This Father's Day Friday, Guest Dad Joe Burris writes about what he does when there's just too much buzzing and beeping.
The BUZZ promptly woke me up at dawn.
I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to use a toothbrush that goes BEEP every 30 seconds (it was a gift, don’t ask), telling me to go from brushing the molars to the bicuspids.
Once downstairs, I shoved a plate of my morning breakfast into the microwave. I set the timer _ BEEP, BEEP, BEEP _ press start _ BEEP _ and within a minute or so the microwave indicated _ BEEP _ that my food was ready.
Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated _ BUZZ. I didn't care to talk to anyone so early; therefore, I pressed the "ignore" button _ BEEP.
I decided I wanted to wear a shirt that I washed overnight. I removed it and a bundle of my other damp clothes from the washer to the dryer, and about 20 minutes later _ BEEP _ I discovered that they were dry.
As I headed out, my home alarm kicked in _ BEEP _ to signal that the front door had been opened. Then I switched off my car alarm _ BEEP _ switched on my auto's ignition and shortly my indicator system reminded me _ BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP _ that I needed to buckle my seatbelt.
I can't recall when this daily plethora of sound effects began...
Maybe it was around the time when cell phones began doing everything except batting cleanup for the Cincinnati Reds.
Maybe it was around the time when the life’s hectic pace made us too busy to wake up after we've had enough sleep, too rushed to cook from the stove -- and gave us too many acquaintances who lack the sense to know that, barring an emergency, 6:30 a.m. is too early to phone anybody.
Needless to say, I don't get a buzz out of all this beeping. Some days I say to myself that I'm going to shut it all off, if only for a day. Then I wonder: What if the security of my home is compromised? What if after saying a prayer I forget to buckle my seat belt? And what if I miss the call that I can't miss?
That's why sometimes I have to leave suburban Washington, D.C., for the bucolic confines of eastern South Carolina, where I grew up. I joke to my friends here that it's so rural the last person up turns out the street light.
But although technology hasn't by-passed it, my hometown scarcely has as many beeps and buzzes as my current residence.
Instead, occasionally the most dominant sounds are those of crickets and birds clamoring for nature's center stage at dawn. Sometimes while I’m there, I take my daughters out at night and we gaze up at the sky to see so many stars that you can practically hear them twinkle.
And often during warm spring afternoons, the wind whistles as it stirs the sheets and pillowcases set out to dry on clotheslines.
That's right, clotheslines. Remember them? My mother still has one. What she doesn't have is a microwave. I bought her one a few years ago, and after a couple of months of tireless beeps she gave it away. When I go home, I can still hear the sound of something hot and tasty sizzling on the stove.
That's when I often tell folks to call me on her land-line phone -- only if necessary, of course -- and switch my cell off.