Let Inga Tell You

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As anyone who has read my column for any length of time knows, I truly believe technology will be the death of me. Probably literally, when I can’t figure out how to call 9-1-1 on my cell phone as I’m having a heart attack. But I do have to admit that my iPhone has given me ways to interact with my young grandchildren that I wouldn’t have otherwise. “Interact” may be somewhat of an exaggeration in the case of the 4-year-old who has on occasion FaceTimed me eight times in a single day just so I’ll appear. As soon as I do, he chortles and hangs up. He just loves the power.
I’ve long since given up on New Year’s Resolutions, but for years I’ve kept a somewhat varying list of 10 Rules to Live By. At the end of the year, I look at it and give myself a grade. Some stuff should just get dropped from the list because I get an “F” every time. But where it’s health-oriented, I feel morally obligated to at least pretend I’m going to do better next year.
As a dog owner, it turns out there are worse things than your dog rolling in poop. And that’s your pet contracting a truly nasty bug or eating something in your yard that she really, really shouldn’t have, and inflicting massive intestinal mayhem all over your beds, furnishings and floors for two weeks.
Welcome to Auntie Inga’s Curmudgeon Hour. Grab your preferred beverage and sit down while I whine again about why life has just gotten too perplexing for me. Recently, for example, I wanted to attend a fundraiser only to discover when I went to buy a ticket online that the only type of payment accepted was PayPal. I e-mailed the agency in charge of the fundraiser whose solution was that they would help me set up a PayPal account. This was not what I had in mind.
Is it just my imagination, or do I spend an inordinate amount of time getting stuff fixed? Something is always broken, whether it’s a computer problem, a funny noise the car is making, a cracked sprinkler head, or an ice-maker that isn’t making ice. Even our security cameras decided to fog up for no known reason. Of course, I couldn’t help but notice that a lot of the stuff I’m getting fixed wouldn’t have needed fixing in my youth because it didn’t yet exist (like computers). Or didn’t exist at my house (like ice-makers, sprinkler heads and security cameras). There was a lot to be said for the era of manual typewriters, hand-washed dishes, ice cube trays, and a climate where it actually rains.
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From time to time, my husband has observed: “It must be really hard living inside your head.” Alas, this is often true. I wish brains could have an off switch where you could say, “OK, we’re done for today! Do not even THINK of contacting me again until at least 7 a.m.” But my brain just never wants to quit. Around 2 a.m. I wake up and start pondering both ponderables and imponderables. They just won’t go away no matter what tricks I use to get them to shut up.
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