Facebook?

I’m a tough old broad. I don’t give up easily and I’ve always wanted to be more technologically knowledgeable. (I dare you say those two words in a row quickly.) I thought I wanted to know how to use Facebook like a lot of other people do. After all, anyone who IS anyone is on Facebook, right? So, once when my son visited, I cornered him to help me and he set me up.

However, all good things come to an end and that was all Rafi had time for on that visit. After he went home, I took advantage of a very patient young friend to become more computer literate and asked him to teach me how to actually use Facebook. He tried. He knew what he was doing. I learned a little. Whatever was I thinking?

At first it was thrilling. I suddenly heard from a few wonderful people out of my

How do they know???

distant past whom I hadn’t heard from in years. That was pleasurable, but also a little scary. How did they know so quickly I was on Facebook? I would feel better if I understood more about how these things really work.

There are the many emails I now receive telling me I have 28 or 35 new notifications, or this person and that person want to be my ‘friend’. I don’t know most of them. Why would they want to be my friend? If I didn’t know me would I want to be my friend? And are they even aware that they do? I wonder…. Then, how much time does it take to view 28 or 35 new notifications? And, can I spare all that time?

All those colours and pop ups can make me dizzy.

I also get emails telling me someone or other has posted a new photo. If i know them, I do try to go see them. Sometimes I manage and sometimes I don’t. What I too often find are numerous advertisements, many of which pop up in boxes, and so much dizzy-making colour busyness and confusion that I find myself rapidly withdrawing. It’s a matter of self-preservation. I have a Vestibular Disorder. This kind of moving visual thing can be a trigger for dizziness.

Over all, I’ve discovered, after the initial joy in finding and touching base with treasured old friends again, Facebook can mercilessly gobble up your time as well. Yes, I am retired. Yes, I don’t work anymore. Still, there are things I need to do, or want to do, or find more interesting to do with my free time.

This old body of mine demands more attention than it used to.

As an ancient personage, I have discovered everything takes longer than it used to and this old body of mine demands a lot more attention than it used to. So, the question is: Do I really have time for all this?

What is your experience with Facebook? I want to know if you use it and what you think.

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C’mon, give an old lady a break

Look I’m 80. I didn’t grow up with computers or most of today’s  technologies. Surely I’m not the only one who would be grateful to be able to buy a phone, or radio, or whatever, which will just do what I want it to do. Is this too much to ask?

I wanted to buy a pedometer

Besides, trying to make my way through poorly organized, very long instruction booklets with small print is not easy. Often the product is made in China, and I fear the instructions are too. They have a long way to go before they can be described as helpful. My son, who knows so much more than I do about these things, I note, doesn’t bother reading them. He just seems to know what to do. No fair.

Just bought a new pedometer. That’s all I wanted. Something to replace the one I lost a few years ago which used to count my steps. They apparently don’t sell those anymore, so I asked the salesclerk if he would please set up this new one for me. He kindly obliged.

USB Cable, whatever that is

CD Rom which I’ll never use

He opened the package, withdrew a CD Rom (Health management software) some USB Cable, whatever that is, plastic clip-on holder, actual pedometer (Yeah!), and the instruction manual in English and French. The English portion alone is 40 pages long! Under ‘Important Safety Information’ you are warned to read ALL the information in the instruction book before using the unit. (I won’t.)

I can’t resist telling you the hard plastic outer package measures 7 3/4” x 6 1/2”. (If you need that in metrics, you’re on your own.) Then, there’s a second inner hard plastic package which is approximately 6 1/2” x 5”. The actual pedometer is about 1 1/2” x 2”.

When all I want is a pedometer, is all this extra stuff and packaging necessary? I have children and a grandson. I want them to have a decent environment left to live in after I’m gone. How will that be possible with all this waste?

Okay, now back to setting the gizmo up. The first thing the clerk asked was how much I weigh. I’ve never lied about my age, but to tell the truth, I’ve always lied about my weight. Few people have been told that. It’s privileged information. The only ones who do know are my daughter, whom I trust with my life; Trudy, one of my closest friends; and my doctor.

‘What do they need that for?’

Is he telling everyone how much I weigh?

‘That’s the next step in setting it up.’

Goodness me. Now the fellow knows how much I weigh — I don’t even know his name. Doesn’t seem fair to me. Well, on to the next step.

‘How long is your stride — in metrics?’

My stride??? In metrics? They didn’t teach metrics when I went to school. I also spent years in the U.S. where they flatly refuse to deal with such nonsense and I don’t blame them. Besides, when was the last time you walked around with a measuring tape to figure out how long your stride is, in metrics or otherwise? Are they nuts?

How long is my stride???? Are you kidding?

By now the poor guy was probably regretting being kind to this cranky old lady. I decided to plop down on my walker — this was obviously going to be a very long, complicated process. He patiently explained that the instructions suggest you measure your stride before setting the darn thing and read me the options they list. I hadn’t a clue.

‘I’m short. Choose the lowest option or whatever.’

This pocket pedometer seems to be able to do many things like count your calories, check your heart rate, tell you how much fat you’ve burned, see if your steps are aerobic, etc., etc. I wonder — will it take the dog out and cut my toe nails?