In the recesses of my brain I recall having been told that capillaries are resourceful. If an injury happens, and their usual route is blocked, they do not give up. They forge new tiny tubes to carry blood and somehow make their way back to the heart. Or wherever they were going. The details about what they use for such construction, and who directs traffic elude me, but suffice it to say that I am impressed. I could always google it, but I hesitate because I do not want to be proven wrong. 

Ten days ago my handy computer went black. She was after all only two hundred dollars and perhaps felt, and justifiably so, that she had done her stint. I write moats on her every day, or at least I did until she retired. 

In the effort to continue this practice I have been forced to learn other avenues of writing. There is a desk top, and my trusty phone. But some of the well worn grooves of my routine have been abruptly blocked. The flickr accounts where a trove of photographs wait are beyond reach. A smarter person than myself would understand how to collect them, but alas I am fumbling to make do. Fortunately there are thousands of pictures on my photo stream, admittedly grainy and mostly of Odhners. And quilts. And chickens. I can with a bit of luck download from Facebook from the generous persons who post there. But this desk top and I are still in that awkward let-me-get-to-know-you stage, and my strategy of pushing as many keys as possible does not always produce results. 

Back to the capillaries. It is really rather clever of them, to find new pathways. For today, they are my role models. If the flickr photos return you will know that I have successfully adapted.