A few years ago my G3 Macintosh computer decided to crash. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get it to start up. I lugged it into the car and brought it to Jerry, a computer repair man.
"Lazarus and I are going to have a little chat," Jerry said. He took the covers off everything and hooked up a tangle of wires.
"Will it ever work again,?" I asked nervously. "Hummmm, oh yeah," Jerry said.
I thought of all the letters I had written and all the photos I had taken. Down the drain. Stupidly, I hadn't backed up in a long time. Jerry mumbled a few incantations and fell into a deep reverie.
Then for the next two hours, as he contemplated the carcass of Lazarus, I did what I always do when I'm deathly anxious: I sketched.
Eventually my computer came back from the grave. It made some nice noises and some lights came on. Narrow escape this time, I told myself.