Computers 101

Daughter argues that she needs a new computer for her schoolwork. She is currently using the MacBook we bought for all three kids to share when we first moved from England to Canada. They were thrilled, and buying it gave us some breathing room before they resumed clamouring for the puppy we had also promised them.

So, I count on my fingers. We moved to Canada eight years ago. EIGHT YEARS AGO. Goodness gracious me.

I get over my shock and check out the once beloved computer, typing something about a quick brown fox skipping over a lazy fence by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon. Or rather, kipping by the light of the moo, the moo, the moo, because the 'S' and the 'N' don't work. Some letters cannot be capitalized. 

Okay, perhaps daughter is right about needing a new laptop. When she gets back from camp, she and I will go shopping. I feel capable of helping her because of the education I received after my own laptop was stolen, when I had to go to the computer store to replace it ("My Ten Plagues," 2015). I ended up, eventually, with a saleswoman who was also a brilliant teacher. First one, then another assistant had retired in defeat, and I cursed anew the thieves who forced me into this situation. If the police caught them, I wished their punishment would include having to choose me a new computer. 

But then I found Robin. 

Robin was maybe a year or two past her teens, of the generation for whom the vocabulary of bytes and gigs is as familiar as a MacDonald's menu. She explained everything in words from my millennium of origin. She said: "Look, the whole system, the computer, is like a library. Think of the processor as a librarian; its speed is how quickly she or he can run back and forth to the stacks to get the books you want. The RAM is like the size of the library table at which you are sitting. How big it is determines how many books you can have open at once. And the memory is how much the whole library holds, like, how many books can fit in the stacks?" I gazed at her and wondered if she could hear the 'click' in my head as the whole thing made sense. I understood, and I expressed my gratitude. Robin shook it off, disclaiming any special knowledge or skill. 

I think of her, as well as of my own children, when people express pessimism about the future of the planet. We have some pretty smart cookies coming down the pike. We should try to remember that when we feel excessively worried.

And for anyone wondering what a librarian is, or a book, it's bedtime, dearie.