Astonishing, yet true

I've talked here before about my father, how he sends messages from beyond to let us know he's still cool up in Heaven.  There was the time I was post-operative at Sinai and they couldn't find a room and somehow at the last minute,  a room became available - a room that just happened to have the same number as the final four digits in my parents' phone number.  Or how, on the day he died, the grandfather's clock he made for us stopped running.  And only after Peggy's importunings to him in the beyond did it start to work again, and it ticked away merrily until we moved, and he didn't seem to like where we placed it in the new house, so it stopped again until we moved it. 

Oh, there have been many such things over the years, and here is the latest.  Dad passed away on December 14, 1997, and as I write this on  December 14, 2011, I have to tell you, he sent a message on a device that had not even been dreamed of when he departed this vale.  During his last weeks, all he wanted was a little peace and quiet, and to hear a books-on-tape version of Robt. Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island."  Apparently, this was a favorite of his from boyhood.

Peggy and I got Motorola Xooms so we can keep up with the important aspects of society at all times. Xooms are like iPads; they are little tablets that have internet, email, cameras, and I don't know what-all else.  A Xoom is the Android version of the iPad, and as I understand it, Mr Steve Jobs went to his fate cursing Android technology. But we like it.  I mean, what if a Kardashian got married or divorced or pregnant and we were out of e-touch?  I'm looking forward to using mine as a book reader and jumbo camera.  And it came loaded with a few things free for nothin'. 

Such as my all-time favorite song, from my all-time favorite album: Cheap Trick doing "Surrender" live at Budokan.  (Bonus for CT fans: here's "Ain't That A Shame" from the same concert. 

And, as one of the three free pre-loaded books: Robt. Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island."

Go figure.