If your past is remembered, it is not gone.
If your past is remembered, it is not gone.
For sometime now I have been threatening to write ups about auto correct. Guess what today is? I Wai type using a set of headphones and a program that prints what I say. I must speak clearly and enunciate correctly. But I also must contend with the nefarious auto correct. It doesn’t always like what I say nor does it know the difference between 22 and two or which witch is which. It amuses me and it frustrates me.
There is a wonderful joke I remember about a woman who is texting her boss to say that she is home sick with a cold. The auto correct sent the message at home in bed with a clown. I laughed myself silly. Now I will admit that day I am being super careful to see how much I can get out correctly. And wouldn’t you know it, today the auto car seems to be taking a break. I spoke too soon but we all go through this.
I was doing an art show a few years ago and they asked me for a bit of a biography. Where did I get my ideas for painting and so on. I wrote about how I had canoed in northern Ontario and swim in the ocean off the Atlantic provinces. And you see auto corrected exactly what someone did to my biography. Instead of using the word swim, no my dictation will not take it. There are three chances, I said tenses: swim, swim, swim. Nope my dictation will not take it. So what I’m going to do is I am going to take this a few paragraphs and correct them. Some of the errors are AutoCorrect and some of the errors are my dictation program refusing to recognize words.
Does this frustrate me? Yes. But life is a continual speedbump. Some of them are easy to step over and some are a challenge. But it sure as hell ain’t boring!
2 . AutoCorrect
For some time now I have been threatening to write a post about AutoCorrect. Guess what today is? I am typing using a set of headphones and a program that prints what I say. I must speak clearly and enunciate correctly. But I also must contend with the nefarious AutoCorrect. It doesn’t always like what I say nor does it know the difference between to, too and two or which witch is which. It amuses me and it frustrates me.
There is a wonderful joke I remember about a woman who is texting her boss to say that she is home in bed sick with a cold. The AutoCorrect sent the message “at home in bed with a clown”. I laughed myself silly. Now I will admit that today I am being super careful to see how much I can get out correctly. And wouldn’t you know it, today the Autocorrect seems to be taking a break. I spoke too soon but we’ll all get through this.
I was doing an art show a few years ago and they asked me for a bit of a biography. Where did I get my ideas for painting and so on? I wrote about how I have canoed in northern Ontario and swum in the ocean off the Atlantic provinces. And AutoCorrect did exactly what someone did to my biography. Instead of using the word swum, they used swam. There are three tenses: swim, swam, swum. My dictation will not take it and neither will AutoCorrect. So, I am going to take these few paragraphs and correct them. Some of the errors are AutoCorrect and some of the errors are my dictation program refusing to recognize words.
Does this frustrate me? Yes. But life is a continual set of speed bumps. Some of them are easy to step over and some are a challenge. But it sure as hell ain’t boring!
Merriam Webster says:
Swim is an irregular verb; swam is the past tense of swim, while swum is the past participle. Swum is used after have, as in “I have swum in that pool before.”
We work the hardest for those things that gives us the greatest pleasure.
Be careful what you wish for, it’s probably taxable.
I have a very personal relationship with my air conditioner. We get a divorce every winter!
To the year that was not.
We didn’t ask,
But that’s what we got!
We cancelled our classes,
Our sports and our clubs.
Churches and schools,
And even the pubs!
With sickness about,
There’s no shaking hands.
No hugging, so kissing,
No listening to bands!
One day’s like the next,
As the boredom sets in.
Those crazy odd videos,
Are not proof of a win!
I know in the future,
We’ll look back here with pride.
Despite fear and some angst,
It was one hell of a ride!
But now in this moment,
I am seriously bored.
The world’s in an uproar,
And I’m feeling ignored!
We are all in this state,
So I’m not alone.
But it feels like I am,
As I sit by the phone!
I swear I’m not crazy,
Although it seems like I am.
I can’t find a way,
To get out of this jam!
I started this poem,
With a wee bit of wit.
It seemed to be valid,
That I’ll admit!
But now it is over,
And I can’t seem to stop!
Help! I am spiralling.
I am over the top!
It’s Ok, I am fine,
Just a bit of a spell.
I guess this is the day,
When my sanity fell!
I do not know how my mind works but I am glad it does.
Humour may not be universal but laughter is.
This image is borrowed from Dan Anton’s blog: nofacilities.com with his permission.
It had stood as a barrier for so many years that people forgot why it was there in the first place. And then, there was no one left to remember.
It stood proudly for many years. Shiny and strong. It was a barrier yes, for a while but it was also an acknowledgment: This is my place. You may be welcome. The gate did open.
Over the years, lovers traded stolen kisses across that gate. Recipes were exchanged and broken hearts mended. Friends passed through the fence a thousand times and arguments ended with a slammed gate, a thousand times more. But everything moves on, inexorably. Children become parents and grandparents become ancestors. Generations. Families. Years become decades. Everything dies.
Alone. The once shiny posts turned brown with rust and there was no one left to scrape it clean. Hinges broke and the fence fell. In time it was absorbed by the forest. A forest that once was kept at bay by the shiny new fence. All that was left was the gate.
There was a sense of pride, a sense of a job well done. You see, the gate was not inanimate. It may have been created by the hands of people but spirits are alive in places that we do not know and cannot understand. But it was time.
The Spirit from within the gate felt the life force beginning it’s final journey and it remembered. Laughter and tears, wild eyed curiosity and astonishment. Life was a strange and wonderful experience. For a time. Now, sleep.
One foot in front of the other, repeat, repeat, repeat . . . . . Sometimes it’s the only way to get through your day.
a frequently irreverent and occasionally cerebral feuilleton of richard armitage studies
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