Mom’s computer printouts have been coming out more and more purplish-red as the black ink ran out and the color cartridge eked out its last.  “Looks like you’ll need new ink very soon,” I observed.  This morning, she rolled herself and her walker into the kitchen and gave me a look of panic and consternation.  “You’re giving me a look that says the world is ending,” I observed.  It was…for her.  I had noticed earlier on her desk a page printed red on the top half of the page only, and faded into nothing for the bottom half.  “My printer won’t work!” she shouted, more in anxiety than anger.  I reminded her she was running out of ink.  “I know…I tried to put the new cartridge in…but I couldn’t do it.”  Indeed, she had inserted the new cartridge, but incorrectly, and it was stuck fast in its slot.  HP had designed its cartridge bays so that when an 86-year-old tries to install her own cartridge, she will do it wrong and not be able to remove it and will panic and give up and will need a new printer.  I worked and worked to remove that cartridge, but it had clicked in incorrectly and was locked in.  I looked like a quack surgeon, with my headlamp and instruments operating on the printer’s innards.  With no little force and a great deal of twisting and prying, the cartridge finally released.  But not before staining my thumbs.  Baby wipes wouldn’t clean them.  An alcohol-soaked cotton ball wouldn’t clean them.  Soap and water?  Nope.  I’ll try mineral spirits next, I guess.  I have to give Mom credit, though, for trying to solve her own problem before coming to me.