“Remoted” Day 314 (Sunday)

The weekend kicked off with the chirpy chirp sound of some sort of detector and the fun-filled game of “Which device is that noise coming from?”

I got to play this game in Tennessee and it lasted forever. After checking and replacing batteries in every found detector in my 1,200 square foot ranch with a full basement, the sound continued.  For months. A couple years later, while packing to move, a carbon monoxide detector was found in the dining room closet, still in the box. It had been given to me by the company that installed my attic insulation and central heart and air system. Considering the job cost over $10,000, started late, and took twice as long as promised, it would have meant a lot more if they had installed the detector. Instead, they handed it to me in the box and left it up to me to figure out. They had also insisted, for insurance purposes, on replacing the fully functioning fold-down ladder to the attic. This wouldn’t have been bad if the old one hadn’t worked better than the new one, which was difficult to pull down and even harder to push back up. The pain of that installation was a gift that kept on giving.

The options for the source of the current chirpy sound seem plentiful for the current 1,000 square foot home. There are four CO detectors in three different models, and two smoke detectors. The box of batteries was retrieved from the bathroom closet and the stockpile revealed to be not as plentiful as remembered. The stepstool was pulled from its space between the wall and the refrigerator and carried up the steep and narrow staircase, because in 1930 that’s how they were built.

In the realm of “nothing is ever as easy as it should be,” there were multiple trips up and down the stairs with the wrong batteries when I had AAA instead of 9-volt in hand. When that battery was replaced, the chirp continued. The many manuals were sought and found, and thanks whispered to the previous owner for saving all the manuals for every appliance, the thermostat, and the detectors. 

So many devices, so many manuals.

After dismantling the carbon monoxide detector in the living room and the smoke detector at the bottom of the stairs, the sound was finally isolated to the basement where two CO detectors are mounted side by side (or “side by each” as a friend from the Midwest would say).  Luckily, there are extra chairs stored in the basement, because that staircase is even scarier than the one between the main levels. There were multiple trips for the correct batteries, and a knife to pry the original battery out after the helpful plastic strip broke. And finally, there was quiet.

Meatballs and
Hasselback potato.

At least, there was quiet until I cooked today. It was a 425 degree oven and potatoes sliced and brushed with olive oil and butter for Hasselback potatoes that were the culprit today. Even with the range fan on high, partway through the 45-minute cook time the smoke detector started shrieking. At least I knew exactly which device was emitting the ear splitting tone, having gone through this drill dozens of times since moving here. Dish towels were waved. Doors were opened. Dogs cowered and quivered. There was no visible smoke. There was no yelling, just a lot of sighs and muttered swears. This happened three times.

At least after all the drama, the potatoes were good. And it’s comforting to know the smoke detector works, but it would be appreciated greatly if it weren’t operating on a hair trigger. It’s been set off dozens of times by the oven in the next room, and once by a candle at a Christmas Eve party. 

The weekend started with one detector chirping and wound down with a different detector shrieking. After that, the only sounds were dogs snoring, the TV, and the ever present shrill of tinnitus. Even the tinnitus is preferable to the other sounds of this weekend.