Adapters, palm pads, and bezels

The prodigal laptop has returned.

It’s been on a six-day retreat in Houston, getting its hinges fixed. Several weeks ago, one of them popped and bad things ensued. Bits and pieces in the back loosened and bent, and the monitor started to come apart at the seams. I was afraid it was going to spit little internal organs all over the carpet.

I wrote a post about the laptop, a long, chatty narrative ending in self-analysis. Then, when I was inserting a photograph, several paragraphs vanished. Clicking the Undo button thirty or forty times didn’t bring them back. By that time, I’d worked on the piece so long that it had become cloying, and rewriting would have sent me into a carb coma,  so I scrapped it. For anyone who cares about my mental processes, here’s the nutshell version: The laptop broke about the same time my plot was falling apart, so instead of fixing either of them, I let them gather dust. When CP convinced me the plot was doable, I arranged for the laptop’s repair.

There. A zillion words on a topic of no import reduced to two sentences. I don’t enjoy watching my words disappear, but if they did so more often, the world would be spared a lot of foolishness. Or if not the world, a small but treasured portion of it.

I’d thought the laptop would be away for at least ten days, so the six-day turnaround time surprised me. So did the little extras I found upon opening the box–a new adapter and cord, and a palm pad. The old cord was so frayed and patched that I was reluctant to let it accompany the computer. And either the laptop never had a palm pad in the first place, or I thought the original was packaging and disposed of it.

According to the packing slip, I also received a new LCD bezel. When the mood strikes, I’ll look it up.

While the laptop was out of commission, I used the desktop, which was fine, but the straight-backed chair discouraged me from writing as much as I otherwise would have. I also felt that the discomfort somehow stifled my creativity.

When the laptop returns, I thought, I shall write like the wind.

The laptop has returned.

The bezel, it appears, has nothing to do with wind speed or acceleration.

Consequently, I must end this post and be on my way. Real life beckons.

Mrs. Hinderleitner, carrying a sign that reads Save the Siluro River, is picketing Molly’s place of business, and a righteously indignant Molly is headed outside to confront her.

I have to get there in time to grab a front-row seat.

12 thoughts on “Adapters, palm pads, and bezels

  1. What a nightmare to have your computer fall apart that way. Horrors! If you were able to continue working on your desktop computer, it sounds like you are wise enough to have your work backed up. Bravo! So glad to hear you are back up and running with the laptop, and what a nice surprise that it returned early. May your words now flow like silken ribbons from your fingertips as you return to your comfortable seat.

    The LCD bezel is the frame around the screen that holds it in place. Isn’t that glamorous?


    1. Sharon, I’m afraid I’m not all that wise. I don’t back up nearly often enough. Funny thing, though–the laptop worked perfectly throughout. I had to be careful about keeping the monitor raised at a just-so angle, but I was able to put everything on a flash drive. And then to back up to a DVD. And then to e-mail a bunch of files to myself. More paranoia than wisdom.

      Thanks for the bezel definition. That’s that part that broke. When I searched for photographs of bezels, I got more than a half-dozen pix of M.I.T. class rings with engravings of beavers. It crossed my mind that a bezel might be a particular kind of beaver, but nothing like that came back with the computer.

      Thank you for the sentiments about silken ribbons. It’s a lovely image ~ I’ll keep it close.


  2. Kathy, LOVED the “hit the undo button thirty or forty times! Oh boy, you and I are a whole lot alike! If the first time doesn’t work–do it fifty times–then one more–the fifty first is bound to undo!!


    1. I clicked and clicked and clicked. I still can’t understand why the text didn’t reappear. I can’t understand why it disappeared in the first place. Mine not to reason why, I guess.

      But what’s the harm of clicking, right? We have to do SOMETHING.


  3. Glad to hear the prodigal is home. I would miss my laptop so much if it were gone. I do so much more work on it. Sometimes I think it’s a reaction to so many years spent at a desk on a PC at work. It was the last place I wanted to be at night.


    1. Thanks, Susan. For years, I had no desire to use a computer after work. Didn’t even have Internet access at home until I moved to Austin. But the laptop is sort of like a well-behaved cat. It sits on my lap and purrs and doesn’t shed or wake me up at night just to chat.

      I hope you’re feeling much better.


  4. That’s a great picture of the Siluro River!
    I bet it’s got lots of catfish in it.
    I’m chomping at the bit, so to speak, to hear about Molly and the picketer.


    1. Thank you. I’m chomping, too. I have no idea what they’re going to say and do. Guess I’ll have to trust them to figure it out.


  5. Hello Kathy, lovely post. Your laptop refurbishers are clearly geniuses. There is nothing more wonderful than new lamps for old, and that is just what you appear to have.

    I’ve missed your style while the laptop has been away. And I do hope we get an update on Mrs Hinderleitner and how she proposes to save the river. Has Molly diverted it for her own purposes?


    1. Thank you. I’ve missed writing. Everything I wrote on the desktop went wrong. I’m so glad I didn’t click Publish. The good news is that I read a book while sitting without a computer on my lap. I’ve gone from reading compulsively to writing compulsively, and it’s time to find a balance.

      There will be an update on Mrs. Hinderleitner, I hope. Her name may be changed by that time, though. I slapped Hinderleitner on her without much thought. Molly hasn’t done anything to the river, and she finds all the attention irksome. Miss Pinksie has already been on her case about it.

      I’d never realized my dog looked like Neville Chamberlain, but he really did. Thank you for pointing that out. He was big on appeasement, especially when he saw a can of Danish butter cookies.


  6. So sorry about your laptop. I love mine, especially since I got a cordless keyboard. I never have gotten used to typing on the laptop itself. The keys seem so close together.

    Glad yours is back and in even better shape.


  7. Thanks, Helen. I had trouble getting used to the touchpad; then, when I switched to wireless mouse, I had to get used to that again. It’s a state of constant change, but I prefer that to going back to the typewriter.


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