This Apple iPhone Fell Far From the Tree

Dear Tim Cook, CEO of Apple,

A funny thing happened yesterday. Oh wait, it wasn't that funny. 

My iPhone 6 is about 1.5 years old now. It recently started doing weird stuff -- mainly not staying charged during the day so I had to carry around my charger with me everywhere I went. Kind of a pain, but hey I dealt with it. Then the new iOS came out. I tried repeatedly to download it and nothing. Wouldn't work. I deleted apps -- sorry Facebook and LinkedIn. To no avail. 

Yesterday I tried again, this time tethering my phone to my Mac (yes I also own a Mac and Apple stock -- like 2 shares).  Then it got weird. I started getting an error message, error 53. Here is a very interesting article about error 53 entitled Error 53 will kill your iPhone and no one knows what it is. Thank you Mike Wehner from The Daily Dot because you are absolutely correct. No one can explain it or repair it and your iPhone just dies. The only difference between Mike's story and mine is that my iPhone was out of warranty, and Apple will not replace a phone out of warranty EVEN if I had nothing to do with causing the error. I didn't drop the phone, I didn't submerge the phone in liquid and I didn't replace any part of the phone. It just died. But it was my fault. 

I went to the Apple store. Nope, can't help. I contacted Apple chat support. Super cheery support guy named Chris told me, "I do want to point out the price for repair listed, is the price you'd pay to have the phone completely replaced, if they are able to repair it the price will be less." (This is a run-on sentence by the way Chris. I'm a writer. I know.)

My reply, "I see."

Chris' reply, "I just know that price scares a lot of people, wanted to make sure I pointed that out for you." (There are other grammar problems here, but at this point I'm more concerned about the CONTENT of what you're saying Chris.)

You see Chris, I don't think the price "scares" people. I think it enrages them. Because I work for myself as a freelance writer, I need my phone. I don't have a "work" phone. My work phone is my cell phone.

Like a lemming to the sea, I went to AT&T to trade in my phone, but they can't give me a new phone until I pay off the remainder due on my dead iPhone 6 with error 53. A mere $243 later + $40 something in tax for my new iPhone 6 that I'll be paying off for 30 months, and I'm back in business with another iPhone 6. 

Here's the funny part, Mr. Cook. (Aside from the part where I actually bought another Apple phone.) The only thing I can relate this to is the time I bought my first couch as a 20-something. I didn't have $1,000 in cash so I signed up to pay off the couch interest-free for 1 year. I loved that couch in my crappy Raleigh apartment. Until about 2 months into couch ownership, I came home one day to find my bulldog/boxer/mutt had eaten the stuffing out of my new couch. Just destroyed it. Couch stuffing was everywhere. So I had to throw it out. And continue to pay for it as it languished in a landfill somewhere. 

I can't even donate the phone, as I normally would, because no one can get in the phone to wipe my personal info. So I'm going to mail my error 53 lemon of an iPhone to you Mr. Cook. You sort it out. Now it's your $300 paperweight. 

Disappointments Large and Small

This morning I had an email from Beniyam one of my sons back in Ethiopia. I'd asked about everyone on campus including their pet dogs. The puppy, Jerry, died. He doesn't know why. Some kind of disease he thinks.

One thing I've learned traveling outside the US, is that in a place as poor as Ethiopia, animals are often neglected. Pets are a luxury that most cannot afford. The boys at Kolfe orphanage had three dogs. Now only the two older dogs remain - Jumbo and Bob.

For the boys at Kolfe Orphanage, losing a pet is a disappointment, but it's one of so many that I doubt they will give it much thought. After interviewing dozens of boys who don't know their birthdays and can't remember what their mom looked like, the puppy's death is just another twist in the road.

Before going to Ethiopia, a volunteer collected hearing aids to donate to some of the children who are losing their hearing. We had to choose two boys and two girls for testing and hopefully fitting with a hearing aid. Thankfully we didn't have to make that decision -- the orphanage directors made it for us.

We took two boys from Kolfe Orphanage, Dejene and Ephrem, and two girls from nearby Kechene Orphanage. We never even asked the girls their names. They were young, maybe 6 years-old. Both were signing, not speaking. Even I was thinking this doesn't look like a problem that can be solved with a hearing aid. After driving for an hour, waiting for an hour and then being tested, the doctor explained the girls could not be helped at all. Even in the US, surgery would only marginally impact what they could hear.

The two boys were in better shape. They could still hear. So the doctor asked a volunteer to bring them both back again the next day. For whatever reason, no one thought to show the hearing aids we had to the doctor during the first visit. More hours of driving and more hours of waiting and the doctor again could not help them because the hearing aids were made for adults and wouldn't fit in the boys ears.

The kids had to pose for a picture for a donor back in the States who wanted to see how her donations were being put to good use. Standing in front of a chart of the ear canal, the kids looked out with serious faces. Why should they smile? After hours of time spent with strangers they were no better off than they were before we arrived. Only we had given them hope when there was no hope.

The girls both seemed very uncomfortable. One of the girls had an expression I've only seen on much older people. Her friend would sometimes smile. They both looked like they'd seen more than any kid should. I did get them to smile once by showing them how to make a video on my iPhone. They videotaped me and played it back. For an American kid, I think it would be the equivalent of Criss Angel making himself disappear. Magic.

Moussa-Ali lives at Kolfe Orphanage. Moussa is about 8, one of the youngest kids living there. One evening, Moussa cut his ankle pretty badly. I just happened to bring band-aids and Neosporin with me that day. Just like my son, Moussa didn't want me to touch it. He didn't want me to hurt him. I was trying to tell him I wouldn't hurt him but he didn't trust me. Why should he?

The next day we came back and Moussa's ankle had the purple betadine (I guess) on his ankle but it looked like it was swelling and that the band-aids were dirty. I offered to give him new ones but he declined. Then he changed his mind. After making a big deal of it, I realized I didn't have any big strips left. Only the small ones. I put Neosporin on the cut and then reapplied the dirty old band-aids. I'm sure it hurt and his ankle looked like it was getting infected, but Moussa just sat there quietly. What else could he do?

As an American, it's hard to imagine what life is like for these orphaned kids. Sometimes they have water and sometimes they don't. They have food but no protein and no fruits. A pencil is a valuable commodity. There are artists without paints. Athletes without shoes. Injured kids who can't even get a clean bandage. At night, they are alone on campus. The adults are gone and the kids are by themselves. I asked one of them what would happen if a boy got sick during the night. "Wait until the next day," he said.

Almost uniformly the boys told me they liked campus life. They are happy at the orphanage. I found this hard to believe, but the more we traveled around Addis, the more I could see they were grateful for a bed and food, even if they don't like the food.

Getamelkam is a 16 year-old boy who is only in the ninth grade. His name means God is Good in Amharic. He said, "I don't like this campus. This campus is useless. I love the mother and father I lost." He's lived in orphanages for 10 years after both his parents died when he was 6.

In this bit of film, you can see the two girls we took to have their hearing tested. Note the expression of the girl on the left. I remember this word from German class in 6th grade. Weltschmerz. World weariness or sadness for the world. That's the expression on this girl's face.

Nudie Pictures

This weekend I was thinking about my friend Peggy and this little girl she used to babysit when we were in high school in the 06880. The girl's name was Shannon but we called her Shamu (not a whale reference, just a nickname). She was adorable. Her tongue stuck out just a little. I don't remember why.

One day we took Shamu to Compo Beach. At the end of the day we brought her into the changing room to get cleaned up. Even with two of us watching one small child, Shamu managed to get away. She made it out of the changing rooms and started running down the beach. I actually heard someone yell, "Naked running baby. Naked running baby." Sorry Shamu's mother if you ever find this post.

We caught up with her before she made it to Norwalk and brought Shannon home safely later that day.

I was thinking about how cute a naked baby is and how comfortable pretty much all kids are with nudity while they're still young. My son was literally a nudist until a few years ago. Suddenly. I have to close my eyes, turn my head, close the door. I understand. He's growing up and he certainly doesn't want his mother to see his prized possession.

My husband wants a nude photo of me. This is pretty much the most terrifying request my husband has ever made. I'm pretty sure I was a nudie just like my son, but now I don't even own a full-length mirror. I think my body is holding its own but things are rearranging themselves without my permission.

On Saturday morning I was getting dressed and my husband snuck up behind me with his tricky iPhone camera / spy gear. I managed to grab a pair of jeans to hide behind but he took a photo just the same. I threatened to mess with his stuff if he didn't delete the photo but he wasn't having it. He didn't even fall for it hours later when I asked if I could borrow his phone.

Later he showed me the photo and the thing is, I was sort of shocked that I looked pretty good. Granted the parts I managed to cover up would've been the worst of it.

I was wondering how we go from gleefully running naked toward a crowd of beachgoers to my cowering in the corner of the bedroom shielding myself with a pair of jeans. "Naked running baby. Naked running baby."

NB My husband and I exchanged the following messages as he was riding the train into the City:

I'm looking at your nudie pic . . .
Don't show anyone!
Too late, my 2 seat mates love your hair! JK! LOL!
Lol