Password

There's been a new spate of articles about unsafe or insecure passwords and how people use things they can remember as passwords. Probably to go along with the big shopping season the world indulges in every year.

There's validity to it of course. If you are giving out banking or credit card information, as is necessary when shopping, you want -- or should want -- your password to be as secure as humanly possible. (Please note the word humanly.)

The articles are baffling, though. You aren't supposed to make a password that you can easily remember, but you are also not supposed to write it down and keep  it anywhere remotely around your computer or on your person.
I guess that leaves the sock drawer out.

The articles go on and on and on about how people do this or do that silliness for their passwords PASSWORD is an easy frequently-used example. Or abc123. The writer talks about how obvious this can be and how it can let people into your accounts.

What the article doesn't say is what accounts. If you are on the Internet much, you need passwords for just about everything. Newspapers. Videos. Inspirational email clubs. Prayer chains. Comic strips.

I don't know about you, but if someone wants to know what I'm reading in the newspaper (with no paper involved) that badly, I don't mind making it easy for them. Since I'll probably share the articles on Facebook or other social media, they don't even really have to hack.

Same with videos.
There is a pointless need for password after password after password. It's hardly the fault of the user to make them easy when they are unimportant. Maybe not to the page owners, but to the user, who only wants to read Dear Abby or The Far Side, the secret code to do so is unimportant.

In fact, it is a major pain in the brain.
I mean, who cares?

I would be more impressed with password safety articles that addressed specific sites and/or behaviors. My banking password is more secure than my newspaper password. And, yes, I have the same password for a few different newspapers. Although it's simpler to read the free pages that can be searched for and found.

If an article wants my attention, be specific. My Amazon account has a different password. My bills each have their own password, which is not, when possible, the account number. Address those points and passwords, content writer. Explain to the uninitiated why abc123 isn't good to access your Swiss bank account. If they don't already know that, I'm not sure how effective your writing will be. They already seem to be lacking a bit of computer savvy.

But writing for the computer experienced with no new information and with a hodge podge of heaped together statistics isn't winning you any fans, either.

Tell me something new.

Fear of Phobia

I'm becoming, I'm afraid, a borderline agoraphobic.
No, I have become a borderline agoraphobic.
The becoming I'm worried about is the full blown phobia.

I don't think that will ever happen. I have too many chores and a granddaughter. That should be enough to keep me getting out on a fairly regular basis. And there are doctor's visits for my husband, and going to the pharmacy, and grocery shopping.

Those things should all keep me going, keep me out and about. I'm not so sure they will. Even if they do, I'm not sure that some of those things count. I don't enjoy them. I don't relish going to Walmart after prescriptions. I don't stop at this store or that and peek and poke and just enjoy myself, just enjoy getting out, even though God knows I rarely get alone time except in the car. Maybe alone time isn't really that important, anyway. I can always be alone inside myself. Inside my computer, or lost in a book. (That's not really alone, though. There are people in those books, and some of them are stupider than the ones in real life. Who'd've ever thought that was possible?)

In some ways, I feel I've been heading that way -- this way -- for all my life. I've never been able to easily or naturally speak to other people, sometimes not even those I know well. I have had my electricity and my water shut off because I was unable to make the telephone calls to make arrangements to pay. (Many years ago; not recently.)

But now I leave reluctantly. Not even my writers group holds the same interest for me, because my life has so changed. For a year I had limited contact with the real world.
I had no telephone and no internet. Because of Rex's hospitalization, and his doctor's and medicines, and having to pay other people gas money, the bills got way behind. So there was little talking with anyone, except when I needed something. That doesn't encourage socializing from either party involved. At least I didn't feel that it did. .

No car -- I had to get rides, or arrange rides, everywhere and anywhere. Few trips were worth the trouble. My writer friends were the ones with the most available help, but my sisters were always there also. The writers happen to live and work closer.
But even with their help, I was isolated and alone, and there's too much to handle alone, but I did it.



I did it all, from the safety net of my home.

I'm afraid, often. I'm afraid to leave because I worry about Rex getting sick or falling when I'm gone. Some nights I can't sleep, because I'm afraid I'll wake up and he won't be breathing. I'm afraid to drive anywhere, because what if I'm involved in an accident and get hurt? What will happen to Rex when someone else brings him that kind of news? Who will take care of him while I can't?
My God, what if I get crippled?
What will happen to Rex if I get killed?

Rex, bless his heart, encourages me to go to my group, and to go to family events, if he knows about them. I usually don't tell him, because he won't /can't go. And I don't want to leave him alone for hours at a time. All the what-ifs come alive when that happens.

I can't let this progress. It must not be allowed to get any worse. Even I cannot live that self-contained. There are chores that must be done, errands that must be run. And what kind of example am I setting for Hailey if I turn myself into the Hermit Grandmother? It's bad enough that Pappaw is already that way.

Thank goodness for summer, for the season of picnics and reunions and weddings. Thank God for sisters and friends and other family who will coax me or bully me out of my little blue hole. They, more than anything I can do, are what keeps me straight, keeps me trying. Keeps me on the sane side of the line,

I can thank none of them enough. Ever.

Baby Mommy

My grand daughter has just been for a brief visit. It was a surprise visit to us all -- Her pappaw said Monday "Let's go get Hailey for a couple days." So we did. He even drove to go get her.

She's 3 1/2 now, and starting to learn letters and count and ask endless questions and wonder about everything. She has two favorite questions. "What's that, Mammaw?" and "Who's that, Mammaw?"

Parents and grandparents have long known the entertainment value of a picture album. Let me tell you, that entertainment value triples when it's a computer slideshow. Hailey will stop what she is doing and sit in the computer chair and watch the pictures change. If she knows the person, she identifies the person. If it's her, even her baby pictures, she says. "That's me! That's me, Mammaw!" Sometimes, just for variety, she will ask, "Is that me?" instead of telling. Maybe she wants to be sure.

If she doesn't know the person, question number two is in effect. "Who's that, Mammaw?"
Thank goodness that for now all I need to do is give the person a name. A half centruy and more of two lives amble across my screen. My people I know, his I'm not so good with, but I can come up with a name, and all is well in Hailey's Mammaw House world.

Some of the "Who's that, Mammaw?" photos are my daughters as they were growing up. Hailey has no problem with pictures of when Mommy was a little girl. But she happened to see a picture this time around that totally floored her.

A baby picture of her Mommy.

"Is that me, Mammaw?"
"No, that's your mommy."
Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened. "A baby Mommy?"

Whoever heard of such a thing. Now she watches for the picture to return, and squeals when it does.
I don't think she believes me.