[dropcap]W[/dropcap]e finally bought Jamie’s mother a new computer. Not just a computer, a top-of-the-line desktop packed with enough memory to cure Alzheimer’s. We mortgaged our washing machine to buy it. The saleswoman asked if we wanted to add a two hundred dollar protection plan. I asked if they sold a twenty dollar plan.
The saleswoman handed me a roll of duct tape.
The truth is, Mary was overdue for a new computer. Her last machine was a khaki-colored relic from ’91 that still needed frequent oil changes. The old thing had no modem, but it did have a mouse. The little guy had built a nest right inside the hard drive.
When I unboxed the new computer, I knew we were in for a long, stressful night. At the age of seventy-six, Mary wasn’t up to snuff on some basic computer skills – like hearing. It took three hours of instruction just to check the weather.
Then, Mary wanted to do a Google search for her old college pal, Harry Wiener. I couldn’t stop her in time. We saw Harry all right. He looked younger than Mary remembered him.
When we concluded our exhausting lesson, there was one final thing my mother-in-law wanted to learn.
“I want you to put me on MyFace,” Mary asked.
“Ma’am,” I asked. “MyFace?”
Mary used the wrong words, but I knew what she meant. And to tell you the truth, it wasn’t a bad idea.
So, I poured us two stiff whiskeys.
I don’t know about her, but after two drinks I was on my face nearly all night.