There are two remotes necessary when turning on the slide show, or playing music on our big screen. One wakes it up and the other lets me choose a function. The other day I clicked and nothing happened. I clicked about twenty more times, because that is my usual response to things that don't work. I concocted all kinds of scenarios in which the computer was to blame, imagining its unwillingness, and eventual demise. 

When my son came home I asked for his help. After one attempt he lifted the receiver out of the basket it sits in and clicked again. How about that. It went on. 

"The infrared light cannot reach it if anything is in the way."

He seemed to carry no annoyance toward the screen. Which was a bit different than me. 

Sometimes I talk to John and he does not get the message. It may be because I spoke quietly, or too quickly, or he was focused on the email he was composing. Often my assessment places the problem in his lap. He was not listening. He is ignoring me. He doesn't care. 

Yet I suppose there is a remote possibility that I play a part in the process too.