A few days ago, I returned from a week-long getaway at Canmore, Alberta’s Falcon Crest. The plans had been made 10 months ago. It was to have been after seeding of the crops was complete so Roy could attend, too. What we didn’t factor in was the spraying. With crops (and weeds!) growing like crazy this year, the little buggers had to be zapped at exactly the right moment. All of which meant Roy would join me later.
I made a quick stop in Red Deer for a stretch. When I finally arrived, it was pouring rain; I was grateful for the underground parking as I began the job of unloading the car. Because this was a studio unit, I had a kitchen and intended to do my own cooking with the dry goods and perishables I’d packed. Add to that a biggish suitcase with clothes and toiletries and a smallish one with books, movies, and writing projects, and I had a lot of stuff to move in and unpack.
The rain continued for the next two days. The balcony allowed me to enjoy the cool mountain air, and the gas fireplace made things toasty when I felt chilled.
I intended to find the right balance of working and kicking back. I got off to a great start with the working part, and was thrilled that I could get onto the hotel’s wireless. I was creating documents, working on a business plan, just chugging along. Reading or watching a movie was the reward for my diligence. It irked me that I couldn’t sleep in past seven each morning, but hey, it was what it was. I had high hopes for what I could accomplish on what was turning out to be a mostly solo retreat.
My first experience with Vietnamese food (loved it!), hours spent in a book store, and a stop in a rock and gem shop in Banff were fun diversions. But I really planned to use the distance and focus to get some nagging projects completed.
It was not to be. On day two or three, my laptop was hit by a virus. First, I was confused, then suspicious, then angry, then worried. Confused, because I had up-to-date virus protection and didn’t take unnecessary risks. Suspicious, because the wording of the dire warnings seemed a bit off and they kept diverting me to a website that could solve all my problems for only sixty bucks. Angry, because criminals were intent on hurting people and separating me from my money. Worried, because I hoped there was no lasting damage to my computer and its contents. I tried to remember when I’d last backed up my system. I had to acknowledge that everything I do, for fun or profit, is tied to that small, rectangular box of technology.
Because I wanted to have the repairs done closer to home, my well-laid plans were now scuttled as I faced life without email, internet, or Word. It seemed there was a divine plan at work, and I came to accept the not-so-subtle message. Eighty bucks later, I’m back in business. Plans, it seems, are subject to change from where I sit.