Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Powering down

Friday evening. The four of us have washed up on the shore of the weekend. We have survived the storms of the week and are relieved to have reached dry land. But husband Va-vay's weekend gets off to a bad start. He returns home bearing a broken laptop, silently carrying it up the stairs to our flat, held out in front of him like a bird with a broken wing that he intends to nurse back to health. His look is doleful. It's understandable. This calamity hurts Va-vay more than it would most people. Computers are not just computers to him. They are friends. With distinct personalities, feelings, hopes and dreams. Unlike most of us, Va-vay neither takes computers for granted nor loses his temper when one of them fails to co-operate. Instead, he is saddened. Equally, he tends to describe people - notably himself - in the language and terms of computers. Later that evening, almost too tired to talk after a relentless week of work and childcare, he explains to me that he cannot discuss the DVD we have just watched. He is going to sleep: "I think I might be powering down. It's like when the computer battery has gone. It just has to shut down. There's no option." Within seconds, he is snoring. Next to him the computer bag emits a companionable beep. I hear no more from either of them for some hours.

Posted 23 May 2009 14:00

Husband

Comments

Zornhau said:

Brilliant!

It's so true - we talk about initiating the children's power down mode....

Posted 24 May 2009 00:12

Helen said:

Intelligent life, just not as we humans know it.

Posted 25 May 2009 08:31

Vanessa said:

I some give a little whistle which Malcolm tells me is my powering down indicator...

Posted 25 May 2009 16:54

Helen said:

When V. asks a question and I have a silent think to myself before saying anything he tells me I should have a Catherine wheel sign to show I'm processing thoughts.

Posted 25 May 2009 17:40

iota said:

I've always loved Va-vay, but, um, his pedestal is crumbling just a weeny bit at this point. I mean, it's lovely that he's so considerate of the computers he works with, but you need to explain to him, they don't have feelings. Hard to break into his innocence and spoil it, I know, but if you don't tell him, who will?

He's going to have to get over it, and put that broken laptop in his favourite bins.

Posted 25 May 2009 20:23

Experimental Mum said:

I must admit I too love my little laptop and have nightmares about losing it, sad I know!

Posted 01 June 2009 10:33

Helen said:

No, not sad. Is good we humans can love inanimate objects.

Posted 02 June 2009 19:24

Helen said:

Iota, we did a big clear out before Christmas of lot of junk, oops, sorry, did I say that? I mean much-loved equipment that was re-purposed to the charity shop. There is no way he would be persuaded to dump it in any bin - favourite or otherwise - what with his ecological leanings.

Posted 02 June 2009 19:25