Well, Rosie, I'm back....

Shortly after the blog-entry of May 17th, my computer died--and kept dying through the next two months, until finally, at the instance of the pretty young nerds (Millennials), some of whom are of Italian extraction, at the Apple Store in the Ala Moana shopping center, on the first of this month (SSI pay day), I replaced the internal hard drive and bought a new external hard drive--buying the most capacious, and expensive hard drives, that Buy Rite had in stock.  And all seemed well (except of course that I was broke).  But all was not well, because Google no longer recognized my password, which had been for eight years (for fairly obvious reasons to anyone who knows that in my rare, ingenuous moments of utter sincerity I call Anatole France "mon cher maître.") And so I could neither blog nor access my email.  And so I did, what is almost impossible to do, and I contacted Google by email--and they sent me instructions on how to reset my password.  Which I did.  Et me voilà!  Or voici!  I'm back.  As Sam notably said to his wife Rosie.

Having been away, as one is prone to say, of such interstitial, lenten times as those when one's computer is dead or dying.  And yet throughout the long, dark night I pretty much always had Netflix--and watched all 54 episodes of the life of Buddha, which as told, seemingly, by Hindus, actually did buoy me up and carry me through.  And last night I watched Lion, about a little Indian boy who gets lost, and is adopted by a Tasmanian couple (and a beautiful place Hobart is shown to be); but who eventually finds his way (through Google Earth) back, after twenty-five years, to his Hindu mother.  I cried all the way through it.  Wept, that is.  No sobbing, but the tears kept flowing and the nose running.  What an adorable, brave little boy.  What a lovely man.