It’s positioned on the ceiling, right outside the kitchen door that leads into our home office.
White, round, unmoving, and silent – it appears innocuous and one could easily overlook it because it blends into the white ceiling on which it’s attached.
When I sit at my computer, I am below and about 18 inches to the left of it. I usually pay it no mind.
Occasionally, when I’m cooking, it announces its presence in shrill, demanding tones that set my heart pounding and me to action.
My first response is to clap my hands over my ears and vacate the room. My second is to flip on the fan above the stove. My third is to grab a dishtowel and wave it at the noisy intrusion until it stops screaming.
“What’s going on?” is a question that’s been asked many times (by Hubby, neighbors, relatives) as the smoke detector screeched its alert. And, it was/is usually answered by my children with two simple words.