On ludicrous speed, we’re all gonna die, RAM increases and a recipe

This post is long. It’s over 1,000 words. Correct post-length purists, ban me from your feeds if you must. I tried to cull sections. I just couldn’t. That’s my expressive bad and I’ll own it.

 

Last night, Steve brought me home a new computer. According to him, I got it because, apparently, I am (and I’m quoting here) “lovely”. Also, it’s “faster, prettier, can run modern software”…. I’m assuming he was talking about the computer in that last bit of his quote, and not me. I’m not very fast at all.

Boom-tish.

For the tech-details-hungry amongst you, it’s a 15″ MacBook Pro 2.5ghz i7, with 8GB ram, a 750GB Hard Drive and the optional high-resolution anti-glare screen, with added 256GB SSD driver. Because my husband works at Geek Heaven, it is even running  the new (and as yet unreleased) OS, Mountain Lion. The system boots from cold in under ten seconds. That’s less time than I take to think about what I want to do first. And apps launch in 1 second. That’s just…

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But here’s the thing: This is a top of the line machine…. as of one month ago, anyway. It’s only three weeks old. And it has just been superceded by the latest release this week. It was traded in yesterday by its owner. He didn’t want it any more. He wants the new, NEW Apple MacBook Pro with the retina display new-fandangle thingy (sorry, I’m all tech-talked out, look it up if you want to get educated on it).

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There is so much cancer around at the moment. And I’m not talking about the zodiac sign. Diagnoses, scares, waits, treatments… Parents, friends, sisters, cousins, neighbours. The Big C, man. It’s all over all of us.

I got a call out of the blue this week from my oldest friend. Her mother, one of my dearest elders from my childhood, is currently enduring a huge battle. A double mastectomy already completed, treatment for an aggressive breast cancer now begins. I’m bereft for my dear friend and her mother. My surrogate mother, in many respects. Here she is, facing this on her own; her partner died suddenly when I was heavily pregnant with the LGBB. I went to his funeral, this larger than life, funny,  retired primary school teacher whom I had adored. Hugging the belly he had only weeks before had a jolly, pleased laugh with me over, I sat on the floor at the back of the room, holding myself together and listening to his daughters stand up, in turn, and express their shocked grief at his sudden death.

We’re here one day. And sometimes, the next day we’re just… not.

Sometimes we’re granted seeing the end coming. Not all of it’s pretty. But when we’re forced into that eye-of-a-needle focus, when it’s someone so close to us and we have to see how tenuous our grip on life really is…. don’t we have to wonder?

What are we doing?

Really?

Why are we locked in a cold war fight with our loved one who wronged us so long ago we can hardly remember why we refuse to talk to them now?

Why are we getting angry at drivers in front of us?

Why are we busy meddling and assuming all sorts of incorrect things about anyone?

Why, please somebody tell me, are we teaching our children to “be the bigger person” instead of just being??

Why aren’t we teaching them to notice how they feel in their tummy and be guided by that? Tip: That purity, in them, is a better judge than any adult-affected instruction.

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We snapped the new computer up for a steal – thank YOU, Apple Gods, for allowing Steve to work in his fantasy job, knee deep in Apple products – at over $1,000 below usual retail. Given that I have worn through my second keyboard in as many years – I am a prolific shortcut-keyer – and my battery has piked, it seemed a no-brainer that we should snap it up before it hit general release for sale to customers. Call it a perk of the job.

My second replacement keyboard. I promise I'm kind to my keys. I love them… but possibly a little TOO much.

 

The guy was so desperate to get his hands on the newest MacBook Pro, he thought it was a better deal to cut this one loose and lose a bit of cash for the benefit of a computer that will, arguably, be superceded again in another couple of years’ time.

I can’t quite wrap my head around that.

That the world is filled to the brim with so much Want that not even all the Have that we already have is enough.

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This week, in a rare attempt to connect with a part of my childhood that made my tummy happy, I sought out a recipe my mother used to make. At her very best, she used to prepare this (below), bundle us all into the car early on a weekend morning and drive us into the hills, all rugged up and ready to just…. Be. Go outside and be. Sometimes, my older siblings would declare death to the other – and fight it out there and then – so the yelling and the hostility and all that emotional violence couldn’t be avoided. Not even outdoors, out of the confining walls of our unhappy house.

But man. These pancakes. Cooked to perfection over a camp fire on Mum’s iron griddle. They were The Awesome. Nothing better to an 8 year-old than unbreakable pancakes that can be drizzled with lemon and dusted with sugar and rolled into fat, edible cigars.

Be my guest. Try my childhood favourite.

 

Rubber Pancakes

1.5 cups plain flour
2 cups milk
1/4 cup applesauce (or 1Tbsp oil, I use rice bran)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 large egg

Mix it all together. Batter will be pretty thin, place 1/2 cup batter at a time into hot non-stick or lightly greased pan and cook on both sides (flip to second side once bubbles appear all over surface of pancake). Pancake will have a thick crepe texture. Serve with lemon juice and/or little sprinkle of sugar, roll up and devour. Repeat. Over and over.

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