Electronics

Electronics

Batteries

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What am I gonna do if another battery goes?

asked Bob as he settled into bed.

After a trying day of replacing batteries.

First in the Roku remote which was down to its last bar.

Which he fiddled with over and over till the TV worked.

Then the two-year-old thermostat.

A first-time challenge.

After which Bob found he had to reprogram it.

All afternoon, he traversed the house with packages of batteries.

By, evening, he was ready to put the remainder away.

But, he still had one more battery task.

The electric car needed a recharge.

Normally, an easy procedure.

Just dock the handle of the charger into the car’s port.

So, he went to do this routine chore.

Came back puzzled.

The car refused to take the charge.

He tried to problem solve.

Maybe the temperature in the garage was too cold.

Should he condition the car?

He did that remotely.

Got ready for bed, then returned to the garage.

Still no luck.

That’s when he climbed into bed.

Asking what he’d do if another battery failed.

I empathized completely.

Felt quite bad about the stress.

But my mind imaged the battery

newly buried in his chest.

All the others could be worked on

by handyman or tech.

But, if one that paces heartbeat breaks,

calm would careen toward wreck.

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 23, 2022

 

 

Electronics

Tea Kettle

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The kettle has always been integral.

To the kitchen.

To our lives.

Never had we had a burner without a kettle.

Our first was a hand-me-down.

A whistler.

A screamer.

Shrieking to flip off the gas.

We replaced it with a subdued one.

Yellow to match the sink, stovetop in our new house.

From excessive use though, it fell apart.

My parents gifted us a patterned one.

Festive, pretty, but too small.

Family members increased.

Need for hot water surged.

So, we found a cavernous stainless steel kettle.

In a farmers’ catalogue.

It was perfect.

For filling ceramic teapots.

Adding water to canning equipment.

Serving many guests.

And, ultimately, for sitting atop the wood-stove.

Exhaling moisture into the air.

Its successor was a companion for over twenty-five years.

Till yesterday.

When we retired it.

Stained from years of use.

Outside and in.

Put it into storage.

To wait to be recalled to service.

Supplanted by an electric water boiler.

Which I had seen in homes of two daughters-in-law.

One-and-three-quarter liters.

Heats up in minutes.

With settings for different kinds of tea.

Oolong.

Green.

Black.

French press coffee.

And a boil for instant anything.

Soup.

Cocoa.

Oatmeal.

Hard to believe at seventy-three,

We’re still acquiring devices.

Years of contentment with standard goods.

Never thought them sacrifices.

Daughters-in-law are mentors.

They exhibit the hottest trend.

Motivate us to swap our kettle

for an automatic godsend.

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 20, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

Adulthood, All Poems, Electronics, Humor, Loss, Stories

Sometimes I Wake Up

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Sometimes I wake up and wonder
if yesterday was merely a dream.
Did a man come and spend four hours
hooking up a smoke alarm system?
Did an upstairs eight-foot window blow out
of its frame in a gale?
Did the laptop refuse to restart after
installing a new OS?
Did I spend an hour-and-a-half on the phone with an agent
working to repair it?
Well, this morning, I have a new alarm system,
the window is boarded, the laptop requires
a new password.
So, a dream it wasn’t.
A bad day, yes.
The pop quiz, I suppose, before the final exam.

Lynn Benjamin
May 1, 2021

Aging, All Poems, Electronics, Emotions, Stories

My Phone

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You dropped me at the station,
I remember the sense of triumph:
old feet marching toward the immobile train,
dashing on to prevent more time spent
waiting for the next.
Yes, I did it, I thought,
sinking into my seat and pulling out
my eighty-five-cent senior ticket.

I caught my breath,
took some deep swigs of air.
Watched your car roll away.
Breathing in rhythm to the slow
startup of the engine, when, in a flash,
I realized my phone sat by my bathroom sink.
Where I had left it in my rush to bolt out the door.

I envisioned the phone posted there alone.
No way to tell anyone its whereabouts.

My heartbeat sped up.
My breath, a runaway train.
How would I solve this problem?
Only a decade ago, a non-issue?

Never mind surfing the web or reading the paper,
how would I even let you know what time I’d be returning?
Pay phones have disappeared.
I envied everyone around me fingering a smart phone.
Clearly, my phone was smart, and I was not.

My mind struggled to fix the predicament
while I admonished it and my stomach,
that was starting to churn,
to slow down, make space for reason.

My body delivered an answer
as it hopped toward a random passenger.
Asked if I could use his phone to call or text.
His assent reassured me that I could later ask a stranger
a second time.

My being calmed as I entertained the idea
of being unplugged,
reliving life before web and cell.

My contentment spilled into fingertips and toes.
I danced defiant, liberated till day closed!

Lynn Benjamin

September 2, 2015

All Poems, Electronics, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Siblings, Sister Love

My Sister Fulfills Her Promise to Cook: A New Year’s Resolution

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I was taking a walk on a sparkling autumnal day.
Just before Rosh Hashanah.
Two dogs of unequal size and breed barked, chased after me.
Arousing me from a reverie.
While I composed a poem.
Simultaneously, my cell phone,
asleep in my pocket,
woke from its nap.
Insistently chirped.
Nabbed in the act of writing, I dropped my pen.
Stooped to pick it up.
Flipped open my cell.
Pulled an amplifier out of the other pocket.
Pressed a button to connect it to the cell.
Magically, I held my sister’s voice in my left hand.
Her question to me was simple:
What size potatoes should I buy?

This was the start of the new year.
Sheryl’s resolution to cook.

Lynn Benjamin
October 2, 2005

Sheryl is my youngest sister, fourteen years my junior. She has never liked to cook. In fact, she really doesn’t cook. But, she always offered to bring something to our holiday dinners. I decided to ask her to roast the potatoes for a Rosh Hashanah dinner, thinking that roasting potatoes was a simple task. She couldn’t figure out which size potatoes to buy! I don’t think she actually did roast the potatoes for that dinner. Instead, she ordered a fruit tray. She’s been ordering and bringing fruit trays ever since!

Aging, All Poems, Electronics, Memories

I Belong to a Gentler Time

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I belong to a gentler time.
When people had minutes to stop and chat.
To notice each other, to care.

I belong to a gentler time.
When meals were shared.
Food itself was less important than conversation.

I belong to a gentler time.
When children played outside all day.
Relished their games of tag.

I belong to a gentler time
When books were friends.
You could not own too many.

I belong to a gentler time.
When protocol was important.
Thank you notes, expected.

I belong to a gentler time.
When true love meant slow dances, poetry and romance.
But also, loyalty and commitment.

I belong to a gentler time.
When Sundays meant visiting grandparents, uncles, aunts,
You knew you sprouted from somewhere special.

I belong to a gentler time.
When an icy glass of chocolate milk
in summer would make me happy for hours.
A Hallmark card with paper dolls
would keep me busy for weeks.

I belong to a gentler time.
When parents attuned to their children.
Not to images on Facebook.

I belong to a gentler time.
Before screens and social media could whip up revolutions.
Before hackers could locate, misuse my personal I.D.’s.
Before infidelity or prostitution were only a tap of an app away.
Before paper disappeared into software.
Text trumped phone.

I have opened my senses to this new world.
Though I am merely a traveler in it.
I predict my mind will double back to gentler times.
I hope you will be gentle with me.
As I have been with you.

Lynn Benjamin

August 2015

All Poems, Electronics, Emotions, Humor, Love, Pleasure, Prose/memoir, Stories

Love Affair with a Toilet

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It’s hard for people to understand my love affair with a toilet.
Yet, most people I know crave intimacy.
With a friend.
A sibling.
A lover.
A pet.
So, you might ask, what has a toilet to do with intimacy?
Well, if truth be told, before a visit to Japan,
I never had much feeling for the toilets I used.
They were strictly utilitarian.
Blue, pink, white American Standards.
Often with a seat that degraded,
having to be replaced.
By a painted wooden seat or cushioned vinyl one.
None of which matched the bowl.
Just necessities for pee or poo.
But the trip to Japan spoiled me forever.
At first, I had no idea how to use the Toto toilet.
I found them in conventional hotels, ryokans,
restaurants, stores, museums, and everywhere else.
Quickly, I learned to play the buttons.
One, like a bidet, irrigated private parts.
Another sprayed buttocks.
Then there were dryers, pulsars, oscillators, seat warmers.
Once sorted, I actually looked forward to the restroom wherever I found myself.
In fact, I began to expect this indulgent treatment.
Until I returned home to my old, cold, gold toilet.
Matching European bidet.
I can’t even explain the letdown, disappointment, sorrow.
Like breaking up with a dependable suitor.
So, in my grief, I shopped compulsively.
Till I found my very own Toto with all the bells and whistles.
Now, do you comprehend the intimate nature of this toilet?
It showers any part of the groin.
With perfect pressure.
Water temperature.
Vibration.
Deodorizes itself.
Sanitizes itself.
Waits for me to arrive.
Lights up when I enter the water closet.
Performs.
Tell me, why would I not fall in love with my Toto?

Lynn Benjamin
November 4, 2021

Adult Children, All Poems, Electronics

Days of Reckoning

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Days of Reckoning

Ordinary people spend hours on-line.
Checking FaceBook, Instagram, TikTok.
Paying bills, depositing checks, transferring money.
Investing, trading, buying, selling.
Cyber scams, frauds pierce plans.
Shatter them.
Send shards flying.
In all directions.
Hard to find.
Hold on to.
Put back in place.
Order disappears.
Not only externally.
Psychically, too.
Violations of privacy.
Security.
Safety.
Agency.
How to pick up pieces?
Assess damage?
Live again in a virtual world?
These are days of reckoning.
Coming to terms.
With digitized information.
Changing cards, passwords.
Running security sweeps.
Wiping laptops.
Calling financial institutions.
Wondering whom to turn to.
A name in the contacts app?
An agency on the browser?
Impossible to do any of it on an infected computer.
In our case, we were fortunate.
Our angel was our son.
Who buttressed us, guided us.
Before we came undone.

Lynn Benjamin
October 21, 2022

All Poems, Children, Electronics, Humor, Stories

Band-Aids

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Amazing how I’ve come to rely on Amazon.
For soups.
Shampoos.
Lotions.
Spices.
Books.
Even band-aids.
The one hundred pack, one inch variety.
The kind that’s hard to find on shelves.
Easy to drop into an electronic cart.
Press send.
Presto!
Arrival tomorrow.
Outside my door.
But my last cart flagged them.
Supplier out.
Try another.
Same product.
Only two boxes left.
Well, better order quickly.
Done.
They’re here. Today.
But think of all those children.
Falling, scraping knees.
No band-aids for their booboos.
Supply chain, ease up please!

Lynn Benjamin
February 7, 2022