I love a good cult. They’re ever so comforting. You really know where you stand with an organisation like that. And the fact that a cult is organised is, if you are a regular reader of this blog and understand that organisation at The Mom’s is a four-letter word, rather appealing. Things happen in an orderly and functional fashion. With the sort of predictability I can work with.
I have long been a devoted Fruit Loop as the case may be. These sorts of laptops don’t ask me too many questions to which I don’t know the answer, and they’re sort of polite in a non-aggressive way.
And, what’s more important, is this simple fact: The Mom can work one. No problem.
A few years back, her last machine started to make its death knell. Skype chats became slightly more frustrating than usual. There was a lot of back and forth about how cameras on either side of the Atlantic were greyed out, there was a lot more cursing and crashing about, until finally there were just phone calls.
The worrying thing was that all of us, to a certain extent, used The Mom’s computer as an auxiliary backup device. Sure, we had elephant drives and cloud accounts, but better safe than sorry has always been the motto we strive to adhere to and so everyone had a folder on The Mother Machine. Whether or not The Mom was ever aware of this remains to be seen. Because it’s impossible to see her desktop – which is, funnily enough, not unlike her actual desktop: covered in files and random bits of paper. Anyhow, that The Mom had a computer that functioned predictably and in good order was vital. For everyone. The Mom did all our banking, all the tracking, shipping, ordering, communicating and so on and so forth, online. Nevermind her various writing projects – though, since she’s fond of a good print out she might have been able to piece things back together again if the unspeakable should have happened.
I remember I exchanged a series of tense texts with Crazy D – he may have been working at the time and we certainly weren’t in the same time zone, thus I may have been waking him up. I don’t remember. Either way, we agreed that for Easter, we would purchase The Mom a new machine. Whether or not it was to be had at the Mother Ship or one of Crazy D’s exclusive and somewhat shady shops was none of my concern. I just needed to make sure that The Mom had a working Fruit.
It was an ideal gift in many ways, not the least of which because Crazy D, being in the country at the time of the giving, would then be in charge of setting it up. This sort of thing is often left to me to take care of, for reasons I really don’t understand. I understand the basics of computing. I can install software and update drivers and find some halfway decent torrents, but the shuffling about of data is not one of my strong suits.
In fact, when I arrived home for my summer holidays, and L’il Sis greeted me with a smile, hug and request for assistance, to transfer data from the old fruit to the new fruit, I remember thinking to myself that things were about to go pear-shaped rather more quickly than they normally do, whilst I am on holiday. Because I had tried to do the very same thing at Christmas. I’d bought a gently bruised fruit to help my old, rotting fruit Mei-Chan whom I dearly love (yes, I have an emotional attachment to these things but who doesn’t? Besides, they contain most of my life) manage to struggle through another winter. I wanted them to share a brain. I got a lot of cords, I put bluetooth on, I put it off, I looked at help pages and forums until I finally gave up and decided that they wouldn’t want to have the same brain anyhow.
My lack of success in this area did not bode well for success as far as L’il Sis’ needs were concerned. And though I like to think of myself as the sort of resident genius, I was relieved to learn that sense had prevailed and they had taken the new fruit to the Mother Ship for assistance.