I was looking at my alarm clock this morning. Of course, I look at it every morning just before I slam it into silence, but today, I looked at it a little longer. And I realized - I have no idea how long I have had this little clock, but it's been a long time. There's a good possibility that it's been waking me up for a quarter of a century...or more.
When did I get old enough to make statements like that?!!!?!!
If this faithful little piece of outdated technology could speak, it could tell you things. It could tell you of my passionate teenage devotion to various boys who owned pick-up trucks. (They didn't know, of course - it was mostly one-sided.) It could tell you of perms gone wild ... bright blue eyeshadow ... multiple ropes of coloured beads with teddy bear sweatshirts and harem pants.
That clock has been there through it all. Moving from a small town to a city ... after-school jobs .... piano lessons.
It has lived in a basement apartment with leopard-skin curtains and an odour of fried liver and onions.
It has lived in residence with me and a roommate whose Newfoundland accent was so thick, neither of us knew what the other was saying.
It has, of course, lived in the apartment building with Spike and I as newlyweds, where people set garbage on fire in the halls.
That clock was there when we almost bought a house, didn't, almost bought another house, didn't, moved into my parents' basement, and finally bought another house - all within a 6-month period.
And I find myself obligated to make an old-person statement. I don't want to.
But I've told you about my unforgiving iPod.
And I've told you about my unreliable coffee grinder. (Which, by the way, has had to be replaced AGAIN.)
And I consider that Spike was trying to replace a part on the computer on Saturday, but that part just couldn't be found, because it is ARCHAIC, it is OLD, it is - gasp - 4 years old!!!
And I must make this statement.
They don't make things like they used to.
I don't know who "they" are. And I don't know why "they" don't make things like they used to. Maybe "they" are tired. Maybe "they" got laid off because they made an alarm clock that lasted too long, and I never bought another one. Or maybe my little alarm clock is a freak, an engineering anomaly. Maybe I could sell it on eBay for a gazillion dollars.
Of course, a gazillion dollars would only buy me a new little alarm clock with a nasty iPod attitude and coffee grinder unreliability, and then I wouldn't get up in the morning, and my life would be in serious trouble.
I guess I'll keep it.
That, and my twenty-year-old popcorn popper.
