Hayter
article for January 5, 2020
“A
Noise in the Night”
Something strange happened at the
Hayter house one-night last year. To be more precise, it happened last Monday.
That makes it the second to the last weird thing that happened at our house in
2019.
I had been tossing and turning since
about four in the a.m. That’s generally the time I wrestle with the dilemma of
whether or not to get out of bed and go to the restroom. The argument “for” is
the fact that it’s gotta be done at some point. The “against“ argument is “Yes,
but does it have to be done right now?” -- If you can identify with this
predicament, keep it to yourself. People will think it stupid.
After about an hour of debating the
issue, I heard a short, sharp whistle that repeated itself about every 30
seconds. After several beeps, I realized that I probably needed to investigate
the source of the sound. My second thought was whether I should wait until I
had decided on the question as to when I would visit the restroom.
Of course, I could wake Kay up and
have her check on the whistle sound, while I decided on my restroom trip. I
paused on that for about half a second. Kay is good at handling emergencies
that involve somebody’s dog, cat, frog, turtle… any non-venomous
creatures. But, sounds in the night? Not
so good.
Well, short story longer, I decided
to jump into the fray and check the restroom in the guestroom to see if it was
the location of the sound. It wasn’t, but, while there, I took advantage of one
of the room’s amenities.
I don’t know if it’s my hearing or another
game our house occasionally plays, but the sound seemed elusive. I didn’t mind
that so much, because it gave me time to stop in the kitchen and eat a banana.
Eventually, I caught the culprit. Turned out to be the smoke detector in the
hallway. The light on it was blinking like a lighthouse with a really fast
rotation. Come to find out, a couple of ‘em were doing that. I figured it was just
a way of assuring the homeowner that he didn’t need to buy smoke detectors. I
now know the light means that it’s time to change the battery in the smoke
detector. What will they think of next?
I don’t know if you’re aware, but
it’s impossible for me to reach a smoke detector in this house by standing in a
chair. Can’t be done. That made it necessary for me to find my ladder. This
thing was becoming a job.
To add to my problem, I discovered
that the detector was wired to a device in the attic. “Why’s that?”I asked
myself. (Questions to myself are often asked aloud.) Why does a wired object
need a battery? Our builder must’ve included a super-safety feature. What if a
detector’s battery dies while the electricity is turned off? It may even be apart of a city building code.
Fortunately, they didn’t think to include a natural gas system just in case a
battery dies when the electricity is shut off. Maybe I should let Kay get us a
couple of canaries.
Crazy thing, after unplugging the
smoke detector from the ceiling and removing the battery, the whistle sound
continued blaring from the hole in the ceiling. That immediately got me
thinking that perhaps our house was built atop a Celtic cemetery. Time to
awaken Kay. After further investigation, I found that the sound was coming from
the other side of the wall, in the guestroom.The batteries to two Smoke
Detectors had mysteriously died only minutes apart.
I decided to go ahead and change the
battery in each of our smoke detectors.
Ended up getting a pack of eight batteries that were sealed in one of
those heavy plastic, see-through packages. The ones that a rabid tiger couldn’t
even open. Fortunately, a friend of mine gave me a pair of tin-snips for
Christmas. The eighth best gift I’ve ever gotten. Unfortunately, the batteries
were wrapped in one of those not-to-opened plastic contraptions.
How do little old ladies handle
stuff like batteries that come in super-sealed packages? When a hunk like me
has trouble opening up a sealed package how on earth do old ladies do it? Uh, I
mean, elderly people. My tin-shears even came in one of those hard to open
packages. I had to get that thing open with a claw hammer. It took me awhile to
find the hammer after Kay hid it from me.
Not only that but what do the
elderly do in the middle of the night when they hear a shrill whistling-sound?
How many poor souls would have no one to call in the middle of the night to
handle something like that… or to open a jar of jelly or a Spam can? While
working on that late night/early morning predicament, I thought of stuff like
that. Even did a little research.
Turns out, the number one
accident-causing death among the elderly is falling. I wrote about that once
last year. What I didn’t realize until late last Monday night is that most of
those falls likely occur while little old ladies are standing in a chair trying
to grab something on the ceiling. While it’s not wise to grab a gun and blow a
hole in your smoke detector, there will likely come a time when I try something
like that. Every year, life seems to make less and less sense to me. Why is
that? -- By the way, I asked that question aloud.
End
hayter.mark@gmail.com
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