Once upon a time a weary Ronnie Mincey prepared himself for bed. His lovely bride had retired some time earlier. He turned on the television to assist his delve into the realms of rest. As he crawled under the covers beside his oblivious wife and wrapped himself “just so” in the sheets, he heard something fall to the floor.
Actually, this has happened several times during the course of our marriage. Sometimes it was a coat hanger, sometimes a tool that she’d been tinkering with during the day, and sometimes other objects. The most memorable episode was the night I had placed my CPAP mask carefully onto my face just before going to bed. I arranged the covers to comfort my tired body. As I moved my legs to their accustomed place, I heard several loud crashes and the sound of something breaking.
In panic I jumped from the bed, trying not to drop the remote control to the television. In my semi-dozed state, I forgot all about my CPAP. I felt the weight of the machine pull against the straps of the mask wound around my head. I heard a gurgle as the machine turned upside down, causing water from the reservoir to flow backward.
Finally freed from what would otherwise have been the welcome bonds of rest, I turned on the overhead light and wandered to the foot of the bed to investigate what had disturbed my rest. I took no small pleasure in the fact that my wife’s rest was also disturbed. On the hardwood floor lay the broken remains of a few decorative ceramic eggs. Many thoughts went through my mind, none of them holy, as I gritted my teeth and growled at my wife, “Will you please quit leaving things on this bed!”
Her response? She lay back down and resumed her snooze. I grabbed the remains of those eggs, as well as the “lucky” one or two that had not broken, and hurled them into the bathroom trash as hard as I could.
The next morning I had another “conference” with the wife. I wanted to ensure that she realize the significance of the events of the night before, as she so quickly and effortlessly had fallen back into the depths of sleep after the mini-disaster. Was the point made? Since then, there has been no similar episode.
Now we battle alarms. There is an atomic clock on the kitchen window ledge above the sink. Every night at midnight it peals its tones of alarm. Neither of us seem to know how the alarm was set, and neither of us know how to silence it. Also, neither of us seem to want to take the time to go online and figure out how to stop the alarm. After all, it was for many months that the atomic clock was stuck on Pacific time, so we had to add three hours to the time displayed to determine the correct local time. The alarm is not that loud, is in the kitchen far from the bedroom, and we’re (at least I’m) rarely in bed before midnight. Even if I were, the television and stopped-up ears from the CPAP would drown the noise.
For a while, every morning at 6:00 a.m. the more aggravating (especially on Saturdays) alarm on the Bose in the living room would sound. The wife has stopped that one, it seems.
Her phone is another matter. Every morning at 7:00 a.m. it sounds the most irritating alarm. It sounds for exactly ten minutes. Just as with the atomic clock, it’s in the living room, far enough from the bedroom that it can be ignored.
How simple life used to be! In my very early childhood there was one alarm clock, and Dad kept it in the “bookcase” headboard of his bed. It was easy to wind—turn one stem to set the alarm, pull out another stem to activate the alarm, and it would “approximately” sound within ten minutes early/late of the intended wake up time. Of course, the old-time alarm clocks generally “wound down” every few hours (this varied according to the manufacturer), and none of them could be accused of being atomic in any respect.
Then I graduated to radio clocks. I spent two wonderful weeks with my oldest brother’s family in the summer of 1976 (where I joyfully celebrated America’s bicentennial and my eleventh birthday). I was most impressed with a clock that my niece had in the room where I slept. It was one of what I will call a “flip” clock—the time was displayed by a wheel that flipped numbers to reveal the time. I thought that was just the coolest thing! I would lie awake for hours, watching those numbers flip. I used to count the seconds as I waited.
My sister-in-law and niece gave me my own “flip” radio clock for my birthday that year. It was a most prized possession. Even after the “flipper” stopped working, I kept it as a happy remembrance of days gone by. I still have the clock (I believe) in my mother’s cedar chest in my home library. Clocks like this are now sold in novelty and antique stores, though I haven’t seen one that actually works in several years.
When I went to college, I received another radio alarm clock with a bright green digital display. (What stories that clock could tell could it speak! Thank God for small favors.) The display could be brightened and dimmed with the flip of a switch. I still have that clock in use today, in the “guest” or “spare” bedroom. I never realize how much I look at that clock until the power is interrupted. Then the time reverts to 12:00 a.m. and flashes. The clock also has a tuning dial to access both AM and FM stations. I haven’t tried to use the alarm feature on that clock for a long time, but the radio no longer seems to work so good.
There was a weekend when I returned to the dorm after a visit home. One very irate girl confronted me because the alarm had gone off the entire weekend, disturbing her rest. She was less considerate than I—how many times had the heavy bass on dorm stereos (maybe hers included) disturbed every activity of life at some point of my residence, yet I never complained. It is most invigorating to answer essay questions on a college exam with the bass beat of “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” and “Billie Jean” sounding in your head. Ah, those happy, golden years . . .
Once again, Dear Reader, I leave you until next week. Be not alarmed—I leave you with my fondest wishes for a wonderful week and, as usual, with a few thoughts from the joyful world of email.

Happiness is not having to set the alarm clock.

What's the best song to play while cooking a turkey?
“All About That Baste”

Grandpa was born in 1947. He said, “We never heard of FM radios,
tape decks, CDs, electric typewriters, yogurt, or guys wearing earrings.”