Ms. Epson . . . .

No sooner do I think I have “Bertha” figured out — page controls good; ink supply fine; color fidelity and clarity marvelous — then she reports, more or less, “Cannot print.  Need Cyan.”

How about some Light Gray to chase that Cyan?

Nothing comes easily, so all adults know, and ordering ink proved no exception: I expect HP’s computer failed to recognize and vet mine on the way to online checkout.

On Skype, sez I!

The computer-phone call to call center worked, but “next business day” might be Monday, so push Bertha’s off button and, oh no, she hangs and orders her power supply unplugged.

Good grief!

Well she ain’t shakin’,  guzzlin’, spittin’, or checkin’ herself out now, but even quiet, dormant, sleeping, I wonder what the hell HP put in that moon unit so attractive to eclectic physicians and artists.

I’ve a mind to triple the prices of sales I’m not seeing and pretend to consign the print business to my old custom shop, which always got its share of Washington’s museum work.  Resuming that relationship would not be a bad idea, but as in the olden days, I get a kick out of seeing what I do — in photography, have done — printed for viewing in real space.  And then too, as now and then it happens, a few of these things have made it on to walls owned by people I know but a little bit or not at all.

Totally cool.

“Jim — We are recycling a few printers, and I wanted to know if you had any interest. They are Epson Stylus Pro 9880, eight color 48″ roll fed ink jets.”

Don’t think I’m not tempted!

On the other hand, I believe I’m suffering enough.

Next episode of “Photography with Bertha”: Monday morning or early afternoon.

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