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My Daily Bread Crumbs 11 Jan



January 11th 2022 - Holidays and Observances


(click on the day for details)


Observances (click on the day or week for details)

National Step in a Puddle and Splash Your Friends Day

Heritage Treasures Day

World Sketchnote Day

Poetry at Work Day

National Milk Day

National Hot Toddy Day


Fun Observances

 Learn Your Name in Morse Code Day

January 11 is celebrated annually as Learn Your Name in Morse Code Day.

Telegraph for Morse code.

Morse code is a way to transmit text through a series of signals. Each character or alphabet in a language is represented by a sequence of dots and dashes.


First demonstrated on January 11, 1838 by Alfred Vail and Samuel Morse, Morse code soon became commonly used by the military and the aviation industry worldwide.

Until 1999 the distress signal "SOS", or "··· – – – ···" in Morse code, was used to communicate distress by ships and naval vessels around the world. Although it does not stand for anything it has been remembered as "Save Our Souls" or "Save Our Ship".

It was replaced by the Global Maritime Distress Safety System in 1999, but is still widely recognised as a distress signal today.

How to Celebrate?

  • Learn Morse code.
  • Of course, learn how to spell out your name in Morse code.
  • Don't have time to learn a whole new language? Spend some time on learning more about the role Morse code has played in society.

Did You Know…

…that the fastest Morse code transmission was achieved by Tarry Turner in 1942? He reached a speed of 35 words per minute.




The speaker at my bank's drive-through window had been broken for weeks, and we tellers had to resort to miming or writing notes to communicate with our frustrated customers. One day a sweet elderly lady whom I would see every week pulled up to the window, leaned out of her car and smacked the glass in front of my face. "Hope this is bulletproof," she yelled.

There had just been a robbery at another bank nearby, so I was touched by her concern. "It is," I yelled back.

"Good," she continued, "because someone is going to shoot you if you don't get that speaker fixed."





It was late in the afternoon, and I was putting the final burnishes on a piece of writing that I was feeling pretty good about. Yes, okay, it was an e-mail, but it was a clever one and I hated to lose it. My cursor had frozen. I tried to shut the computer down, and it seized up altogether. Unsure of what else to do, I yanked the battery out.

Unfortunately, Windows had been in the midst of a delicate and crucial undertaking. The next morning, when I turned my computer back on, it informed me that a file had been corrupted and Windows would not load. This was followed by some mysterious lines of code, which I took to be my computer saying "Serves you right, careless pea brain" in its native tongue. More graciously, it offered to repair itself by using the Windows Setup CD.

I opened the special drawer where I keep CDs that I have no intention of ever using. There was an IKEA how-to CD, which featured young Swedes assembling kitchen cabinets with nothing but a sardine can key and untrammeled wholesomeness. Mostly, there were CDs of music that my friends are always burning for me, unbidden, because they think I'll enjoy them.

But no Windows CD. I was forced to call the computer company's Global Support Center. My call was answered by a woman in some unnamed, far-off land. I find it vexing to make small talk with someone when I don't know what continent they're standing on. Suppose I were to comment on the beautiful weather we've been having when there was a monsoon at the other end of the phone? So I got right to the point.

"My computer is telling me a file is corrupted and it wants to fix itself, but I don't have the Windows Setup CD."

"So you're having a problem with your Windows Setup CD." She had apparently been dozing and, having come to just as the sentence ended, was attempting to cover for her inattention. I recognized the technique from a thousand breakfast conversations.

"We took that rug in weeks ago. Should I call the cleaners?"

"No, thanks. I'm good."

It quickly became clear that the woman was not a computer technician. Her job was to serve as a gatekeeper, a human shield for the techs, who were off in the back room, or possibly another far-off continent, playing cards and burning CDs for their friends. Her sole duty, as far as I could tell, was to raise global stress levels.

To make me disappear, the woman gave me the phone number for Windows' creator, Microsoft. This is like giving someone the phone number for, I don't know, North America. Besides, the CD worked; I just didn't have it. No matter how many times I repeated my story, we came back to the same place. She was unflappable and resolutely polite.

When my voice hit a certain decibel, I was passed along, like a hot, irritable potato, to a technician.

"You don't have the Windows Setup CD, ma'am, because you don't need it," he explained cheerfully. "Windows came preinstalled on your computer!"

"But I do need it."

"Yes, but you don't have it."

We went on like this for a while. Finally, he offered to walk me through the use of a different CD, one that would erase my entire system. "Of course, you'd lose all your e-mail, your documents, your photos." It was like offering to drop a safe on my head to cure my headache. "You might be able to recover them, but it would be expensive." He sounded delighted. "And it's not covered by the warranty!" The safe began to seem like a good idea, provided it was full.

I hung up the phone and drove my computer to a small, friendly repair place I'd heard about. A smart, helpful man dug out a Windows CD and told me it wouldn't be a problem. An hour later, he called to let me know it was ready. I thanked him, and we chatted about the weather, which was the same outside my window as it was outside his.




A customer walked into our store looking for Christmas lights. I showed her our top brand, but—wanting to make sure each bulb worked—she asked me to take them out of the box and plug them in. I did, and each one lit up.

"Great," she said.

I carefully placed the string of lights back in the box. But as I handed them to her, she looked alarmed.

"I don't want this box," she said abruptly. "It's been opened."












































































sandrewn :cowboy:

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