Certifiable

If I'm going to spend an entire day in a meeting, it really helps if it's about swimming.

My friend Cliff and I attended a USMS coaching certification course on Saturday, and enjoyed hanging out with a bunch of other coaches and masters swimming enthusiasts. Most of the material covered was not new, but I did pick up a few ideas that the Foothills Team can expect to see popping up in upcoming practices. But most of the discussion seemed to verify that we have a pretty good program going.

That was definitely the highlight of my weekend. I'm still not feeling caught up on my rest and recovery after my recent head cold, so my enthusiasm for taking on additional projects is pretty low right now. And if general fatigue wasn't enough, I had a power outage incident on Friday night that further interrupted my sleep sequence.

I know what you're thinking: "How does a power failure interrupt sleep? Wouldn't it be even quieter and more peaceful without the sounds of the fridge compressor, the heater fan, and other sundry appliances?" You'd certainly think so. And without the sidewalk lamps shining in the window, it's even darker than usual. Seems to be a formula for deep and uninterrupted slumber.

Well, yeah, except for this particular device.

When I moved into the condo, I bought a carbon monoxide alarm to protect me from deadly invisible gases. (Well, OK, I really bought it because I get a discount on my homeowner's insurance if I have one.) Up until Friday, it had remained silent, analyzing the air in quiet solitude. But just like smoke detectors that chirp when batteries are low, this guy feels compelled to warn you when there's a power outage. Loudly. It started shrieking as soon as the electricity shut off.

I had no idea which device was causing the racket, and with all the outdoor lights extinguished on a moonless night, it was really dark throughout the condo. Of course, being a former Boy Scout, I have a crank-chargeable flashlight sitting in an easily-accessible location on the floor of my bedroom. All I'd have to do is grab the light, track down the source of the beeping, and hit the reset button.

Except that the flashlight wasn't there. I groped around for a bit before I remembered that I had used it a while back to help me read the labels on the back of the TV set when I was installing a new antenna, and apparently hadn't returned it to its rightful spot. I knew it was in the condo somewhere, but would never find it by blindly waving my hands around.

Hmm. Plan C would be the flashlight I keep in my car, but that would require getting dressed for the outdoors, and that task would also be a major challenge in the darkness. Plan B was the emergency candle I keep in the kitchen utility drawer. So I fumbled my way into the kitchen, pawed through the drawer until I found the candle, and somehow managed to locate and strike a match to get the thing lit.

Hmm, a subtle vanilla scent. Very nice. But an unsteady flame, and not nearly enough light output to do any reading or serious troubleshooting. It was adequate, though, to enable me to locate the CO detector...but not to figure out how to tell it to shut up.

Since I couldn't immediately silence it, I decided to bury the detector at the bottom of the laundry basket, which muted the chirping to the point where I thought I might be able to get back to sleep.

Then, some good news. As I took the candle on a quick sweep of the living room, I found the missing flashlight. With its searing 5-LED beam, I was able to revisit the monoxide box and locate the "reset" button, which finally got the stupid thing to quit chirping. But with the residual adrenaline from the search and the white-hot anger at the beeping box's acoustic designer, it took a while to get back to sleep.

I lead an exciting life, don't I? But that's not all -- My other weekend experience with misbehaving appliances came when I wanted to toast myself a nice breakfast bagel. Half of the toaster's four slice slots had burnt out about a month ago, but two slots serve well enough for the vast majority of my toasting needs, so I didn't worry about it. But this time, the other two didn't work either -- the thing was entirely dead.

You don't realize how much you depend on a toaster until it craps out. The cheap piece of junk (the white one on the left) had only lasted about three years, which seems pretty poor even for an inexpensive appliance. After all, it's not a complex device...and I'm only asking it to occasionally provide a bit of glowing warmth to brown up my bread. It doesn't have to go anywhere, endure any rough weather, or handle movement or vibration. Its failure is a bit of a disappointment.

But it was also disappointing to learn that WalMart only stocks similarly flimsy replacements. I did purchase a new one (on the right), but have very little faith that it will survive any longer than the first one did. I may be living in a nostalgic dream world, but I could swear my childhood toaster lasted the entirety of my formative years, and may still be in operation somewhere today. Oh well.

Anyway, then there's this question: Are you supposed to recycle dead toasters? And if so, where?

The good news is that I can take out my household frustrations on the swim team, and thanks to the coaching class, I now have some new ideas for additional fiendish tortures. Mwahhh haaa haa ha!

With that, I'll wish you an excellent week -- with reliable power, functional (and quiet) tools, and plenty of lumens to light your way. Have a great day!