Free to contemplate unusual moos

I'm in a lawn chair on the deck and on my knees is a new laptop computer, and I'm thanking the IT deities for finally making it possible for me to take work home with me. The crippled computer in my office deleted itself permanently and was replaced yesterday by a shiny new laptop that runs faster than a speeding bullet and leaps tall buildings in a single bound, if you believe the hype.

I like the keyboard. It's just the right size and it's good to have legible letters on the keys, which don't stick or make loud obnoxious clickety sounds. The wide screen is clear and readable and lacks the scratches and smudges that gave my old computer character; right now I've got it set up to display a slide show of my favorite photos from the California trip, so every few minutes I see a crisp new image reminding me of that refreshing time.

This computer's best characteristic, though, is its portability. For a long time my old computer balked at booting up and refused to recharge its battery, so I got in the habit of leaving it turned on and plugged in all the time. A laptop computer that can't be unplugged or turned off is like a set of handcuffs chaining me to my desk, exactly where I don't want to be during this loveliest time of the year.

Far better to sit on the deck drinking iced tea and working on writing projects while the wind sweeps through the trees and the birds chatter and the cows moo in the field across the way. I keep hearing a call that sounds like a baby crying down near the creek and I can't decide whether it's a bird or an abandoned toddler or an escaped calf with an unusual moo. My money's on the bird. After a while maybe I'll walk down and investigate--but if I were still handcuffed to my desk, I wouldn't even have the option of contemplating unusual moos.

I've been working in my office all week but today begins my liberation. Anyone who needs to track me down can just listen for the sound of fingers flying across the keyboard.

The very quiet keyboard.