Finding, identifying, manipulating a remote control is daunting

In a container beside my bed are four remote controls. Each of them has a special job and will not cross over and do the job of the other. Of course, there are two controls for the television, but the “big” control is for the television only… the other is the DirectTV control that brings on the news, shows sports, and cost me about a hundred dollars a month. The other television remote (which is red) controls the source of special entertainment… Netflix, Prime, and such. Remote number four is small, thin, and has no numbers or words. Manipulation of arrows will control the moveable parts of my bed. This is an important remote which is not just for Kings and Princes anymore.

The “bed” remote tends to get lost among the covers. Of course, it’s the one that gets adjusted after my reflux has calmed down, the cooking show contest has come to an end, and I’ve dropped my Kindle reader enough times to realize that I’m not just clumsy, but sleepy. I press the magic buttons and the head goes down, the knees lower, and skinny little remote slithers under the extra pillows or the dog at the foot of my bed. If I get to coughing or have a leg cramp, I fumble around in the dark looking for that skinny little remote.

Now, if one or all the television controls have joined the fray, then I will be blasted with a flash of light and a commercial for New Zealand clam juice to “change my life.” Of course, the television doesn’t control the bed movement, and the bed control doesn’t change the channels. I was watching a new television show called Ghosts the other night, tried to turn up the volume. Suddenly, I was levitating.

Of course, other remotes hide throughout my house. Some of them are for equipment which has long since made it to the landfill or Salvation Army… without their remote controls. I pity the poor soul who picks up that Walkman in the electronics department of the junk store. Without the remote which is still in the back of my sock drawer, they’ll never get it to play.

It’s surprising how many machines in our homes start out with a remote control. Of course, there are other ways to make them work. My back door has a number pad, a remote control, and a key. The code is on a paper I hid in the garage, the remote control was stolen by some domestic terrorist, and the key is in the glove compartment of the car I traded in last October.

In order to remember the code, I came up with a foolproof plan. It’s the birthday of one of my friends. She was born the same year I was, so it’s a safe bet I’ll remember it well into the nursing home.

The other morning, I picked up the tv remote control in the kitchen and tried to change the channel on the microwave. That’s not so silly. After all, when I’m cooking, I watch the reflection of the television in the door of the microwave. When it didn’t work, I put it down and picked up the telephone which lay on the cabinet beside the stove. I punched “six” and the microwave didn’t respond… AT&T does not change channels or heat coffee.

I’m not sure what to do with all the old controls. If I collected all the useless remotes, old cell phones, headphones and power cords that are stored away, we could have one heck of a scavenger hunt next Christmas.