New-Fangled Contraptions

I like to think that I am smarter than most household objects---oh, all right, I admit that anything invented after the twenty-first century is a challenge, like if it has "bits" or "bites" or things like that, or any television that doesn't require a rabbit-ear antenna, but the normal, everyday household objects that we use each day should not be that difficult.  Like, I can work the electric can opener by myself.  And the microwave...that is a pretty modern thing that I can do.  So you would think that spending a week at our kids' house in Edmond would have been a no-brainer.

I've been taking care of a house for a few years now, you know, but I admit I have some limitations.  Right off the bat I knew better than to even turn on their security system when we left the house.  I've been there, done that with the thing.  A few years ago our son Jake, who lives in Broken Arrow near us, had to have emergency dental work and the only place that could fit him in quickly was in Oklahoma City so we arranged to take him and wait while he had his wisdom teeth removed and then go to Josh and Jerilyn's house for a couple of days for him to recover. Jerilyn had to be gone when we got there but she left the door unlocked for us. She forgot, however, what an automatic action setting the alarm is for her.

Jake was a little groggy when he came out of the dentist's and slept most of the way to his brother's house.  I got out and helped him to the door, reached for the handle and B-WATT, B-WATT, B-WATT!!!!!  He woke up. The alarm signaled our presence to all of Edmond and Northwest Oklahoma City.  And it would not stop!  Did I know how to disengage it?  Of course not!  I tried to call Jerilyn but she was at the gym, her cell phone turned off.  The telephone rang in the house; it was the security company.  I tried to explain  but they wanted a code-word to convince them I wasn't disguising my voice as a little old lady while my cohorts loaded up a van with all their clients belongings.  "I'll call you back" I said.  B-WATT, B-WATT, B-WATT!!! 

Somehow I remembered the YMCA where Jerilyn was, found the phone number and spoke to the receptionist, trying to make her hear me over the B-WATT, B-WATT, B-WATT!!! in the background.  "Just tell her that her mother-in-law called.  I'm bringing my son home from having surgery and I've set off the alarm.  Could she call me?"  The receptionist, now convinced that Jerilyn was blithely sweating on the treadmill while her husband was "under the knife", found her and Jerilyn called the security people with the code word.  I think they have the same security company at this new house but I'm pretty sure Jerilyn doesn't go to that gym anymore.

There is a lovely, stainless-steel, zero-clearance refrigerator in the kitchen there.  It apparently knows a lot more than I do about chilliness because one night after we had gone to bed I heard a soft "Ding" coming from the kitchen.  And another, and another. It seemed to be coming from the fridge but it refused to speak my language and I don't speak Ding. I opened the door and peered in.  Nothing.  Back to bed.  "Ding, ding, ding."  Again I looked inside. Somehow this time I noticed that the temperature of the freezer had risen to 17 degrees.  It didn't like that.  I set it back to zero.  It didn't thank me but we all finally had a good night's sleep.

Now I really know my limits when it comes to all things electronic, so our grandson managed the television for us. There are three remotes, different codes, timers, bells, whistles, international date lines, I don't know what all, but David can handle it.  We didn't even try to watch TV when the kids weren't home but the first night we were there David set it up for us to watch the baseball game and went upstairs to do homework.  Poor guy, he had to come back down,---I am not making this up---six times and get us back on track whenever Dennis, ill-advisedly, tried to push a button himself.

Now, I am not much of a sports person, but the week that I was in Edmond the Cardinals were in the World Series.  Even though Dennis had returned to Tulsa I decided to watch the game. David set it up for me.  I didn't touch the remote after that.  It was the sixth game, the Cardinals were down by three games to two and they were behind in the ninth inning, then someone got a run, the score was tied, they were going into extra innings in the World Series!! Suddenly a grey screen appeared  on the TV  "Parental  Control Has Blocked This Program Due to Time" (it was 11:00 p.m.) and the television was off.  I heard later that they went back and forth till the eleventh inning and it was the pivotal game, one that will definitely go down in World Series history. The most exciting game ever, some said.  Not that I'll ever know, of course.

I was quite proud of myself that I was able to use the washer and dryer, even though they are, like, twelve generations beyond my twenty-year-old Kenmores, and even the dishwasher, although Emily said "My mom never uses the dishwasher, she just does it by hand."  (Yes, Jerilyn, I hand-washed the knives and the pots and pans but that's where I drew the line) so I certainly thought I could manage the vacuum cleaner.

I schlepped the vacuum cleaner up the stairs while the kids were at school on Friday.
Due to old age, excess poundage, and arthritis in my knee, hauling just myself up the stairs each day was a job in itself, so it took me about ten minutes to get the vacuum up there.  That should have been enough work for that day, but no, I would persevere! It is a lovely vacuum cleaner, a Dyson.  You can see through it.  The guy on TV practically dances with it in the commercial.  Of course I should be able to experience the joy of dancing with it also. You would think.

Imagine a young, teen-age boy who has never been disciplined and is suddenly taller than his mother. He is bigger and stronger and yet she expects him to obey her.  Young Dyson was not in the mood to dance with his grandma.

I managed to unwrap the cord and plug it in but it would cooperate no further.  It stubbornly  refused to lower in the front so I could push it.  There was, instead, a long wand sticking up from the top and the suction seemed to be emanating from there.  I pulled on the wand.  It rose in the air. It would not leave its base in the handle.  Even though it was now a foot taller than me I could still tell that the suction was coming from the wand, not the rollers.  I pulled handles, I pushed buttons, I twisted, I turned.  It would defeat me!  But, no, I am the grown-up here and I do not give up this easily!  There was an attachment that fit on the end of the wand, about four inches across like a little sweeper but the wand remained firmly in its base.  Wood shavings  from the hamster cage were piled up on the carpet in Emily's bedroom.  I lay the vacuum down on its side, pushed the whole machine along, wand still attached to the handle, in front of me, and bending like a stoop-laborer in a cotton patch, vacuumed that whole floor while I was practically laying down, and got up the shavings.  Ha!  Just try and get the best of this little (stop smirking!) old grandma!  I left the vacuum upstairs in time-out until David came home to rescue it and left the shavings inside for Jerilyn to empty at her leisure.

After David got me started, the computer only defeated me slightly (I could use it for Facebook but not blogging), the garage door opener only refused to work once, the pull-down sprayer on the faucet...Okay, let's just say I'm glad I could use the dryer. I was able to use the oven to make chocolate chip cookies like Grandmas everywhere, although I just mixed them up by hand; I wasn't about to get into it with the big Kitchen Aide mixer.  And I dug around and found old fashioned cookie sheets rather than use that stone thing.  It is not electronic but it is completely beyond me!

So now I am at home in my poor, old-fashioned, twentieth century house.  I can use most of the appliances and if I come upon something that is smarter than me, I guess I'll call David.  He'll try to walk me through it over the phone.  I can mail him some chocolate chip cookies. The Post Office took over from the Pony Express, I heard, but I think they'll get to him before they get stale.