Every day there’s something oldto feel sorry about–what I should have done and didn’t,or what I did, and kept on doing. I want to believe everyone’s forgotten by now.Then I picture them thinking back. And those who’ve diedand earned the wisdom death allowsjust shake their heads and sigh.“Very funny,” my father would say after my sister and I played some cruel little joke on him.“Ha, ha,” he’d add,to let us know he got the point. We want to forgetuntil we start to forget.We want the past to change,and we want it back. “Enough is enough,”my father used to sayto tell us it was over. – Posted from my iPhone.

When I moved out of my house into a small cottage in the spring of 2009, the loneliness got to be a little difficult at times. In my kitchen I placed a G4 iMac on the granite counter, with the intention to use it for email, web surfing. The counter had two stools and was already used as a breakfast nook. The iMac (to me) fit perfectly. I installed iTunes on it, lots if music . Then bought it a Cepstral voice (the British male voice) which made any spoken voice feedback sound terribly proper. I named it Alfred. I wrote some applescripts, turned on the built in voice recognition…