Follow The Leader

LEGEND:

Jalopy         Three-year -old Sony Vaio Laptop with Docking Station

Jalopy Jr.     Daughter Berit's three-year- old Macintosh laptop, missing several keys

There is a scene in the book On Mexican Time where the author leaves a manuscript on a park bench in a small town in Mexico. It's the early 80s when writers worked on typewriters and the only record of a document was what was on the printed page.

The lost manuscript represented two years of work. Lucky for him someone turned it into the local radio station ---seems in that small town the radio station doubled as the town's lost and found department. It was a defining moment in the book --this gesture of goodness helped the protagonist decide to leave L.A. and move to the quaint Mexican village.

I remember when I was reading it wondering why he hadn't made a copy of the manuscript. Certainly they had copy machines back in the early 80s.

I remember thinking, wow that is risky behavior

The Floppy Disk is today's park bench.

About six weeks ago  my son Noah came home for the weekend form the University of Wisconsin. He spent much of his time using Jalopy to finish a paper he had been working on for a psychology class. Moments before he was scheduled to leave to go back to school, he asked me to transfer the document onto his floppy disk.

Jalopy ate a piece of the floppy's metal . Noah's paper was lost. At the time I suggested he switch from the antiquated floppy to the new age USB storage device. 

In a piece of motherly advice I  also suggested that from now on he should probably send himself an email with important documents before he used any removable device to yank them from his computer.

The Email as Today's Local Radio Station

Noah called last night - it was about three minutes after I discovered the document that I thought was safely stored on my trusty USB Storage Device  as I was transferring it rom Jalopy Jr to Jalopy had now disappeared. I was not happy.

We chatted about this summer and Noah expressed his condolences about my lost document.

Before hanging up he offered this piece of filial advice, "You know, mom," he said, "When you are working on an important document you should email a copy to yourself for an added backup."

By the tone of his voice I knew he didn't remember the source of this pearl of wisdom.

He was right. If only I had sent an email, I would have felt like the guy in On Mexican Time when he walked into the radio station and they handed over his lost document.

Instead I need to write a note to myself:

Sometimes you give people great advice, now try following it.