The moon, stars and I guess the sun aligned on Friday, setting forward a series of very unfortunate events.
By unfortunate I mean destructive. It all started out as I was working on some photos I took at the Trash Fashion Show. Suddenly, my computer was unresponsive, declining my request to brighten up one of the shots. Then error messages started flying across the screen, and I immediately began searching frantically around the office for our computer guru Tim.
It turned out my hard drive was full – so began eight hours of backing up the files so I could delete some. It was Friday, I wasn’t about to wait the eight hours, so I headed for another computer. I typed away, thinking my troubles were behind me. I finished up, and went to save the document. Suddenly, everything froze – my story lingered in Mac’s version of purgatory and once again I was bellowing for Tim to save me.
I have learned the lesson to save my work before, during and after, many times over. The lesson always fades away and once again I find my lip trembling in front of my computer screen as I watch the “pinwheel of death” or “beach ball of doom” (Mac users, you know what I’m talking about) spin round and round and my work is lost forever.
Tim did manage to fix the problem, and somehow my story was still there, thankfully. I abandoned the computer and moved on to a new one to further spread my terror. Things went alright, and I headed home to help my Dad finish our greenhouse.
I’ve been taking photos of the greenhouse as we build it. I had pulled my memory card out of my camera to load some photos, only to find that it wouldn’t go back in to the card slot. A piece of it had broken off inside the camera. For any photographers out there, you know this is basically a death sentence for your camera body unless a very expensive technician at Canon can fish it out. I decided not to think about it, left the camera at home and started searching for my iPod – it was no where to be found.
Now I was grumpy, my camera (and meal ticket, I should add) was broken and I didn’t even have any terrible pop music to listen to on the drive out to Dad’s.
Later that evening, my horse Blackberry got tangled up in a rope and ripped off the fur just below his back left ankle. There was no blood, no redness nothing – just a bald patch. I put some salve on it just to be safe, but I thought I was being an overly cautious pet owner by doing that.
The next day, I brought Blackberry out to brush him. I took a look at the leg – which was now puffed up and swollen. The bald patch was now a scabby, bloody mess.
Some antiseptic, wound dressing, and one grumpy horse later, I lead Blackberry out to his hay, apologizing and promising him lots of treats during the healing process as he limped along.
On the way, I saw something shiny and pink covered in dirt in the paddock. I wandered over to it – it was my lost iPod. Well, at least one thing I loved wasn’t broken, somehow, but there was a very distinct notch taken out of the bottom. It looked a little like what a hoof might make.
That evening, I sat on my deck with a much deserved glass of wine, pondering my losses. As I sat there, a sunburn I’d earned began showing up, red as a lobster, on my chest and arms.
Later that night, the Canucks were booted out of the playoffs. I think it might be my fault, not Burrows, Kesler or Schneider’s. Sorry fellow Vancouver fans.
If bad things come in threes, I must be way over my quota for the week.