by Valerie Nusbaum
When Randy and I were children, playing Password meant watching a game show on television. The show was hosted by Allen Ludden, who was the husband of national treasure, Betty White. My family also had the Password board game.
Nowadays, playing password means something entirely different. It means not being able to remember what password goes with which online account. We have passwords for our computer and our email, and a password for each site we post on. In my case, that’s Etsy, Pinterest, and Facebook. Randy has a password for his Twitter account. Let’s not forget that all those medical portals and any place we shop online and have an account require us to have a valid password. We also need passwords for our phones and voicemail. I’m sure I’m forgetting some sites. Oh, I just remembered online banking, which requires a password and several other pieces of information. And don’t get me started on PIN numbers. That’s a whole other kettle of fish.
We are advised not to use the same password for everything, and that’s where I have a problem. I can only remember one password. Any more than that and I have to write it down. Then I forget where I’ve written it. I have an entire Rolodex full of passwords; people make fun of me because I’m still using a Rolodex. What would you have me do? One note: You cannot access your Land’s End account with your L. L. Bean password. Just saying.
Randy and I discussed my recent visit to an unfamiliar website on which I set up an account. I griped that I’d most likely be unable to access the site or my account in the future, but that I’d gotten the information I needed. Randy assured me that he’d been able to access his own account for a second time. He said, “Well, it took ten days and a letter from the administrator because I’d locked myself out when I used the wrong password, but, hey, I consider that a victory.”
I originally intended to write this column about my foray into Instagram. I know. I swore I’d never sink low enough to post photos on Instagram; but, since Etsy (the site where I sell my art prints online) is practically forcing us shop owners to do more self-promotion to drive sales to the site, I felt I didn’t have much choice. I managed to set up an initial account for myself, just to see what would be involved with posting photos of my work and process. That was as far as I got, because I found that I needed to open a Google Play account in order to download the Instagram application before I could begin posting. I don’t have time to play, and I rarely ever Google anyone or anything, but there was no way around it. Randy helped me set up the Google account. Naturally, I needed a password to do that, and I’d already made up another password for Instagram. Those are several hours of my life I’ll never get back, but I now have thirteen followers, so I’m sure it was all worth it.
I know, dear readers, that you must get tired of me fussing about technology and how it’s supposed to make my life easier but only seems to cause me stress and anxiety. So, I’m open to suggestions. If you can tell me a good way to keep all this stuff straight, I’m all ears. You can find me on Instagram or Facebook, or you can visit my Etsy shop and send me a convo. When I remember how to get back into my accounts, I’ll read your messages and thank you for your help. Seriously.
While all this was going on, we had a very nice thing happen. Randy got ready for work the other morning and walked outside to get the newspaper. He came back inside and had a puzzled look on his face. I’m used to that look, so I didn’t think too much of it.
“I know I’m not the most observant person in the world,” he said, “but has that green flower pot always been on the front porch?”
“What green flower pot?” I asked. We have two terra cotta pots, filled with red and white impatiens. I wondered if he meant one of those.
He dragged me to the front door and, lo and behold, there was indeed a large, very pretty green flower pot on the porch, filled with beautiful dark blue/purple petunias and violas. Maybe they’re not violas, but I get my flowers confused. I should really read the tags. Anyway, it’s gorgeous.
“Nope. That’s definitely new, and I didn’t do it. Is there a card or note?” I asked.
There was no card or note, but it certainly was a wonderful surprise. Someone was kind enough to think of us, and it really made our day. I wish I could thank the giver(s) in person, but this will have to suffice.
“I’m surprised you didn’t take credit for it,” I said to Randy.
“Yeah, I almost did, but I would have told you the pot had been there for weeks just to mess with you,” replied my loving husband.
And you wonder why most of my passwords are four-letter words.
