Oh, the negativity. It’s stomping around in my brain like a desperate
4-year-old in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart. I’m trying to ignore it, or at least
distract it for a while, until it can be properly subdued.
Perhaps I can blame lack of sleep. It’s always a happy
thing when one can assign blame. Around three o’clock this morning, our smoke
alarms upstairs decided to freak out just for the sheer joy of it. Three short,
piercing shrieks startled us out of our coveted sleep and sent my heart racing.
After waiting for a few minutes, I relaxed enough to drift off again. Until it
happened again. Three more times at random intervals, the smoke detectors
screamed into the pre-dawn darkness. At about 4 a.m., the darling husband gave
up and rose for work. I stubbornly held my ground though, determined to get a
few more winks in. I never did fall back asleep.
Shortly after six I too admitted defeat and rolled out of
bed. My first order of business was to silence those alarms. There are three of
them upstairs, each one at least nine feet off the floor. Luckily for me,
darling hubby has a decent collection of aluminum ladders in the garage. The
trash had been set out the night before, leaving me easy access to Big Momma,
the 16’ extension ladder. She’s a scary one, she is. I managed to retrieve her
without incident. Alas, that was the easy part.
I discovered just how low some our ceilings really are. And our doorframes? Laughable. I was grateful
for the “Improv for Actors” workshop we attended at the Renaissance Faire that repeatedly
advised us to “always know where your ends are”. It’s frightening how often
this advice comes in handy. But I am
pleased to report that in spite of Big Momma’s awkward length, I managed to
make it through our narrow townhome to the top of the stairwell. By the grace
of God, we will not have to replace any drywall, windows, furniture, light
fixtures, or stair railings.
I tackled the highest one first, before my nerve ran out.
With my granny glasses on my head and new batteries in my pocket, I crept up
the ladder until I was face to face with the offending detector. It was at this
point, high up on the ladder placed at the top of 13 stairs, that I realized I
had no idea what I was doing. But I was at the point of no return. I lowered my
granny glasses onto my nose, indicating to the world that I meant business.
I’ll assume at this point, that when darling hubby purchased
these smoke detectors, he chose a model simple enough for his wife to figure
out. God bless that man. Because I was able to locate the compartment and
remove the original battery. The fool contraption chirped angrily until I got
the new battery seated properly. Which was hit or miss, as there were no
symbols indicating which direction the battery needed to face. At least there
were none that I could see, and at that height there’s a limit on how much time
I’ll spend researching the dynamics of battery replacement.
After a fair amount of trial and error, the first
replacement was successful. I knew this, because as soon as I closed the
compartment, the smoke detector emitted a sound that can only be described as
Cyndi Lauper on a double espresso. Then silence. Blessed, blessed, silence. I
descended the ladder as gracefully as a woman my age, height and weight could
manage.
Feeling confident, I lowered the ladder and headed for the
bedroom. In my haste, I forgot that I was trying to maneuver an 8 ½ foot ladder
thru a 6 ½ foot doorway around a sharp turn. There was no damage, but a great
deal of noise. (Interpret that as you will). It was an early morning lesson in the
properties of physics that I’m not eager to repeat any time soon.
The bedroom detector was more cooperative. I took that as a good sign. While up on the ladder I realized just how
dusty the top of the doors can get. Fabulous.
The last detector was a total bust. After all the work and
sweat to get up there, the darned thing would not take the new battery and
complained loudly until I put the old one back. There’s just no reasoning with
some machines, I guess.
Once I came back down (and dusted all the door tops), I carried
the ladder triumphantly back down the stairs, with the Rocky soundtrack playing
in my brain. After returning Big Momma to the garage, I treated myself to a big
greasy breakfast and sat down to peruse Facebook.
Good thing I was feeling invincible, because somebody posted
the most depressing video in the world about the horrors of customer service, (my
area of expertise and focus of my job search)and how it only gets worse. Sorry,
negativity, one day you may defeat me, but today is not that day! After a few
rousing games of “Stack The Cats”, I tackled some chores, and updated my LinkedIn
profile, confident that I can now claim “Always knows where her ends are” on my
resume.
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares
the Lord,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11
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