Tech Support

To all those New Yorkers out there, remember the regents?  To receive your high school diploma, you had to pass the state-wide regents tests.  For some reason, at that point, to get into college, it was necessary to take at least three years of high school math and science.  I tremble at the remembrance.  How I made it through algebra, geometry, intermediate algebra and trigonometry I have no idea.  My brother had to tutor me for the regents exams because numbers just weren’t my thing.

In college we had to take either a year of math or a year of philosophy.  Needless to say, I opted for the latter.  Allegedly I should have learned logic.  Forget it.  I’m not a logical person.  For science I took botany.  No math involved.  In our second semester we worked in the greenhouse; and we were told if we ever referred to “soil” as “dirt” we would fail.  Well, I got a C because of some mealy bugs in my hanging basket.  But science done with until I made the fatal mistake of taking the first semester of inorganic chemistry.  All math.  How the hell I ever learned how to use a slide rule, I’ll never know.  How lucky students are now with calculators doing the work.

My inroads into numbers over, I could live my life in perfect harmony. I have no idea why, the first time I filled out my tax return, the government wanted more money.

Marriage came along, husband included.  His field was electrical engineering, something about the Gaussian principle or the like.  Since my mother always took care of the household accounts, I sweetly suggested to him that I do the same.  It took him only one month to discover that the checkbook didn’t balance.  I was shocked because in high school we learned all about balancing checkbooks.  Did I forget to write in some of those checks?

Sweetie took over the economics.  Later I discovered that the little notebook he carried with him while we were dating contained every penny he ever spent. Diabolical?

I must say I gladly relinquished all this money stuff to him and, unlike most couples one reads about, we never argued about money—except once.  That’s when I bought $50 worth of slip cover material in a vain effort to recover a couch. Who knew it could be so complicated?

My husband, bless him, took full control of the nitty-gritty of our lives together.  He handled the finances, the house repairs, fixing tickets at the university as I found their parking regulations unacceptable.  I was left to rear our children into the magnificent beings they became—and to think my own thoughts.

Technology was introduced into our house and our lives.  Appliances?  Everything seemed to come with a booklet that I was supposed to read.  I read novels, magazines, nonfiction, I do NOT read booklets with instructions on how something is supposed to operate.  If I can’t figure it out by looking at it, what’s the point?  This is why my husband had to explain how to use the new sewing machine I bought.  (But why, then, could he never figure out how to load the dishwasher properly or fold a towel correctly.  Suspicious?)

Now there’s one good thing about me technologically.  I don’t read booklets, but if someone explains it to me verbally—perhaps many times—I get it.  Yes, I stumble and things need repeating, but I’m not a total dunce.  My husband, who could become impatient with students who didn’t understand statistics—like who does!—was very patient with me.

Trundle backward fifteen years ago when my husband fell on his head.  All of a sudden, I had to take care of everything he previously took care of.  Like the universe had suddenly gone mad.  I still remember being stopped by a cop because I didn’t have the new car registration sticker.  I didn’t even know I needed one.  He was very nice, and I managed to get the sticker the same day.  Fortunately, the state now sends out notices.

That was only one of the myriad of petty details that make up a life that was now down to me.  How did I handle it all?  Poorly.

I can remember friends telling me that I should know how to do all of the things my husband previously took care of because what if something happened to him. I pooh-poohed their suggestion.  Nothing was going to happen to him.  Until it did.  So, women of the world, beware, if you depend on anyone other than yourselves.

Did I ever overcome my bewilderment?  Well, sort of.  I had a good financial advisor and the university had a good set-up as far as health care that I took advantage of.  But frankly, I wasn’t going to make it on my own.

Enter—my daughter.

Here was a woman who always took care of everything, even when she was married.  She saw me floundering and stepped in.  Well, marched in.  Okay, invaded.

I can’t believe the complicated matters she’s taken charge of.  Like when I became an employer because my husband needed a caregiver.  Do you realize how much paperwork is involved in that?  I didn’t.  No wonder people pay under the table.

Then there’s keeping an eye on my bank account and setting up automatic payments for everything.  I have to say this annoys me, as I like to see things on paper; but she assures me that I can just sign in and see the details any time I want.  Well, sure—if I knew how to sign in!

Issues with the computer, the printer, dropping cable for YouTube TV—all of these are steep learning curves for me. Yet she insists I’m capable of handing them.  Sigh.  I have to be reenforced constantly, but I occasionally get the hang of ings.

Let’s face it:  I’m an incompetent woman leading a competent life, due to tech support, first from my husband, then from my daughter.  I suppose I should feel diminished by my failings.  On the other hand, I remember a dinner with professors and spouses where everyone was extolling math of all things and one said, “I can’t imagine anyone living without math.”  To which I replied, “I have.”  Don’t know why silence descended.

Yes, I know, girls and math and I’m just living up/down to the stereotype and I should hang my head in shame.  But honestly, after the 6x7 time table I just gave up.  My talents lie elsewhere; and when I find out where that elsewhere is, I’ll let you know.