Charlie’s helping me out with my blog while I’m busy dealing with the stuff you have to do after someone dies. Dad did a good job of setting things up right, but there’s still a bunch of details to take care of. Thanks, Charlie!
A Non-Issue
Our gas range, of course, comes with a timer
When your stuff is cooked, it lets out a beep
A beep that repeats ’til you hit the button
A beep sure to wake me if I am asleep
A dependable sound we’ve come to rely on
When baking or cooking all manner of grub
A beep, I’m afraid, that has kind of decayed
Into something more like you would hear on a sub
“Dive! Dive!” it seems to be saying
And not in some pure little chirp of a tone
Remember that sound from those submarine movies?
That sharp, piercing signal that cut to the bone?
It’s like one of those singers you see on T.V.
Maybe she had a nice voice in her prime
But by belting it out from the stage every night
She’s developed this shrill kind of trill over time
“Dive! Dive!” our timer’s demanding
“We’ve got us a mission under the waves!
Down, periscope! We’ll hunt ’til we find ’em!
Torpedo those buggers right to their graves!”
Other than that, the oven works fine
Same with the stove top: lights every time
So as for the range, I’m not losing sleep
Over buying a new one just ’cause of the beep!
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Thanks, Charlie