t’s taken longer than usual but this snowbird finally has returned to the Key. Having dealt with all the things a woman must deal with when her husband dies, I’ve been able to turn my attention to making an airline reservation, packing my suitcases and obsessing as to whether it would stop snowing long enough for American Airlines to be able to fly me from Chicago to Miami.
The weather and the airline cooperated, and my welcome to the Key exceeded my expectations. At Glamour Salon, the owner, hairdressers, manicurists, and Don Pedro, who had given my husband haircuts, all offered their condolences on the death of my husband. At the Key Biscayne Community Center, at various restaurants, or just walking down the street, Key Biscayners have extended their sympathy to me. I’m so glad to be back!
However, although the people on the Key have been kind to me, the electronic/digital world has not. When, despite the assistance of two male friends with jumper cables, I attempted to start my Honda Pilot which hasn’t been started since August, I was greeted by absolutely no sound at all. So I called AAA, and a helpful gentleman with heavy duty jumper cables got the car started and sent me over to the Mobil station to get the battery charged. Mike at Mobil discovered the battery was only a year old, so he gave me a brand new one (I told you the humans here are kind!). But although the engine was running just fine, the radio wouldn’t work because the car has a GPS system which can only be reinstated after a code is punched in. I tried to invent a four-digit code, but my efforts were rejected. I’ve been told to ask a Honda dealer for the code. Until I get around to trying that, I’ll just sing show tunes as I drive.
Meanwhile, my microwave oven was insisting I tell it the time, date and year before it would consent to zap my oatmeal. I tried telling it the truth—1/17/14, but it wasn’t interested in the truth. After many attempts, I told it the time, date and year were 11/11/11.It believed me and allowed me to zap my oatmeal. Obviously the microwave computer chip marches to a different drummer.
My tech guru, Leo Quintana, came over to hook up my Apple computer. He unpacked it, set it up on my desk, connected the wires and was able to make it work just fine except that it wouldn’t display my e-mails. One phone call to Comcast and one hour later, the Comcast guy admitted Comcast had cut off my Internet connection due to “lack of activity.” (I haven’t figured out how to be active down south when I’m living up north.) I mentioned to Leo that my car key no longer works remotely; I need to open the door manually with the key. Leo advised me to go to Radio Shack to buy a 2033 chip. He said that chip also would work in my digital scale which registers only “Lo” and refuses to show my weight. Perhaps it’s just being kind.
In a few days, I’ll have screwed up my courage enough to head over to the Rickenbacker Causeway office to discover why my two C-Passes never were delivered to me despite the fact that Miami-Dade County had no difficulty depositing my $48 check two months ago.
“Wasn’t the digital revolution supposed to make our lives easier?” I e-mailed my son, Barry. “Instead, our lives have become and more complicated.”
Barry responded, “You are right. Nothing is simple anymore.”