You either give things up, or you take them on. I happen to be happily attached to my several vices. So today I took on re-building the cruelly damaged file system of the auncient G5 Mac desktop. On account of the fact that I’d cruelly damaged it by being impatient during a file transfer to the all-new iMac 24″ machine that was meant for to take its place. Disbelieving, as it were, that a Firewire transfer could take anything like 11 hours, 51 minutes.
Two words: Disk Warrior. It goes where Disk Utility deigns not to tread.
That has taken all the morning not devoted to our, well: Devotions. And now I’m going flying, amn’t I? Just for the proficiency that’s in it.
Pray for me brothers and sisters: No, not about the flying thing. Eighteen years old today I was gazing upon the quivering chin of my first daughter. A wee, sma’ thing. I held her first, her dear mother being quite knocked about by the experience of introducing her to an amazed world.
All grown up now. Beautiful, mysterious, artistic, complex and entirely too like her dear ol’ da in ways that make us more fretful rather than otherwise.
Nevertheless, the gray hairs are, I prefer to believe, largely coincidental.