THE PHONE AND TOASTER oven both died last weekend ... just after their warranties expired. The socket where the toaster oven had been plugged into also stopped working. And the e-mails my friend repeatedly tried to send me never arrived. It probably wasn’t a conspiracy. But seeking help from various “support services” was like falling into a black hole or getting lost in a maze of a thousand hedges. Although there is pretense of help, there seems to be no real solution in this disposable age. I learned that repair (if not impossible) costs slightly more than a new purchase. I also learned all the tools in the world won’t repair a socket, if you don't know anything about wiring.My response to all the unfixables was to leave them behind for another time and explore early morning at Crescent Beach.
As the cliché says, I stopped to smell the roses.
There were fragrant bunches of wild uncut flowers lining the pathways.
I saw puddles pool in the sand ...
and heard tall grasses whispering to the stony shore.
The broom splashed a bright shock of yellow into the hazy gray.
My short-lived gadgets, far from solid as a rock, reminded me that my body parts are like any other parts.
So now was not too soon to enjoy the sights ...
and savor the sensation of my own non-refundable life.