Tag Archives: Austin Texas

Soul & Solace: What the Hack?

A Tuesday morning. Checking off tasks on my to-do list. Doing an internet search. Neither my firewall nor my anti-virus flagged anything amiss.
 
Then my computer blew up: pop-ups crowded the screen; an automated female voice from “Microsoft Security” incessantly repeated “your computer has been hacked. Do not lock or shut off your computer or you could lose all data.” I could not I afford to lose my work so, trembling and feeling I had no other options, I phoned the number for “Microsoft Security” at the bottom of my screen.
 
A “kind” man assured me that “Microsoft” would correct the problem, took me to the official-looking “Microsoft Security” website, and switched off the electronic voice because it was “irritating.” He apologized for “Microsoft” allowing the breach, and assured me that I would not be charged for the premium Microsoft security package because I was a senior: “You are a senior citizen, correct?” He expressed himself to be very concerned about the security of my finances and showed me that thirty-three hackers had breached not only my computer, but our entire network. By now, I was shaking. In the time that followed—and it was substantial—I was instructed to check my bank statements while he “logged off” for my security. After telling me to get paper and pen to note down the “transaction number” and his “name,” he then encouraged me to get a drink of water while he addressed the problem.
 
I was then told to answer a call from “tech support.” I thought the guy who had been on my computer for ages was tech support. But my computer was no longer mine; it had become a stranger in my house. I took the call.
 
The next “kind” man from “tech support” was difficult to understand. His voice kept cutting out amidst background sounds of a busy “tech” center, which made understanding him near impossible. He said something about a refund and me being a senior. I found myself saying, “I’m not hard of hearing; your voice is cutting out.” He, too, expressed deep concern about my finances and said that Microsoft was sending me a refund for, I guessed, allowing the breach. Question after question after question from “Kind Mr. Tech” followed, until I was having difficulty breathing and keeping focus. Then “Kind Mr. Tech” instructed me to type in, without mistakes and without hitting enter, line after line of information. With shaking fingers I complied, but the screen did not record the decimal point I entered for the “refund.” Immediately, a large sum of money transferred from “Microsoft” to my account. I told the man what had happened, and asked how to return the money.
 
He REALLY wanted his money back and had two simple solutions: I could wire the money at an additional cost or send a gift card. That’s when I knew. The men pretending to stop hackers were hackers themselves. It took a long time to get the pair off my computer, more time to discover from the bank that they’d merely transferred the “refund overpay” amount from one of our accounts to another, then to have my computer professionally cleaned. Still more days to shut down our accounts, get new checks and debit cards, upgrade our firewall, and change all my passwords.
 
Here’s the part of the account I find hardest to tell: these men targeted me because of my age. Using their admirable skills in both technology and the psychology of aging in a technological, youth-driven culture, they knocked away at my self-confidence and sense of competency, leaving me off balance and vulnerable. It must have been frustrating to have nearly reeled me in, only to have their fish dodge the hook at the last moment.
 
Surprisingly, I am not mad at the “kind men.” That may come later and will, most likely, blow the top of my head off. Right now, I am deeply sad. Sad that these men with so much knowledge and giftedness chose to use their gifts to do harm. Sad that I will never know if they are out there, doing the same thing to someone else. Sad that I will never know if they live around the corner or across the globe. Sad that my ability to trust has been devastated.
 
I am angry that telling this hard story was made harder by our culture’s anti-aging biases. I have experienced it first hand: people assuming I am retired—or should be; that my brain is muddled; that I make a good butt for a joke; that I am, basically, just expired milk.
 
Despite my fears over sharing the hack, I do so in hopes that others may avoid hackers, that anyone who falls prey to hacking knows they are not alone and will get through it, and, also, because I want to stand up for every person’s right, whatever age they may be, to be treated with respect. Otherwise, what the HACK are we doing as humans? 
 
What are your experiences with hackers? With aging? What hopes do you have for yourself as you age? Share your thoughts at contact@aspaciousplace.com.

Soul & Solace: Marching Orders

It began as a gentle urge: while watching neighbors walk their dogs, viewing news stories about overcrowding at the animal shelter, or hearing stories from family and friends. Then the gentle push changed into a direct order: I was to be home to an animal in need. David wasn’t so sure. As a teen, he’d been assigned the job of taking the ailing family dog to be put down, because his mother “just couldn’t face it.” And, also, there was the expense.
 
Together we arrived at a decision which saw us motoring to the shelter with two puppies we’d found on their website in mind. The first pup was being treated for a respiratory infection and was unavailable. I felt relieved: I had neither the skills nor the resources to care for an ailing pet: just a backyard and some love to give.
 
We met our second choice, a female German Shepherd pup who looked stern and noble, and who acted sweet and goofy. We asked the usual questions: house trained? Good with children? Dietary needs? And began the adoption process. Toward the end, the staffer mentioned “positive for heart worms” and then slid a treatment sheet under my eyes. My heart stopped. Weeks of pills, painful injections, more weeks of almost complete crate rest.
 
I could not do this. I could not not do this.
 
We drove the pup home and got her set up as best we could. I expected her to whine through the night. She did not. Instead, I kept myself awake: a stranger was in our house. One I’d no idea how to be with or how to care for. The name given the pup at the shelter didn’t quite fit her. I thought if I could find a name that felt like the pup, maybe I could begin to know how to care for her. I spent a sleepless night going through the alphabet, searching. By morning, I’d narrowed it down to three names, and, with David, chose Maddie in honor of one of our favorite writers, Madeleine L’Engle who knew the importance of naming and whose novels boasted some awesome dogs.


 
And there was more: the shelter staff told us Maddie was afraid of other dogs. Because we had no plans to get another dog, I didn’t see that as a problem—until I took her for a walk. She couldn’t make it to the end of the street before scrambling back to our door in a panic. I had visualized her accompanying us on our walks. What now?
 
It’s been seven weeks now. Maddie has finished her first round of medication. In a few days, she gets her first injection, followed by weeks of crate rest, another injection, a third, and then more crate rest. I’m grateful we’ve had this time for her to explore. She walks the neighborhood now, has made some human and doggie friends, and even deliberately pooped a couple of times outside the fence of a particularly aggressive dog. She has a home and a family. And food she doesn’t have to scavenge (although she doesn’t consider our morning walk complete without at least one cicada snack). Our daughters buy Maddie treats, toys, and necessities. They share Maddie stories with their friends, so she has global support. David plays with her, tossing toys into the air; she jumps and scrambles after them, tail beating the air with joy. All this will strengthen Maddie, I hope, for the difficulties to come.
 
I mentioned earlier that the urge to adopt Maddie morphed into marching orders. That’s often my experience of God: as a General who shows up, gives me an assignment, and proceeds on to other needed work. For the Maddie marching order, I am grateful—for Maddie, for myself, for my husband, for my daughters, for all the people cheering for her. I guess I don’t have to always be up for what I’m to do. Just willing.
 
How do you visualize God? Has God given you an assignment you didn’t feel up for? How did it turn out? We would love to hear from you. Share your Soul & Solace thoughts at contact@aspaciousplace.com.

Soul & Solace: What Can I Do?

Perhaps you voiced the words aloud. Perhaps they trouble your soul: felt but unsaid. How do we face the day, knowing what is done cannot be undone? Children are dead. For no reason. Families devastated. For no reason. Students traumatized. For no reason.

The brutality of the Uvalde shooting shatters our hearts. But what can we do? What good are my tears: hot as they are with rage? What good are anyone’s?

I have no answers: just the story of a gift, an Easter gift, long delayed. The package, a present from our daughter, arrived the day of the Uvalde shooting. The creators of the gift, artists Oleg and Darina, included with the present a note, handwritten in English and adorned with hand-drawn hearts: “With love from Ukraine!” Due to the murders we’re calling “Putin’s War,” Oleg and Darina had been forced to relocate, hence the delay in shipping.

The package arrived resealed: my guess is it had been opened and searched. Inside the taped-up box lay six smaller boxes. Each housed an intricately painted fragile egg: in perfect condition. They are, each, a wonder. Staring at them, more tears came: tears of awe, gratitude, and sorrow.

I have no answers. But I think of Oleg and Darina and realize that we live in a world of brutality and beauty. And that which way we lean—toward or the brutal or the beautiful—makes a serious difference in our lives and in the lives of others. Oleg and Davina lean toward beauty in the midst of brutality. Their choice guides mine, between tears.

So, what can we do?

 

Between tears

         Tell someone we love them

Between tears

         Gaze up at stars or down at a flower

Between tears

         Scream primal prayers at the heavens

Between tears

         Stand in another’s shoes

Between tears

         Savor beauty

Between tears

         Drive like a human

Between tears

         Create beauty

Between tears

         Feel water on our skin and the sun on our face

Between tears

         Do the world some small good, just because we can

Between tears

         Know our tears matter.

Ukranian Painted Eggs by Oleg and Darina