I knew the day was coming, but I kind of forgot about it until late one night, a few weeks ago, when my beloved channel 52 suddenly bit the dust. When I mentioned it to Steve the next morning, he jumped up, grabbed his keys and lit out like his pants were on fire.

“What’s happening?” I yelled after him, quite sure he must be having an attack of some kind.

He called back frantically over his shoulder, “The digital boxes! The digital boxes! I forgot about the digital boxes!” And then he was gone.

The one thing that man loves more than a good cut of beef, a new car, or me, is television.  And so, in short order, we became the proud owners of four of those charming little digital link boxes from our local cable company.  (It would have been seven, except our big TV in the living room doesn’t need one, and we don’t have cable jacks in the bathrooms – yet!)

Yes, I knew the day was coming. I just didn’t much care. TV, for me, is mostly just white noise in the background.  Well, except for my “Golden Girls” reruns and an occasional “Say Yes to the Dress.” Otherwise, Steve can have all the remotes in the house – no arguing required.

One London woman wasn’t quite so lucky earlier this year, when her husband, one Paul Harvey (no relation to the late American radio broadcaster!), did her in with a remote during a heated argument.

He says he had no idea the remote control he “tossed” her way would come in contact with a heretofore unknown weak spot in her skull.

Of course the cocaine and alcohol he had ingested just prior to the event may have skewed his definition of the word “tossed.” It’s probably best not to argue with a deadly weapon like a remote lying around.

Anyway, here I stood perusing the four small, cable company packages that appeared on my kitchen counter later that day.

According to the label, each contained a digital link box, a power adaptor, a coaxial cable, an external IR receiver, two hook and loop fasteners, a remote control, two AA batteries and a quick start guide. Splendid.

We’re already living in remote control h-e-double hockey sticks. What’s four more? I was ever-so-pleasantly surprised to learn the new remotes would replace the old ones, as soon as Steve got them all programmed.

A deed that was done in less time than you can say, “I didn’t know a guy could move that fast!” And the new remotes have only 21 buttons.

The remote for our big TV and DVR has no fewer than 60 buttons – just about 39 too many, if you ask me.

We’ve had that thing just over a year, and I still don’t have a clue – mainly because that remote would have to be the size of a small refrigerator for me to plainly see the tiny words printed under those 60 buttons.

Remote controls, of one confusing kind or another, have been with me most of my life. In the late ‘50s, my grandparents had one of the first TV remote controls. As the adults passed that miracle gizmo around during the next big family gathering, we cousins ran in and out of the room in our usual helter-skelter fashion.

It didn’t take long for some of the big people to realize the channels were changing every time we came running through the room. It took a little longer for them to track down the source.

One of the rascally boy cousins had pulled the head off a baby doll and to his delight, discovered he could produce a high-pitched squeak from the neck hole every time he gave that doll a squeeze. And with each squeak – the channel changed!

Apparently, with this early remote control system, channel changing could be triggered by certain high frequency noises other than those coming from the remote. Who knew? Bet my grandma was wishing she could return that expensive gadget.

So, anyway, the new boxes and compact remotes are in place and all is right with the world for me and my “Golden Girls.”

Now, if I could just find a headless baby doll to replace that 60-button monstrosity we call the living room remote.



Peck is a local mother and grandmother who works in Enid Public Schools. She can be reached at peckaroonie@yahoo.com.