I just survived the event that every computer user dreads: My hard drive crashed. Prognosis: Totaled
Suddenly I felt as if I had been beamed back to Elizabethan times. An electronic black hole had swallowed me and transported me to another time, continent, and country.
I was dressed in heavy velvet and lace, had a collar that tickled my ear lobes, was drenched in copious amounts of perfume because I only bathed once in a blue moon and was seated at an ornate Louis XIV writing desk. A maid-servant came to me and said, "M'lady, will you take your tea now or would you like your quill pen, some parchment, and an ink well?" I asked for my parchment paper, the quill pen, and ink well and began to compose my daily blog, using the best cursive penmanship I could possibly muster, after which I summoned my maid servant and asked her to see to it that the ink on the parchment dried properly before posting the blog on the castle fortress gate.
My good friends in a neighboring fortress sent up a smoke signal, indicating that they would like to instant message with me. I summoned my maid servant yet another time and exhorted her to make a fire posthaste. She created the fire with fervent speed, grabbed the heaviest cloak she could find, and began pummeling the flames, coaxing the smoke into recognizable circles and plumes. Being a sickly girl with a pasty complexion to begin with, she soon grew tired and begged to end the instant messaging session. I became petulant, called to the manservant lurking outside my chamber door, and ordered him to escort the whimpering woman to the dungeon.
"Can no one help me communicate with yon fortress?", I wailed. The manservant brought bloke after bloke, all claiming to be capable of restoring my communication smoke circles and plumes, but to no avail. Fellow after unfortunate fellow was dragged out, begging for mercy, but I was to have none of that. I stomped my feet, balled my hands into fists, and became apoplectic of manner.
Suddenly, through my tears, a knave appeared out of nowhere. "Sir Jon, for you, M'Lady", said the trembling manservant. I dabbed at my blue orbs with a cloth of fine linen, drew upon my finest upbringing and said gently, "Sir Jon, why have I not heard of thee heretofore?" Sir Jon replied, "I've been busy, M'Lady, at the Fortress' Performing Arts Center, where I bring the finest of theatrical acts, mimes, troubadours, and musicians to the subjects of the realm. I came as soon as I read the smoke signals. How can I be of assistance to thee?"
I tried to be as succint as possible, but was ineffective in the explanation of my communication woes. "M'Lady", Sir Jon said quietly but firmly, "Mayhap we should bring Lord Al in for further detailing of thy situation, as you seem beside yourself with grief and wringing of hands?" At first, I took great umbrage with the suggestion, but soon thereafter relented. Lord Al came running quickly when he was told of my predicament. "Ah, my love, what seems to be the problem?", said Lord Al. Sir Jon came to my rescue and informed Lord Al of the looming communcation disaster. "Tis no problem, Sir Jon", boomed Lord Al. "Please, perform whatever communication surgery you must to restore the Lady-of-the-Realm to her pert and pleasant ways."
Sir Jon walked about, muttered this and that, moved his fingers in the quickest of manners, with lightning speed, frowned his brow only briefly, and pronounced that the grave communication disaster had been solved. With that, he leapt onto his jet-black steed, aptly named BMW, and rode away, leaving the Lady-of-the-Realm restored to her normal, pleasant countenance for which Lord Al was greatly relieved.
Hence, I am back.
Ancora imparo
