We had the best time making fun of a recent episode of a home improvement show. The host was adding technology to a vacation home on a beautiful lake in Canada. Never mind the gorgeous view.

Apparently rentals are hotter when the property includes the latest gadgets. For example, one only has to speak to turn on the television, open the garage door, light the bathroom mirror or adjust the thermostat.

How come it never works that way for us? The one device in our house that is voice activated seems to have a mind of her own. You know her name. It shall not be spoken because she will talk to me as if I want to hear her opinion. Which is never. If I ask her to play a particular song, she now replies with a sassy ad for music that can easily be enjoyed for a simple monthly fee. “Would you like to begin your free trial followed by a monthly charge of $4.99?” she asks. As I ponder the fact that “free” now costs approximately five dollars, I say, “No thank you.” Being the southern woman I am, I strive to be polite even when annoyed and talking to a non-human.

“Okay,” she replies brightly. Then she follows up with a reminder that I can change my mind at any time simply by saying the words she repeats. I want to shout, “Just stop with the talking!” You see, my hair used to be red and still is at the roots. But alas, there’s also the southern issue. So instead I pleasantly repeat, “No thank you.”

Surprisingly she does not respond. I wonder if I’ve offended her. Back to the smart house. Can you imagine pulling in the drive and instead of pushing a remote, you speak to the garage door to tell it to open? If it works anything like the
small amount of technology I use, it will sass me in a singsong voice with something like, “What’s the password?”

With ease I rattle off the same code I use for everything. I know that’s not wise, but it’s the only way I can remember the magic word. Even so, the door will tell me that my magic word is not good enough. I need at least one capital letter, nine characters, three numbers and my firstborn’s baby teeth. If that doesn’t work, then perhaps I can recite my mother’s favorite poem and the street name of my eldest uncle’s homeplace. Perhaps I know the name of my grandmother’s least favorite child.

I can see that garage door going up and down each time I try another answer while I sit in the driveway speaking politely to my house. I may as well park outside and enter by way of the front door instead. That door too will surely question my family history.

Inside the smart home at the bathroom mirror I imagine saying, “Turn on lights… please.” “YIKES!” the mirror screams. “Your face melted!” At that point, the polite southern replies of my childhood have all vanished. “Ha ha. Very funny mirror. So I am not the fairest of them all. I get it. Just shut up and do something useful. I don’t suppose you can make coffee,” I ask hopefully.

“What’s the password…..” she singsongs merrily. I think I hear her giggle. It is not a pleasant sound. “I’m not getting that coffee am I?” I ask with a heavy sigh. Perhaps I shall soldier on and make my own coffee; switch on my own lights; find my reading glasses and adjust my antiquated but easy to read thermostat.

Thank God I don’t actually have a garage. Because that door is never going to open. Instead maybe I’ll just relax and enjoy the view. It seems the best things in life are not only free, but technology free.