...Never mind.

Gilda Radner’s hard-of-hearing Emily Litella was one of my favorite characters on Saturday Night Live. My favorite skit was when she ranted about the “violins on TV” and Chevy had to correct her that it was “violence on TV,” to which she would reply, “Oh, well that’s different. Never mind.”

So, with that in mind. I recently learned something about myself that I’ve long suspected…I really don’t know everything. Even though I think I do.

Case in point: I go to the San Juans to videotape my hair-raising offroad adventures for a DVD I plan to produce. Great idea. I went there in July for the same reason and the video camera broke two days into the trip. Just stopped working. One minute I’m filming Jeeps descend Cinnamon Pass and the next I’m standing in the Animas River framing up a shot of Jeeps crossing the river when suddenly the video camera won’t turn on. Dead. As. A. Doornail. The power cord won’t start it, the battery won’t work, the tape won’t come out. And I’m pissed. I went there specifically to videotape the four-wheel drive trails and those of us crazy enough to Jeep them. It ruined the trip for me. Of course, the rain, the malfunctioning sunroof, the dog with diarrhea, eye sty, broken camp chair, forgotten sleeping bag, and split shorts also had something to do with it. Believe me, the list is a lot longer. But mostly it was the $#@% video camera.

When it happened, I remained calm. I tried everything. Took the battery out. Put it back in. Plugged the charger in, re-read the owner’s manual, which I always carry with me. Nothing worked. When I got home, I called Canon, shipped it off and spent $187 to have it repaired. Short circuit. Fluke. Nothing I did, they told me.

So, I head to the San Juans once more to videotape our adventures. The night before we arrive it snowed 12 inches in town, 3 feet in the high country. Offroading was off the agenda. Or was it? We discovered Yankee Boy Basin was open as far as Governor’s Basin, so off we went. We plowed through snow and ice and made it as far as we could before turning around. It was a beautiful day, the video camera was hanging on to the side of the Jeep like a champ and we were getting some beautiful shots at 12,000 feet.

On the way down I had to change the tape, so I unhooked the camera, placed the new tape in, put it back on the outside mount and….nothing. Wouldn’t turn on. I thought the battery had run down, so I put it on the charger and plugged it into the AC adapter in the car. Still nothing. My stomach started knotting and I was about to punctuate the silence of a beautiful winter wonderland with a string of curse words. I was so angry I set the camera down in disbelief and did not pick it back up until we got home. I could not believe that it had happened again, AND in the San Juans, AGAIN. The snow was perfect, the aspens were saturated in cartoon colors of reds and yellows against the blue sky and every shot was “the money shot.”

Each time we came upon a perfect scene that would have been great on video I fumed. We even went as far as to drive 45 miles to a neighboring town to look for a video camera in a pawn shop as well as Walmart. I was so mad I couldn’t even talk about it.

So I get home and call Canon the next morning. I am a very nice person. I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like to be angry and I don’t like being pushy. But I told the poor Canon Customer Support Representative that I expected a new camera. I did not want this camera fixed, as I could not trust that it would work when I needed it to. I went into the long story of how the camera broke in July and I went back to the same place to film again and it broke again. I know the Canon Customer Support Representative could have cared less, but once I put my “mad” hat on I get really good at it and actually start to enjoy living life like someone who has a set of big brass ones. I asked for a supervisor, I asked for the address of someone I could write. He was very patient and asked a lot of questions. What was I doing when it broke? Filming, you nincompoop, duh! Did I try it with just the battery? Duh, yes. Did I try it with just the battery and the charger? Duh! I’m not an amateur. Did I try it with the battery out and the charger in? Duh! …wait a minute. Did I try that? I said yes, though, even though I was certain I had not tried that. Who plugs the battery charger into an electronic product without the battery in? It has nothing to charge. Why on earth would I have thought of that?

So, I rant and rave some more and he agrees to pay for the shipping to send the camera back to them since the repair work is still under warranty. I get a label emailed to me, I get the box together, I put the camera in and then remembered I had not tried to power it up without the battery in. Just to satisfy my own curiosity, I plugged it in with the charger and battery and of course it did not work. I slid the battery out and a familiar little “ding” sounded and the Canon logo appeared on the LCD. I stared at it for a full two minutes before I put together a creative string of curse words that would have caused my Navy father to blush.

It worked. The flippin’ camera was fine. Then I started thinking of all the moments on the trip when we said, “Boy this would have been a great shot if only the video camera wasn’t broken.” I could have HAD all those #!#$@!# shots!

But because I was certain the camera suffered from the same problem it had in July, I didn’t check it and try everything like I did back then. I just wrote it off as another short circuit, and there was nothing I could do about it and I wasn’t going to torture myself like last time by plugging it in and checking everything only to be disappointed. Instead, I put the camera away in its bag and didn’t pull it out again. If I had only been more thorough, not jumped to conclusions, not been so certain I knew what the problem was, I would have had all those shots. But I thought I knew everything.

So…dear Canon…never mind.

I'm angry.

Some days you kick the stuffing out of life and some days you become the stuffing. Today I feel like the stuffing has been kicked out of me. My 92-year old aunt, who lost both her brothers, sister-in-law and close childhood friend in the past 10 months, watched her best friend die Friday night at a restaurant in Alvin, Texas.

This man was only 70 years old, had befriended her and taken care of her like she was his own mother. He picked up her mail at the Post Office, he grocery shopped for her, restored her car, replaced her lightbulbs when needed, took her for drives on pretty days. He made her laugh. She mentioned to him last year that there were only three states in which she had not visited in her 92 years. This past summer he took her to two of those states so she could cross them off her list. Now all she lacks is Alaska.

On Friday night he took her to dinner and collapsed in the restaurant of a massive heart attack right before her eyes. She watched as a diner tried to administer CPR but failed. How can life be so cruel? I feel bad for him, for his family, but I feel so sad for my aunt, who has lost so much in the past year and now has even lost her best friend and the one person she knew she could depend on. Who will take her to the hair dresser? Who will call her or stop by everyday just to bring her a donut? Who will drive her to the Hill Country to see the bluebonnets in the spring? He did all these things so selflessly for her. He sincerely adored her. And now she must feel very alone. I feel so bad for her I cannot even bring myself to pick up the phone to call her. I can't think of anything meaningful to say.

Will she now, at age 92, finally have to give up her independence and resort to assisted living? How will she make it without him helping her? She can't drive any more. She depended on his kindness and genuinely enjoyed his company. I can't believe the Universe would be so horribly, crushingly cruel as to take her last friend after taking her siblings and everyone else. Life can be so hard sometimes. I can't even imagine living to be 92 and having to watch everyone I love die before me.

I have a knot in my stomach that won't go away.