I hate tutorials. I realize this puts me squarely in the category of Neanderthal Luddite*—a classification I just invented. I simply don't learn well from techie gurus who talk too fast and assume too much while rapidly flipping through screen shots I can barely decipher, much less comprehend.

I learn best from printed matter. Those old-fashioned items called books or instruction manuals. I want to read and absorb information at my own pace, highlight important points in neon yellow or vivid pink, and take notes without being left behind in the process. I appreciate being able to flip back a few pages to reconfirm previously presented material.

Have you seen the Progressive Insurance commercial where the kindly fellow with a graying mustache gently coaches first-time home owners to overcome the temptation to now "become their parents"? Maybe I need to hire that guy.

So, does my rejection of computerized approaches to learning mean I have become my mother? The question conveniently brings me back to my title theme.

I was a preteen during the pre-remote-control era. I remember the way my mother would rise from the couch to change the TV channel. Except she never actually stood erect. Instead, she moved across our small den bent at the waist. Once she reached the television, she then only had to extended an arm to accomplish her mission. Euew, I shuddered at the time. I'm never going to do that. And what did I catch myself doing a few days ago as I rose to retrieve a book from the coffee table? Euew, I shuddered. I'm doing that thing my mother used to do.

It's all this hanging around the house, of course. It's got me engaging in all manner of undesirable behaviors. Living in my sweats. Flinging out mild oaths in frustration whenever I hear an inaccurate or politicized "news" report—often, in other words. Using curlers to coral my just-washed, too-long tresses, then leaving them in for an entire weekend, as if the little foam rollers have become my isolation hairdo. Euew.

The sweats thing is especially problematic. It affects my attitude and my posture. I don't sling myself over the arm of my reading chair like an overcooked lasagna noodle when I'm wearing my Sunday best. But with no church-going allowed, I'm dressing down, not up.

Granted, seeing headlines like "A World Without Hugs" and running errands among a sea of masked faces—A World Without Smiles—is a current reality wearisome enough to stoop any spine. But today I will overcome my tendency to be daunted. Instead I'll Google the search term "good news" and burrow into a book with an uplifting theme—which I will not retrieve from the shelf with worry-rounded shoulders. I can handle those resolutions.

Still, I may try to get the number of that kindly life coach from the commercial, just in case.

*Luddite: An opponent of technological or industrial change. (Encarta Dictionary)