Dear Help Line
This is the phantom green photographer again.
I am embarrassed to say that the photos I took on my last fun filled visit to play with my grand children are still on my camera. I'll be honest here, I originally focused my inquiry to my eldest daughter, who has been very patient with me. When she was here last (April) she wrote up yet another "never fail" check list to get the job done; but here I am again . . . stuck. Part of my problem is that I can't intelligently describe my request. Would this be downloading? uploading? side loading? transloading?
Here is the checklist:
From camera to computer -------
Click Computer
Turn ON camera (you'll be proud of me for figuring out that one by myself. It only took me 34 min.)
Double click Canon power shot
" " Removable storage
" " DCIM
Now that I'm this far, and since I don't understand the terminology, I can't describe my problem, except to say that I just want to be able to put the photos in my 2014 file to be labeled - before it gets to be 2015!
If you have any idea what I'm talking about, would you please reply from your primer book on "Backwards Computer Grandmothers"? .
Thank you, overloadingly!
Friday, June 6, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
The Race
Yesterday at church, Danny White spoke to us. He is the High Counselor over our singles ward. He is also a past ASU and professional football player for the Dallas Cowboys, and is still employed by the Cowboys as a spokesman/ commentator. He has lots of stories about his football career, but happens to be a great speaker about life and testimony also.
I learned a lot from him and soaked in every word. At the end of his talk he recited a lengthy, but meaningful poem. I was impressed that he had it memorized; like it had been a part of his life for a long time. I made a note to look up the poem when I got home:
The Race
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” they shout at me and plead,
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win the race
Or tie for first, if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And ‘mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he’d disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that’s all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face.
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race!”
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running more. Three strikes, I’m out…why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, a loser all the way.
“I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But, then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place.
You weren’t meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is no more than this–to rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, “Get up and win the race!”
by D. H. Groberg
I learned a lot from him and soaked in every word. At the end of his talk he recited a lengthy, but meaningful poem. I was impressed that he had it memorized; like it had been a part of his life for a long time. I made a note to look up the poem when I got home:
The Race
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” they shout at me and plead,
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win the race
Or tie for first, if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And ‘mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he’d disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that’s all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face.
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race!”
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running more. Three strikes, I’m out…why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, a loser all the way.
“I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But, then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place.
You weren’t meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is no more than this–to rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, “Get up and win the race!”
by D. H. Groberg
Monday, May 12, 2014
Monday, May 5, 2014
One day older than*&^%$
This spoke to me this morning.
I have them . . .
and I am a good candidate for one, I'm sure!
Friday, April 25, 2014
Finally!
2/12/2014 . . .
.JPG)
3/10/14 . . .
4/18/20
Stay tuned. This is only the beginning!
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Raining Violets
April Showers
Though April showers may come your way,
they bring the flowers that bloom in May.
So if it's raining, have no regrets,
because it isn't raining rain, you know
it's raining violets.
And when you see clouds upon the hills
You soon will see crowds of daffodils.
So keep on looking for the bluebird,
and listening for his song
Whenever April showers come along.
It is April. And since I am a "rain" authority (it's the worrier in me), I always know that blossoms come next.
This year, after some "rain" we all witnessed a miracle when Carianne and Rusty brought home a baby girl, a gift from a mother who wanted a better life for her newborn. The process was humbling as it brought many of their loved ones to their knees, pleading for "violets".
They were notified of a birth mother that wished to pledge her baby to them 3 weeks before she was due. She had come to AZ the week before and was prompted to seek them out when she saw their profile. Days of anxiety followed, as well as the baby finally coming 6 days after the due date. Carianne was invited around midnight, to come to the hospital, as there would finally be a baby born. Camera in hand, she arrived in time to visit and greet the mother and Grandparents. That morning, about 5:30, the baby came. Julianne came down with her 2, knowing that if there was a baby, she wanted to be here! We awoke at sunrise to retrieve messages and photos on all our devices of the birth. The maternity ward was not busy and so it was decided that Carianne would occupy the room next door, conveniently to connect with the mother and her local family. Rusty would be the deliverer of clean clothes each day, which she would shower and change into, never leaving the hospital. They knew she was there and both took advantage of the down time to get to know each other more.
Tuesday, the day of releasing, was long. We, on the outside will never know the emotion that filled all their hearts that day. I can't imagine the love. Now, the most beautiful story is theirs, and so is a sweet baby, Natalie.
They were notified of a birth mother that wished to pledge her baby to them 3 weeks before she was due. She had come to AZ the week before and was prompted to seek them out when she saw their profile. Days of anxiety followed, as well as the baby finally coming 6 days after the due date. Carianne was invited around midnight, to come to the hospital, as there would finally be a baby born. Camera in hand, she arrived in time to visit and greet the mother and Grandparents. That morning, about 5:30, the baby came. Julianne came down with her 2, knowing that if there was a baby, she wanted to be here! We awoke at sunrise to retrieve messages and photos on all our devices of the birth. The maternity ward was not busy and so it was decided that Carianne would occupy the room next door, conveniently to connect with the mother and her local family. Rusty would be the deliverer of clean clothes each day, which she would shower and change into, never leaving the hospital. They knew she was there and both took advantage of the down time to get to know each other more.
Tuesday, the day of releasing, was long. We, on the outside will never know the emotion that filled all their hearts that day. I can't imagine the love. Now, the most beautiful story is theirs, and so is a sweet baby, Natalie.
Happy Birthday, Carianne! (April 9)
Happy Birthday, Nattie Lou (April 6, 2014)
I love you!
Mom (Grandma)
I love you!
Mom (Grandma)
* * * * * * * * * *
Currently, we are seeing dark clouds upon the hills. The story is incomplete. As with adoption stories, the anxiety is heavy. Struggles ensue as legalities become real. It would be nice if we could just snap our fingers and ride off into the sunset. But for now, little Natalie is the prize of all prizes, and she is worth every rain shower that will come our way. Violets and daffodils will follow.
Prayers are fervent for Carianne and Rusty. You are welcome to join in. We know there is a beautiful purpose for trials. Because of a loving Father in Heaven, who knows us better than we know ourselves, we can do hard things.
It's May.
We're intensely listening for bluebirds !
It's May.
We're intensely listening for bluebirds !
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