…And Don’t Talk Back

When I have a moment of silence, I discover my home has taken on a conversation of its own. The clothes dryer dings. The washer sings a tune. An alarm sounds repeatedly from the refrigerator that no longer balances so the door doesn’t close firmly. The landline rings and then a voice I don’t recognize lies for me, telling callers I’m not available although I’m standing beside it. The coffee maker insists I come to retrieve my coffee NOW. The air purifier sounds an alert that my air has reached maximum pollution. And I haven’t even mentioned a doorbell or security system—dogs that never miss an intruder, be it human or beast.

Meanwhile, less ethical devices belittle me. At the breakfast table, I commented to my husband that my dog doesn’t know what a weed is and my cell phone launched into a definition of weeds. My great-grandmother wouldn’t talk in the room with a radio, reasoning logically that if she could hear them, they could hear her. Her logic seems less humorous these days. What does my television know about me? Is it true that our devices are recording us—plotting new ways to derail our attempts to conduct our own business—to give our assets to corporations? Otherwise, how does my laptop Facebook page know I was researching trail cameras for my husband on my phone?

In my opinion, there’s no question that people have relinquished many of their obligations to pay attention—which seems to have diminished their observational skills altogether. They don’t seem to notice that people they would never have chosen to lead their high school homecoming committee are enthusiastically promoted to lead the country. Perhaps it’s comforting knowing government officials are as clueless as they are. They belong! They don’t seem to care that predictions of our own extinction are verified by actions that are like running your beloved sports car into a concrete wall at 90mph. So what? Isn’t running fast really fun! Live like there’s no tomorrow…and maybe there isn’t?

I’m not setting myself apart as more capable than most. I have my intellectual incapacities the same as anyone else and seem to be defrauded more often than the norm. In flagrant denial, I pretend not to realize I use little plastic bags to freeze my dogs’ raw chicken bits until they’re needed to be cooked. (I haven’t found a viable alternative.) But when I sit quietly, trying to settle my mind and send healing love to friends who are ill, I hear the dings and tunes and incessant ringing around me. My house wants me to make more sense, be more practical. Perhaps I need a wrist watch alarm that sounds when I’m being clueless. What a racket crowds would be!