I woke a little before 7. Daughter had been up for almost 2 hours and was nearing her departure time. Work called to her and writing called to me.
Upon removal of my ear plugs (Hubby snores, remember?) I heard an incessant beeping. Hubby roused when I left the bed, so I asked him, “what’s beeping?”
“I don’t know,” was his sleepy reply.
I headed into the communal part of the house, passing Daughter’s room on my way. She was sitting on her bed so I asked “what’s beeping?”
“I don’t know,” was her reply.
Into the living room I went. It wasn’t originating there. Next, I scoured the office area – nothing beeping there either. That left the kitchen as the only possible source of the loud, irritating beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep….
As I walked in the door I KNEW it was coming from something within the kitchen. But what? And, where?
Was there a watch hidden somewhere among the stuff on the kitchen table? Was it the microwave? Was it the smoke detector? What was it? What was beeping??
I looked all around on the table, picking up Daughters things and moving around my own items. I unplugged the microwave and stuck my head into the fridge. Nothing.
As I turned my head, the sound seemed to be coming from above me. The ceiling??? Attic???? What would be above me that was giving alarm?
Whatever it was – it was beginning to cause me alarm.
As I stood there in the middle of the kitchen floor, trying to zero in on the origin of the beeping, I looked down at the kitchen table.
There, not a foot from me, was Daughter’s iphone, propped nearly vertical on its hands-free stand.
The reason the sound appeared to be coming from the ceiling was because it was. The iphone’s alarm was going off and it was bouncing off the ceiling.
I called to Daughter – “Um, I think the beeping is coming from your phone.”
Daughter asked if I was sure and I assured her I was.
She asked how it was that the alarm was going off. I assured her I didn’t know. I can’t even turn the thing on – how would I know about alarms and such?
It was such a relief when she punched whatever it was that she punched and shut off the beeps.
Daughter pointed at the coffee pot, filled with freshly brewed Maxwell House French Roast. “Coffee’s ready, if you want some.”
“Thanks,” I said. I poured a cup, but didn’t drink it for a while. My heart was already racing and my mind whirling. If I’d poured a cup of hot black coffee into the souped up mess of me at that moment, I would have been beeping, “Warning! Warning! Warning! Overload! Danger, Will Robinson!“