As if having the world's worst internet connection is not enough of a burden (we have a neighbor who travels to remote parts of the world for his job and he assured us that he gets better wi-fi in Antarctica than on our street. Ant-freaking-penguin-arc-ti-ca) our router has started disconnecting itself with the petulant irrationality of a toddler throwing toys.
I brought it into our Mac repair shop and the guy said, "Ah, need a new one, do you?"
"Do I? I was sort of hoping you could fix it."
[Slight aside but my beloved seven (eight? ten?) year old camera has been acting arthritic lately. When I take a picture there is a long, long, LONG pause between my pressing down and the shutter snapping into action; during which time my subjects tend to stop whatever they were doing that needed to be preserved for posterity and wander off. I've been taking a lot of pictures of empty spaces as a result, so I called my local camera repair place and asked if I could bring the camera into them.
"Well you could," the guy said hesitantly, "but chances are we'll have to send it to the manufacturer at which point it is just cheaper to buy a new one."
Camera. Repair. Shop.
Insert my muttering about modern production standards and the culture of wastefulness and how one used to be able to get a camera repaired good as new for a dime and still have enough left over to go the cinema and get a bite to eat afterwards. Mutter mutter mutter.]
All of which is to say that I left the time capsule with the guy but I am not remotely sanguine that we will have internet again by tonight. So I am writing this in the carpool line (Patrick's school - now THAT'S a wi-fi connection) to let you know I won't be writing today and...
and here's Patrick now.
PPS CAMERA REPAIR SHOP