Foul-Up!

Foul-up is not the expression I wanted to use here. I was thinking of a ... stronger one. But ... this is a family-friendly site, and I also believe that my mother, though she has been dead for a couple of years, would somehow know what I had written and would make ... arrangements ... to deal with me.

Let's back up a little.

I've always been very fastidious about backing up computer files--clear back to the 1980s when I was using a Kaypro II. (See pic.)

I use Word (and have ever since it defeated Word Perfect, a program I much preferred) and have always backed up files on my hard drive--and on two different external places (jump drive, external hard drive). And I've never lost much of anything as a result.

Enter One Drive, the "cloud" for Word.

For Some Dumb Reason on one particular project I have not been so anal about backing up--and that project, oddly enough, is one that's very dear to me.

Explanation: Joyce and I have two grandsons. One, Logan, just turned 15; the other, Carson, will turn 11 on April 3. Since their second birthdays Joyce and I have been writing little stories for them. We sort of "publish" them, too--color printing, graphics, nice binders, etc.

Now that the boys are older, the stories have evolved from simple doggerel narratives to full-fledged short stories (well, sort of).

I usually start working on them about six weeks before the Big Day--often writing for a half-hour or so on my iPad over at Open Door Coffee Co. in the afternoon.

I love the iPad, love One Drive. What I type over at the coffee shop becomes immediately accessible on my iPhone and laptop.

Convenient.

And dangerous. Well, "dangerous" if you're careless.

As I was yesterday.

Joyce and I had finished the story, so it was time to format it, put in the picture we were going to use. So into my study I went, opened  the file from One Drive, also opened last year’s story so I could paste the new one into the old one (and thus gain its formatting).

But I wasn’t paying close attention, and before I knew it, I had two copies of last year’s story—and none of this year’s.

When I realized what I’d done—and when I’d tried the quick remedies—and when nothing worked, I felt myself about as near to a massive stroke and heart attack as I have ever been. (Later, when I went up to tell Joyce, she said she’d never seen me so pale—and those who know me know that I am really pale, even under the most favorable of circumstances!)

Now what? I knew I could not rewrite it from memory—and the thought of starting over with only about a week before his birthday launched another fresh assault on my heart.

I started fussing around on Word, looking at options, clicking on things I’d never clicked on before, and, quite by accident, I found a way to access—and reopen—and save—earlier versions of a document.

I clicked on the one that seemed—based on the day and time—to be the most recent of the 2020 story.

And ...

And ...

And ...

IT WAS!

My sigh of relief blew out an entire wall of my study and sent the nearby birds back to their winter retreats.

I saved-saved-saved (three locations) and headed upstairs to tell my story.

And learned how pale I looked.

So, in a few, I’m going to head back to my study and prepare the story—do it the Right Way.

And I will NEVER AGAIN save something only on One Drive.