I have to admit it, I have a love hate relationship with the Internet. I mean, without the Internet, wife, Danny, and I couldn’t have spent the last week at the beach, basking in the sun, frolicking in the waves, and making sandcastles in the sand — more like snoozing on the beach under a tent canopy, listening to the waves, and making frog houses with our feet. Yep, some pretty lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer for us.
The Internet, though, allows me to pack up a computer — two actually in case one breaks down I’ll have a back-up — and lay out this newspaper remotely from any place in the world with a connection to the world wide web, and transmit it to our printer in McComb where they will get the ink on the paper and deliver it back to Forest for distribution to the post office and racks. Pretty simple, right?
Not so fast!
One little hiccup could cause me to have to pack those two computers up and head back up the long, lonely highway from way out on the tip of the peninsula at Fort Morgan, Alabama to Forest, Mississippi and get ‘er done there.
One year that almost happened when the Internet was out at the beach house we were staying in, and there was no way to receive our correspondents columns, or send the paper to press. But, alas, the smart phone came to the rescue and logged onto a neighbor’s wi-fi and away we went.
A back-up plan would have had me going to breakfast or lunch at a local restaurant/bar and working with their “free” wi-fi. I suppose, where there is a will, there is a way — a Bloody Mary in that scenario too, most likely.
As good as it is, though, that Internet can be a strange creature at times. Like, I know... I think... well, I’m kind of sure... perhaps I’m not so sure at all, the phone, or the computer one, can hear Danny and me talking about this, or that, or the other, and then, I’ll be darned, that very same thing pops up on social media.
How can that be?
I fully understand that if one goes to a search engine and searches for flipflops, or sunscreen, or the current weather report, or in our case this particular beach vacation, the closest place to pick up a box of raw oysters, fresh from the sea, that the Internet, or the computer, or maybe God, I don’t really know, packs that search away somewhere in this vast universe and continues to offer up options for the rest of the searcher’s life. Yes, it/they do/does.
Ahhh, fresh oysters, fresh from the sea. Oysters on the half shell, broiled oysters hot and bubbly from the oven, plump juicy oysters right off the grill dripping with garlic, and butter, and freshly grated pecorino romano and parmesan cheeses.....oops....mind was wandering there.
Anyway, where were we?
Oh, the Internet. Yes the Internet.
How in the world did we ever live without the Internet. I’m not sure since practically everything we do in some way is controlled by the Internet.
Take the beach house we stay in for example. Several years ago our favorite little peace of heaven on the beach was blown away by Hurricane Sandy so we had to start looking for a new place to call home for a week. We found one via Internet search and snatched it up. It was great and we had a ball. But then our Internet search, I suppose, led to all these offers for other great places including one called Surf’s Up.
This house is practically perfect. It is not too big, not too small, and when I say it is on the beach, I meant IT IS ON THE BEACH! Right on the beach, and closer to the Gulf than any other house in Fort Morgan, I dare say.
For once, three years ago, I was glad the Internet was looking over our shoulders. Like it, love it, or hate it, I certainly would not want to be without it. Especially this week, as, at this writing, the wife and I are finishing up breakfast on Monday morning and getting ready to walk out the door and down the steps to the beach, where we’ll spend another long, hot, day (actually they go by way too fast) basking in the sun, frolicking in the waves, and building sandcastles in the sand...well, well, not really, but you already know the rest.
Thank God for the Internet. Especially once a year around the Fourth of July out on the peninsula at Fort Morgan, Alabama.
