Last week I lost my “Hi-tech Grammy” badge. Granted this event isn’t as momentous as losing your virginity, or even your wallet, but I’m chagrined nevertheless.
When our grandchildren were tots, the computer in the den
offered an entertainment option. I admit to feeling a degree of satisfaction
when one or the other would call out, “Grammy, we need help finding our game.”
Once retired, I’d progressed from not knowing how to turn on the computer—for
years we had an efficient and knowledgeable secretary—to being quite proficient
with word processing. Little did I realize the challenges ahead. Wireless
keyboards, printers, and USB ports. Docking hubs, modems, and routers. Servers,
providers, and Google. Pages of new words added to the dictionary. I’ve somehow managed to keep up. And
computers were only the beginning.
My first cell phone served as a paperweight on my desk and
offered nothing but the opportunity for voice communication when away from
home. After a couple of years rebuffing the laughter from the grandkids—they’d
somehow become teenagers—I changed to a smaller, clamshell phone. In no time,
they were laughing again. “When are you going to get a smart phone, Grammy?
Then you could text us.” Now I have one. Do I dare admit I haven’t added any
apps? Still, they brag to their friends, “My grandmother knows how to text.”
It’s a good thing, too, because email correspondence, which is my preferred
form of communication, is much too tedious for them now they are all in
college. They do still chuckle when I remind them I have only two-hundred free
text messages a month. “I use that up in a day,” my granddaughter tells me. So
far I’ve never exceeded that free limit.
I think it was when I designed my own website they awarded
me my virtual badge. I followed that accomplishment with getting a Facebook
page, although I sensed some trepidation when they knew I expected us to be
friends so I could keep up with their postings. I’ve not shared my frustration
with the major changes made to the site after I thought I understood it.
My next venture was to establish my blog. The grandkids were
impressed. Still, they have more to do than add my postings to their required
reading list, so I count on other family members and friends to become
followers. Another secret I keep from them: after months of postings, I
recently discovered how to manage the settings of my blog so others could
be notified and add comments. Perhaps I
will blog more now.
With all of this techy stuff under my belt, I confidently
went about installing my new printer, the same all-in-one model we have in our
winter home. Except this one is wireless. In no time I set it up and inserted
the CD to guide me through the connection process. The directions led me step
by step…until informed “USB connection not found.” The instructions told me to
return to the previous page, where the annoying message stared at me again. No
matter what I tried, I could go no further.
I double-checked: yes, the USB was inserted in my computer,
the other end into the back of the printer. The power was connected—I could
turn the printer on and make copies. But I couldn’t send a document from my
computer to be printed. I did everything I could think of. In the middle of the
night I woke wondering what to try next. Nothing moved me past the roadblock. I
gave up, totally frustrated.
The next day I invited my son and grandson, a college
senior, to dinner. After handing both of them a beer, I told them my problem.
My grandson bounded up the stairs two at a time to our den and planted himself
in front of the computer. We followed close behind. He flew through web pages
faster than I could blink. And there was that message again. “Connection not
found.” I left him and my son, who was peering over his shoulder, and went to
finish dinner preparations.
Not five minutes later, the two of them joined me in the
kitchen. “It’s working now, Grammy.”
“No kidding?! What was wrong?”
“You inserted the other end of the USB connection in the
port for the fax line.”
As I mentally tore my “Hi-tech Grammy” badge off my blouse,
he put his arm around me and said. “Anyone could make that mistake.” So maybe
the badge is still there, but a lot
of the shine is gone.