Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

My much-used PalmPilot is on its last legs. The latest trouble was the contrast went all pear-shaped; I have something vaguely usable, thanks to careful manual-reading by cattitude and catching just the right angle of daylight, despite the snow, to be able to see the contrast slider enough to use it. But at this point I expect it to die an unfixable death relatively soon.

I currently have a Palm Vx, which was gorgeous state-of-the-art when I got it in late 1999. I'm looking for suggestions on a replacement. I strongly want to run PalmOS, simply because I'm used to it and even have some registered programs; other than that, I'm flexible. Color and other bells and whistles would be nice, but I'm looking to do this cheaply. What I mostly want is advice on good (or bad) models. I intend to buy new, because I want the maximum life out of the new machine.

Thanks.

My mother is somewhere over the Atlantic by now. I went over this afternoon to hang out while she packed, and be given a couple of more-or-less heirlooms. The big, complicated one (complicated because of inter-family discussions) was my Grandma Mia's diamond earrings. I wore them home, as the easiest way to transport them safely, and they are now in a box in a safe place, waiting for me to be going out someplace festive and/or wearing something dressier than jeans. The other, which I've coveted for years, is a tiny red and black vase. It holds three lily of the valley stems if they're friendly, and I grew up with it. And last visit, Mom (who is trying to be practical and think ahead) asked if I wanted any of her crystal when she dies (at 120, or hit by a bus, which seems to be this year's phrasing of "I'm fine, I'm just thinking ahead"), and I said no, but I'd like this. She said I could have it now, and it's now sitting on my tschotschke shelf.

We also talked briefly with my aunt Lea and her partner, Dave (Mom always stays with them when she's in New York). Dave is still recovering after surgery for mouth cancer, and hasn't got most of his taste back, but the important point is that there's no cancer.

When the car service showed up, we all went downstairs, and Dave and I carried Mom's bags for her and put them in the trunk of the car. The cab driver slipped Dave a folded dollar bill. I said something eloquent like "huh?" and the cabbie said "He helped me, I helped him" as Mom got into the car. We said goodbye and then something clicked. I turned to Dave and said "He probably thought you were the doorman." I look like my mother. Dave, of course, doesn't (family by marriage and other forms of choice usually don't), and he was wearing a sweatshirt and didn't say much (because he never does). This isn't the first time (or even the first in my presence) where an outsider guessed he wasn't part of the family--the only Chinese-American man in the group--but this is somehow disturbing where his being asked "Do you speak English?" by a doctor who thought he was with the other patient who was sharing my grandfather's hospital room was amusing. Maybe because the other was a smaller shift in perceived role--from "relative of my grandfather" to "relative of another hospital patient"--and didn't imply an employer/servant relationship.

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The only word from Rafiq today was a note that he's still waiting for news.