Tech Support

"Did you call?" I asked around a yawn after dialing Dad's cell. I nodded when he said they needed help with emailing a document Mom had written to the fellowship group she was in.

"She typed all these notes and she got them to print but now she can't send them to anyone. And we've clicked a bunch of stuff but nothing works." So I logged into their Gmail account (because this happens sometimes) and nodded upon viewing the document.

"Do you want all but the first line indented?" I asked, frowning at the format before rubbing at the ache in my head.

"No!" she replied and I could hear her tapping at keys and clicking on options. I did the same, nudging at margins and looking at formatting options.

"Crap," I finally muttered. "I don't know what to do." And I wrinkled my nose over using brute force and just retyping the 5 pages of notes on who was running vacation Bible school and whose turn it was to bring cookies next time. (Though I would consider attending women's fellowship on carrot cake day - I do enjoy carrot cake.)

So I listened to stories about day care drama with the other grandparents and how they bought into a vacation program ("We're spending your inheritance!" Dad happily reported in the background and I laughed.) while I looked up document templates until I found one that I liked. I pasted the document and the text aligned neatly along the left margin.

"I did it!" I reported and Mom immediately looked since we both remained logged into her account. So she copied and pasted into Gmail and sent the note to her group, leaving Dad time to ask if I'd seen this super-funny email forward. (Oh, how he loves the email forward. And, oh, how I do not care about email forwards...)

And I smiled before taking more Advil because I'd been helpful. And when my job leaves me feeling a bit like I'm chasing my non-existent tail, I'll take any moments of being effective that I can find.

Though, on that note, I am shifting responsibilities if not roles. While I've firmly turned down a relocation opportunity (given my canine situation as well as the underlying fact that I'm very settled here and have zero (well, minimal) desire to move), there is a lingering chance that I'll spend more time in Paris.

So I remind myself I'm lucky to do something that's lucrative and stable. That I work for someone who, while not without faults, does try to point me in directions I will find suitable and satisfying and takes into account what I enjoy and where I do feel effective.

I'm counting my blessings even as I scowl at other situations I'm choosing not to discuss. And hoping a little that said situations eventually sort themselves out as work seems to be doing.