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VINTAGE FRINGE

I sad mac'd.

And it was really, really SAD. The Mac Geniuses told us that the hard drive had completely failed and based on their assessments none of the data was recoverable.

Billy, of course, rewarded their dilligence and good news by immediately purchasing a new iMac while I, devastated, cradled our deceased, but still warm, little harddrive in my arms with nothing but a flimsy plastic bag to protect it.

It looked so small, so peaceful. I couldn't imagine that it was really gone.

Let me attempt to translate what 'data' the geniuses described as 'gone.' Um. Ok. Try every single notable and non-notable event that has occurred in our lives since our last successful backup 3 YEARS AGO.

So, let's see. . . . . 3 years translates to: the birth of 2 babies, 2 baby blessings, 7 birthday parties, 11 vacations, 2 first solids, first steps, 2 first days of school, 2 first dance recitals, etc. Not to mention all the holidays. The Holidays! Try 3 Christmases, 3 Easters, 3 4th of Julys where I dressed them all alike and endured severe picture-taking hardship in order to get one PICTURE that would forever be evidence of superb mothering. And now would forever be lost.

Did the last 3 years even happen if I don't have evidence of it?

And these are just the pictures that I remember taking. I know there are thousands of candid shots and moments where I interrupted the magic of their childhood to sneak away, find the camera, and CAPTURE just how cute they were being in order to never forget. . .now I've forgotten and I don't even KNOW what I'm missing.

So I ask you, how do you quantify the VALUE of these pictures?

Priceless is the only word that accurately describes what we may have lost.

However, there is hope. Hope. That thing with feathers, perching in my soul. . .

The experts at Data Recovery in Denver, Colorado are confident that there are files on my hard drive that they may be able to locate, save, return to me. These wonderful, wonderful talented people with magic skills far surpassing even Mac Geniuses are willing to help me, rescue me, make all my irresponsible, non-backing up ways right again. They can restore the evidence of my progeny's childhood to me unscathed. . .(or at least 60% of it).

And, in extremity, asking more than a crumb of me. . . but only $950.00 to perform this miraculous feat. Albeit, nothing is guaranteed, but at least they are willing to try. TO TRY!!!

Expensive? Maybe, but they could triple their fees and how could anyone, ANYONE, let alone A MOTHER, in good conscience, refuse to pay?

I am leaving for our annual girls' trip to Florida in less than 2 days and instead of using this quiet moment to pack and plan I am, ridiculously, blogging.

Why?

Because I can't in good conscience let that Tennessee Williams poem languish any longer on the screen and also because I am notorious for finding ways to needlessly squander my time so that no matter what I am frantically rushing in the eleventh hour. I keep telling myself that I am actually ahead of the game because I never unpacked the suitcase I took to Hawaii. It has been over 2 weeks and still it sits, in my closet, unzipped, ransacked, but possibly full of enough clothes to get me through the next 10 days.