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'Where's My Buddy List?' by Joy Lee Rutter
In their twilight years, Mom and dad lived in "retirement heaven" (AKA Florida). Eventually, they separated and mom lived alone. She put the knitting needles away and bought her first computer. I'll never forget how excited she was to chat with my brother, sister, and I through text messaging. A special moment to be had by all. Or was it?
What to do if your elderly parents purchase a PC: Book a flight to their home before they remove the computer from the box. Once there, set it up, and spend no less than four weeks showing them how it works. Oh how I wish someone had given me this advice. Read on:
I'm on my computer and up pops the following IM (instant message):
Mom: “I can’t find my buddy list”
(My first thought: and yet she knows I'm online. Must be some magical 'mom' thing.) The following exchange takes place:
Me: “You’re instant messaging me, so it’s working.”
Mom: “Joy! I can’t find my buddy list. Where is it?”
I then put it in terms she’d understand.
Me: “Where’d you leave it last?”
Mom: “Huh?”
Me: “Your buddy list. Where was it last time you saw it?”
Several minutes go by before she types again, so of course I picture her looking around the house for her missing buddy list.
Me: “Did you look under the bed?”
Mom isn’t a blithering idiot. She knows I’m having way too much fun at her expense.
Mom: “Stop laughing at me.”
Me: “Mom, it’s open> You've probably minimized it.”
Mom: “Where’s my buddy list?”
Me: “Argggghhhh!!! Look on the bottom of the monitor.”
Mom: “Joyyyy. I can’t find my buddy list.”
Me: “Turn off computer and go cook something.”
Mom: “You’re funning me again.”
Me: “LMAO”
Mom: “What’s LMAO?”
Me: “Nothing. Reboot and your buddy list will return."
Mom: “Reboot?”
Me: “Shut it down with the ‘Start’ button. Wait 30 seconds, then reboot the system.”
Several minutes go by while I play Spider and her name stays online but she is no longer typing. After reviewing my last message, I realize the problem.
Me: “Mom, I just booked a flight through Travelocity. I'll be there Friday. Don’t touch another button on the computer until I arrive.”
Mom: “Oh Good! How do I turn it off?”
I miss my mom and I would do anything to help her find her buddy list, explain that “reboot” has nothing to do with shoe repair and YES, you can shut down a computer with the “START” button.
We convinced dad to buy a computer like mom, since they were separated. Yeah, we told him all about chatting online and no more long distance charges, etc. We also told him it would change his life, it's a people friendly machine, even more so than his VCR, and he'd do fine with it. And he did well with it until:
One day I sent an attachment through E-mail. Following is the problem he messaged:
Dad: “What do I do?”
Me: “Click box that says ‘download now’”
Four minutes passed, then:
Dad: “I did that. Now what?”
Me: “Open it”
Dad: “Open it?"
Me: "Click button that says "run file".
Dad: "I can’t find it”
Me: After yellow frown face, I type: “Check folder you put it in”.
Dad: “??”
Me: "Did you find it?"
Dad: “How do I find it?”
Me: “Look in folder that says ‘My documents’” by clicking the Start button… (remembering my mom’s problem with the ‘Start’ button, I instant messaged him the long explanation you’d find in ‘PC’s for Idiots’.) Three minutes later:
Dad: “Not there. Now what do I do?”
Me: “Open window...”
Dad: “huh?”
Me: “After you open window, pick up computer and toss it out. Then go buy stamps, stationary and pens and write me #%.*&$ letters! LOL.” Good thing dad had already learned a few IM acronyms because he LOL’d me back.
Dad finally learned to open attachments without losing them in some distant galaxy, but that may not have been a good thing. He wanted to read the manuscript of my first book so I (gulp) e-mailed him an attachment. Dad was giddy with excitement over being the first to read my book. However, I did not anticipate his insistence on printing it out. I thought he’d enjoy reading it on the computer in big print and on a lighted screen, but I thought wrong. Dad wanted to sit in his easy chair and hold a copy in his hands. So he clicked the ‘print’ button. When the menu requested number of copies, he typed in the page count. Poor dad. He really did not want over 300 copies of my manuscript to sell door to door. The problem he then faced; he had no clue how to stop the printer. Its buffer demanded several hundred copies of my 300+ page manuscript and since I lived 1400 miles away, I was unable to help. I tried to explain the ‘abort print job’ option, but ran into brick walls. The printing icon was minimized at the bottom of the screen, as printing icons always are, and dad could not find it to save his life. Or the life of his now tired printer. His solution? Unplug the printer. Eight months later, we went to Florida to visit and I plugged his printer back in, aborted the print job and life was good again. I sent my second book to him through the mail after it was published. While walking through the woods one day, I swear I heard a tree whisper “thank you”.
Sadly, dad passed away a week after his 79th birthday, on February 1, 2005. Dad was the sweetest man I’ll ever know and even on his deathbed, he still had a sparkle in his eyes. His last words to me were “I love you too”.
Joy Lee Rutter
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Copyright © 2006 Joy Lee Rutter. All Rights Reserved