I'm half deaf in one ear, and can't hear out of the other. Not
from screaming kids either. Though I'm sure that might contribute.
We have one of our smoke detectors on the ceiling in the hallway upstairs. Our woodstove is in the living room
at the end of the hallway. Hold on, I'll make a map... Anyway, after cleaning the ashes from the woodstove, I left
the ashbox sitting next to the stove, loaded and made a fire, and promptly left the ashbox sitting where it was.
There was no threat of fire, but as anyone with a woodstove knows, hot coals heating ashes creates toxins that
are highly icky and really not good for you.
As the afternoon progressed, Damian and Lucifer were in a heated competition of "Battle Toads" on their
Suddenly we hear that high pitched, VERY loud screaming that normally comes from good smoke alarms. It was deafening.
We ran into the hallway, I grabbed a chair, trying to keep my ears covered, and waved a newspaper at the bottom
of the detector, you know, to get the billowing smoke away in order for it to shut off.
However, there was no smoke billowing. So of course that didn't shut it off. There was no smoke *anywhere* for
I got up on the chair and while still trying to cover my ears, pulled out the battery. It still kept screaming.
Damian and Lucifer stood in the hallway, hands over their ears.... I sent them scurrying, sniffing for smoke downstairs,
in the attic.... while I stood there staring at the screaming smoke detector with no battery in it.
Scratching my head, and getting dizzy with the shrieks coming from it's battery free body, I could NOT understand
how it kept screaming.... but it was REALLY getting on my nerves now. I poked at it, prodded it, on and on the
Finally completely fed up, I reached for a golf club.
Raising it high over my head, and with a ferocious growl, I beat at it, smashing, maiming and finally knocking
it from the ceiling, killing it... we're looking at the carcass, all three of us, smiling, thinking what a brilliant
mom I am... then realized that the screaming beeping is still going on.
I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe it had any life left in it. I stood there, golf club in hand, looking around
me for something else to beat to stop the deafening racket, puzzled that this modern piece of technology could
be working with no power.
My gaze traveled to the doorbell mechanism high up on the wall thinking perhaps it TOO was possessed and attempting
to drive us all mad. As I raised the golf club towards it, Damian dropped to the floor with his hands over his
It was at that point, that he noticed the carbon monoxide detector plugged into the wall (behind the headboard
which if you recall from an earlier chronicle, I had kicked while playing soccer with Lucifer). He jumped up and
yelled over the ear shattering noise:
"DAVE!!!! WAIT!!!! Don't kill the doorbell box!! It's
this thingie that's making all the noise!!!!!!!!"
I dropped the golf club, bent down, and pushed the reset button.
In fact, it was SO silent, that the silence was louder than the screaming beeping seconds before. The carbon detector
picked up on the few wisps of toxins the ashbox was giving out.
Now I felt bad. I beat and killed an innocent smoke alarm. It lay there in a crumpled heap at my feet. Gingerly
I picked up it's broken pieces, collected limbs, miscellaneous smoke detector guts and placed it all in a small
box on my kitchen counter. Apologizing, comforting.... knowing it was too late.
This was worse than road rage.
I suddenly didn't feel like "SuperDave" heroine of the earth, saving her family from certain destruction.
I felt like Tiger Woods after losing the Masters. A small appliance serial killer. A psycho armed with a golf club
and a small twitch.
However, since I think Golf is one of the most boring sporting events to ever be introduced (ack *OW!* HEY!!!!
ducking the onslaught of golf balls and assorted rotten vegetables from Golf a holics), I did find use for the
Have you ever watched Golf on television? If those commentators were any more excitable, they might just get a
hair out of place. I think they should use retired Wrestling commentators for Golf shows. Spice it up a little.
All that whispering!! You don't see them jump up to high five all the other announcers gleefully screaming:
"YEAH BABY WAY TO NAIL THAT SOB... YOU ROCK MAN!!!"
Just a quiet "And it's in... Tiger will sure be pleased
with that shot"
Anyway, ladies, when your Mr Happy's insist on a new set of clubs, let them, just be sure he gets a really good
driver, they come in *very* handy.