THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, November 18, 1994 TAG: 9411170196
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 84 lines
Even before Alexander arrived, last Thursday was not a day like any other day.
It started out with rain, something we haven't had in weeks. When it rains Charlie scratches.
Last Thursday he outdid himself. His scratches started at the tips of his claws, worked their way upward through his crotch to his armpits, made a slight detour to the tip of his tail and ended behind his ears where he took a brief break before starting the process over again.
He was on his third trip past his navel when Tom, the computer consultant, arrived to diagnose my ailing modem.
A modem is the little gizzwatch that turns computer information into something that can be sent over telephone lines. For 11 months and 24 days it had connected me with the newspaper so that I could press a couple of keys and send words flying from the screen to the newsroom.
At 11 months and 25 days, five days before its warranty ran out, it had a stroke. All it would do was sit pitifully on my desk and whimper.
Bill and I spent three hours that evening striking keys and checking out connections and phone lines. I know virtually nothing about electronics. Bill knows less about computers. Together we decided that the fault was in the modem, but we couldn't be absolutely certain. That's when we called Tom.
Tom arrived on the dot of 9 last Thursday morning. The room that Charlie and the computer shared was filled with flying dog hair. That which wasn't flying was caught in Charlie's throat or firmly stuck to the computer screen.
Tom sat down to work on the computer. Charlie scratched, dug and gagged. I drew a chair up beside Tom so I could answer any questions he might have and began browsing through the instructions for the new camera I had bought the previous afternoon.
At 9:20 the phone rang. It was Andy and Kristin calling from the Columbia Hospital for Women. ``Looks like today's the day,'' they said in unison.
There is no way the day on which your first grandchild arrives could ever be considered an average day, even if your dog wasn't digging himself into oblivion, some guy wasn't doing weird things to the computer that links you to the outside world and you're trying to understand the workings of a camera that has an instruction manual that's thicker than the one for your car.
The rest of the day went by in sort of a rainy blur. There were more progress reports from Andy and Kristin; hourly calls from Bill, my mother, his mother and the two uncles-to-be; a call from someone wanting to interview me (now there's a switch) and half a dozen calls from people wanting to shampoo my carpet or clean my chimney.
Through it all Tom pressed keys, clicked icons and muttered things like ``hmmm'' and ``oh, my.'' Through it all my terminally ill modem just wheezed, moaned and clicked weakly.
After three hours Tom pronounced it officially dead and, between phone calls from and about those involved in the developing situation at the hospital, we discussed plans for the modem's replacement.
Tom then set about reorganizing my computer files and adding a few nice little touches to its software.
As he was about to leave I spied something that looked like a wailing siren with the word ``Sally'' under it.
``What's that?'' I asked Tom.
``Remember the movie ``When Harry Met Sally?'' he asked.
``Of course,'' I replied.
``Remember the restaurant scene?'' he continued.
My brain was in overload but I made the connection.
``You mean if I click on that icon I get all of Sally's moans and groans?'' I asked.
``Uh-huh,'' Tom nodded.
Tom left. Charlie continued scratching. I shot a test roll of film with my new camera and went out to do a story.
Just before 10 that evening Andy called to announced that Alexander William had arrived at 9:07. Bill and I called the rest of the family, then toasted each other with some wine from a bottle we found lurking in the back of the refrigerator.
The next morning we packed a few pieces of clothes and the new camera, then left to join the rest of the family in Washington.
As I held Alex in my arms for the first time I wondered if maybe I should remove Sally from my computer. Somehow it just doesn't seem very grandmotherly to have R-rated software hanging around behind all of that dog hair on the computer screen. by CNB