limp

This is a sad, defeated, limp hydrangea, and I know exactly how it's feeling.    We'll pass over the fact that we ought to know better - hydrangeas never last once they are off bushes.   We once bought a spectacular springlike armful in Oxford, and the next morning they were as dispirited as these.   I identify with it, having had a frustrated evening trying to set up a new printer to print Christmas cards.   My trusty Epson 3800 is in Santa Fe, and since it's an expensive beast, I certainly wasn't going to buy its twin, but a much younger sibling.   The Artisan 810 might have great reviews - but I have only, as yet, succeeded in loading one sheet of paper in its crappy little plastic made-in-some-polluted-part-of-China innards, and printing on it.   I think I've now unjammed it, and will go to bed before trying my luck again.   This was after triumphantly setting it up as a wi-fi printer, and ignoring the spasmodic, faltering wi-fi signal in my study.   Ah, technology.   Grrrrrrr, technology.   So - that dream of early-printed, individualized handwritten-message-in-Christmas cards?   The jury is still out.