On The Way
By Olivia Fowler

Our state is dealing with the consequences of allowing all its citizens’ information to fall into the hands of those who do not wish us well.

What can we do? Sign up for the year of protection. Was it preventable? Yes. Who allowed this to happen? Whether through ignorance, incompetency or negligence, all who should have acted did not. They’ll continue to pass the buck on this, but it doesn’t really matter, because it won’t change anything.

It’s a fact, let’s get over it and move on. Forget our troubles, etc.

If all our personal information is now in the possession of an international cyber hacker, we should look on the bright side. And there is a bright side.

First, we don’t need to be anxious about buying Christmas presents online and using our credit cards. Our security has already been compromised. There’s no point in worrying.

If they want to use our tax ID numbers, social security numbers, credit card accounts or YMCA memberships, have at it. That shouldn’t be a problem. What use they could possibly have with our numbers eludes me, unless they plan to transfer all our 401K funds into an offshore account in the Caymans. If so, they can expect to be disappointed, because any fees associated with transfer of funds would quickly overtake the amounts in our accounts. If we owe the IRS, let the hackers pay.

In fact, they should feel free to pay any of our bills. We don’t mind.
Seriously, I find shopping online a wonderful convenience and have been really happy with the experience to date.

Something that was thrilling to me was to find online a replica of a cardboard manger scene my grandmamma gave me when I was four years old. They made them during the 1940s and 50s, and I never dreamed I’d find another one. The original is missing a few figures.

Our grandchildren have the original now, but I wanted another one for Brooke and Andrew, my great niece and nephew who are four and six and live in Arkansas. They can put it together themselves. Putting up the manger scene each year was the official beginning of Christmas.

Meanwhile I’m relieved of the burden of Christmas shopping at the mall. Our last shopping excursion there nearly gave me a panic attack. It was like being trapped on a fire ant hill. Just trying to push a buggy through the throngs of shoppers was traumatizing.

Needless to say we have not, did not and will not ever attend a Black Friday sale. We don’t want anything in this world enough to do that.

We’re finished with our purchases. Now it’s time to settle down and make fudge.
Last year, with some assistance from Blair, our lovely neighborhood teen, we made 20 pounds of fudge, packed into tins between layers of wax paper and sent it across the country to nieces, nephews and friends.

No matter how old they get, they’re never too old for fudge. My brother, now 67, asks each year if we still plan to make it. He’s still a chocoholic and he’ll still be on the fudge list, as long as we can stir the pot.