and I was brought up through love of this country.” (Darren Samuelsohn, Politico)

What does Rudy mean? What is he trying to say? This is my opinion of what he means when he says these things:

If President Obama doesn’t love America and he wasn’t brought up the way we were brought up, what is the message?

I think the message is code for President Obama is not like us. He’s not a true American like we are. In other words, he’s not white. And, if you’re not white, you can’t be patriotic and love America. Everyone in the United States today knows that only white people are patriotic and love America. It comes with the skin color.

When I first heard Rudy’s comment, I started thinking about the future, say 35 years from now. That’s not so far away. According to current predictions (CNN), by 2050 the majority of American citizens will be Afro-Americans, Hispanics, Asians and other people of color. They’ll have the tan skin that we white people lay out in the sun for hours trying to acquire.

If all these people don’t love America because they’re not like us, how is the U.S. going to survive?

Maybe the problem is, Rudy doesn’t know what it means to be patriotic and love America. Maybe he wasn’t as lucky as I. He didn’t learn about patriotism and how to love America in school.

I learned about it a long time ago when I was a child. It meant starting each school day pledging allegiance to the flag and singing the Star- Spangled Banner. It meant learning American history, especially about the early heroes and founders of our country, people like George Washington, James Madison and Crispus Attucks.

I don’t think Rudy learned about Crispus. He was the first man shot and killed in the Boston Massacre. This was the first battle in the Revolutionary War. Crispus was black. Giving his life for his country, for people like you and me, and even Rudy, I feel, makes him very patriotic. He loved America before there was a country to love.

So, Rudy, maybe you want to rethink things. All people can be patriotic and love America if they choose to. Skin color doesn’t make you patriotic. Your actions do.

Your comments?

 

 

 

Additional References:

US Census Bureau

December 12, 2012: https://www.census.gov/newsroom/releases/archives/population/cb12-243.html

March 2015: https://www.census.gov/content/dam/Census/library/publications/2015/demo/p25-1143.pdf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s a Penny Worth?

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I buy most of my hair products at Ulta3. I find the people who work there helpful in suggesting the right product for what I need. I also like their sales. My favorite is the one where, if you buy two of something, the third one is free.

Last November I needed some hairspray. I went to Ulta3 and talked with one of the saleswomen. “What hairspray would work best on fine hair that has a mind of its own? I want something to hold it in place. But I don’t want to look like I have a steel helmet on.”

The salesgirl suggested one of the Paul Mitchell products.

I wasn’t sure. “What if it doesn’t work for me? Or, what if I don’t like the way I look?” I asked.

She told me, “Don’t worry”. It’s a Buy 2, Get 1 Free sale. If you’re unhappy, you can bring the unused product back with the receipt and exchange it for something you like.”

That sounded fine. I bought three cans.

When I got home, I put the cans in the bathroom closet because I hadn’t yet finished with the old hairspray I was using.

A few weeks ago, I finally finished the old hairspray and started using one of the new ones. At first it was o.k. But, after a few days, I wasn’t happy with how my hair looked or felt: It felt hard, not fresh and silky, and looked dried out, just like I had a steel helmet on my head. I decided to give it a few more days but nothing improved.

I searched for my receipt, put it and the other two cans in the Ulta3 bag and went back to the store. Once there, I walked to where the Paul Mitchell products are kept and located the hairspray that I was bringing back. I looked around on the shelf to see if they had something else that would look and feel softer on my hair. I read the descriptions on the back of the cans. Finally I found one that sounded good.

I stopped the saleswomen I saw walking by. I told her my problem and asked, “Will this other hairspray work for me?”

“Well,” she said, “The new spray won’t hold your hair as well but it will feel soft and natural.”

I walked to the front of the store to make the exchange. I explained what I wanted to do and the cashier said with a smile, “No problem.” To me, that’s the universal sign that very soon something’s going to go wrong.

The saleswoman entered the product information into the cash register and called for her manager to put in her code to complete the exchange.

The manager came up front. “You know,” she said. “It’s too hard to do it this way. I know an easier way.”

“Fine.” I said. I just wanted to complete the sale and get going. I hadn’t planned on spending this much time at the store.

The manager started ringing up the hairspray. First she swiped the bar codes on the cans I was returning. Then she punched a number of keys. After that she stopped and gazed at the cash register. Lastly, she cancelled everything out and started over.

I watched her do this three times while trying to discreetly peek at my watch to see what time it was now. This was taking much longer than I’d expected.

After the third attempt, something must have gone right, because she asked me to hand her the two new cans of hairspray that I wanted to purchase. She swiped them.

I looked at her expectantly. It looked like everything would be o.k. after all. But then she undid everything and started over again.

At that point I couldn’t help myself. I very obviously looked at my watch. I’d been in the store for almost half an hour.

I looked at the manager again. She was still swiping and pushing buttons on the cash register. I asked her, “What seems to be the problem?”

“The cash register keeps saying you owe a penny in tax, but you don’t.”

“That’s fine. Don’t worry. I’ll pay it.”

“No. You don’t owe it,” she said.

“I don’t care. I’m happy to help fund the government. I’ll pay it.” I put a penny on the counter.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.” I picked up my bag with the new hairspray and walked out the door. I felt I had escaped.