Recovery

Late last summer, in an untimely reminder of my lack of computer savvy, I crashed my old hard drive. It's horrifying when you realize how much of your life has been locked up inside what you thought to be an impenetrable metal box, and even moreso when you realize how simple it is to prevent such implosions of data-drowned micro-chips. Licking my wounds I found solace in my shiny and new Macbook Pro, and set aside my old computer (lovingly referred to as the behemoth) for a time in which I had 2 grand to direct to the pockets of the most deserving of computer geeks who recover lost data.

My life and luck being charmed as it is, just such a guy showed up in my living room a few weeks ago to address my very cracked blackberry pearl (let's hope my life has more resilience than the electronics that manage it) and I feebly mentioned my forlorn and dusty old lap top.

"Let me see it," he commanded - a wry smile alluding to the immense pleasure he clearly found in taking on seemingly impossible electronic tasks. I handed it over, admonishing him (and doing my best to keep my hopes at bay) that the 14-year old in charge of the service shop last year hadn't even been able to get it to boot. Of course before he could tell me that I was well under the spell of the Macbook Pro's brushed finish, practical weightlessness and sleek profile. Still, being reprimanded by a guy nearly half my age (and likely making twice my salary) for ignoring the flashing lights of "YOUR HARD DRIVE IS READY TO SELF-DESTRUCT" had left it's mark, and I didn't want my friend to be overly optimistic.

I unpacked the behemoth, handed it to my friend and tottered off to admire my new blackberry face plate (it had been cracked since I dropped it in gravel on day 2 of ownership). He plugged it in and on came the lights and the flashes I'd done my best to forget - the bright blue reminder that where my writing and pictures and years of data had once been, was now the simplest of color schemes and a screen that looked just like the first word processors we used in middle school.

But...my friend's face lit up - and even I had to admit that upon last plug in it hadn't even booted, so this could be progress. He quickly pocketed the hard drive, headed home to his motherboard and promised to call with what he was sure would be a full recovery of my data.

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY!

Words cannot express. Not only did he recover it - but in the exact same form I left it. No scrambling, nothing missing - just files and files of years and years of ponderings, papers and most importantly, photos. Trips and family and holidays and friends - all back, safe and sound, on the shiny screen of my Macbook Pro. Oh, and my new external hard drive.