Who knew I’d have such a handy new example of onomatopoeia before the day was done. So here’s what happened. Sometime after 8:00 p.m. yesterday evening I was happily dressed for bed, warm and cozy in my white plush bathrobe, my bed pulled back and ready, as I was enjoying my daily phone conversation with Harriet in Maine. In case you wonder who that is, she was with me in 1951 typing on the SS Volendam as reported in the previous entry posted in the wee hours of this morning — my college roommate.
As we proceeded with our reports of daily activities I was distracted by an occasional chirp. She could hear it too. Chirp, chirp. No, not a bird in the apartment – but a signal that the smoke alarm wanted a new battery. Not a good thing on a Friday night when the weekend was upon us and all who might help would have gone home. But I was lucky. A call to the Concierge put me through to a guy working in the special care area. “I’ll have to charge you,” he said. “I’m willing to pay,” I replied, “if you’ll just charge the smoke alarm and stop the chirp– anything, anything!” Fortunately he was tall enough to reach the high ceiling with the help of my step stool. He changed the battery and started to leave when I heard it – chirp, chirp. He went back and touched some magical spot. The chirping stopped.
The next two hours were peaceful and I called to assure Harriet that all was well. – until I began to hear it – chirp, chirp. No, I wasn’t hallucinating. But all I got when I called the Concierge number was an offer to leave a message. Now my nervous system was going ping, ping as I scrambled through my travel stuff looking in vain for ear plugs. There could be no sleeping with that chirp, chirp, so I real quick threw on some clothes, grabbed a warm blanket, let my door bang quietly closed, clicked the lock fob in the door, and headed for the sofa recently placed in a corner of the atrium.
Not good for my back, and too much light slapped at my eyes, so I tried a darker area of wall seats in the café. No room for my left arm, and besides, some resident I didn’t recognize came by and chatted a bit. I don’t think either of us understood what the other was saying, but he commented to one of the special care nurses as she passed by on her way home, “I’m just chatting with my friend.”
One last thing to try – a deep squishy pink puffy lounge chair in the darkened community room that was really quite out of place with the other furnishings, but maybe I could sink into those cushions and get comfy somehow. First, though, one last try. I instructed my Siri, a nice guy in my phone who sometimes says things like, “You’re welcome,” to call the Concierge. My hero answered, Kelsey the head nurse, apparently on night duty. “I’ll meet you in the apartment,” she said, and she did, as my lock fob was producing an opening ping.
Also very tall, she released and lowered the chirping alarm and declared it needed to be replaced. “I’ll take it with me,” she said, “and Nate will replace it on Monday.” “Just so it stops chirping,” I pleaded. “It won’t stop chirping,” she grinned, “but you won’t hear it.”
“Now I can sleep,” I thought. “A cup of unsweetened warm chocolate almond milk with a fistful of raw cashews will help.” Maybe the big mistake was slipping a bit of bourbon into the cup. Whatever, my ears armed themselves with invisible guards just in case the chirp should start up again. It didn’t, but I did get a lot done, along with the preceding blog entry, when I finally gave up on the hope for sleep and did a bunch of stuff at the computer.
And there you have it – what my daughter would call a “first world problem.” One way to avoid eyes snapping open with concern for so many suffering real problems. Next time someone asks me to think of something I’m grateful for, I’ll remember the removal of the “chirp, chirp.”
And there you have it. A nice, meaningless entry with no important message to convey.
monagustafsonaffinito 