Granny in the Information Age

TRUE STORY

Yesterday while chatting with my six year old granddaughter, answering questions about the nearby West Mims fire and how the various animals would be cared for if and when an evacuation of our home was required. Then she asked when I, and the critters  and Grandpa, were going to live in her backyard in a camper.  I replied that depended on the the fire activity and vagaries of wind and weather.

So this precocious little girl asked me what the fire was doing right then, May ten.  Having spent the day away from the computer and away from home and away from the fire area I couldn’t tell her.

That is when my age showed.

My six year old Granddaughter looked at my phone, what I call a telephone, but is really a mini-commputer, and said “Don’t you have Google?”  I replied I sort of did,  but that a box kept appearing telling me I had to do some rigamarole and download applications and buy things and so I didn’t use it. 

As I was telling her this, she reached across, mashed some icons on the touchscreen, to fast for me to see while I was watching her lovely face, then looked at me and said “There you go.”

Ha!  I started to say, “See  what I mean … ”  BUT there was an available search page for Google.  I had been struggling with this for months.  In less than two seconds she solved that problem.

I did the search, and found the information available, at that time, about the fire.  I did know where to look, but not how to use my device. 

This same child figured out how to advance through the photo library in my first digital camera when she was three.  I had no idea how to do it.  I was afraid I would delete what was not saved elsewhere.  She had no such ego fears.

This is a different world from the one in which I grew up.

Agawela May 11, 2017
ⓒBearspawprint2017

It Is Enough

.
.
In weary pain,
I wake from
No sleep.
.
My body
Weeping
Cold sweat,
Silent, through
Screaming pores.
.
Grey dawn mists
Slowly drift
Revealing only
More pain.
.
The night’s
Sleepless
Horrors
Are to be worn
Beneath my skin,
Wild with mad
Gyrating cilia.
.
In my little
Corner room,
Insulated
With books
I vainly try
To quit my
Groans and cries.
.
If I relax
This tension
Forcing movement,
I shall fall back
Into  the wailing
Maelstrom
Of agonies,
Which is the
Night I carry
As flesh.
.
There is no one
To hear,
But the dogs,
Always listening
With heart, hear me,
And whimper.
I force myself
Into quiet.
.
How can
My skin
Contain
The living thorns,
Burning nettles,
The hellish dance
Of damned
Wasps stinging,
Fiery welts
Visible only through
Demyelinated nerves?
.
How conceal
The crawling ants,
And fleas biting,
Biting everywhere,
The tiny piranhas
Chewing my legs,
My face, my arms,
And my broken back?
I am clothed
In shimmering
Veils of pain.
.
I brush pain
Through my hair,
Parting grief
And sorrow
To be a silvered
Plait of endurance.
Can this puny neck
Hold such a
Burdensome head?
.
Will my smile
Crack my aged
Screaming mask?
.
From what well may I
Replenish strength?
.
There is a child
Who needs to know
She is wonderfully made.
She needs to know
She is joy to my eyes.
.
It is love
That animates
My creaking body.
.
It is love that
Smoothes my
Frantic grimacing
Into gentle
Smiling serenity.
.
There is a small child
Waiting for
Her happy Granny,
A Granny
Always delighted
To see her.
With dancing eyes,
And sparkling joy,
That laughing,
Strong, cuddly
Granny, full of fun,
Is me,
.
It is love
That replenished
My strength.
It is love that
Puts the sparkle
In my eyes,
And is love
That allows
Me to laugh,
If only for
A little while.
It is enough
To know a small
Child’s smile.
.
.
Bear … 01.13.2015
ⓒBearspawprint2015
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