Copyright 2007 Lydia HinshawCHENA HOT SPRINGS, AK -- The tinny little tune, a melody I didn't recognize, played for a couple of seconds each evening, at exactly 8 p.m.
Somewhere in the cramped jumble of work uniforms and play equipment that is our Denali home-for-the-summer, an electronic alarm of unknown origin has been driving me crazy for a couple of weeks. Prince Charming, being male and over 30, couldn't hear it at all.
I knew it had to be coming from one of his possessions, but which one? His watch? His cellphone? His computer? One of his three alarm clocks? Some other item he doesn't even remember bringing to Alaska?
The little song always ended too quickly, like a phone call that can't be traced on a cop show.
On our days off Tuesday and Wednesday, we took a road trip here, to the hot springs 60 miles northeast of Fairbanks. The Alaska drivers licenses we were required to get for our jobs entitled us to a bargain rate on a hotel room. We carried in our overnight bags and did a minimum of unpacking.
There wasn't much in the room, which made noise-tracing easier. At 8 p.m., I was engrossed in a novel when the familiar sound recurred. No doubt about where it was coming from this time -- the guilty iPod was just inches from me on the night table.
I never knew iPods had alarms, and neither did he. He does recall scrolling through some screens a while back, trying to figure out how the thing works. He never intended to set an alarm.
He has since figured out how to turn the alarm off. I think. It will soon be 8 p.m. and I am listening carefully.
Somewhere in the cramped jumble of work uniforms and play equipment that is our Denali home-for-the-summer, an electronic alarm of unknown origin has been driving me crazy for a couple of weeks. Prince Charming, being male and over 30, couldn't hear it at all.
I knew it had to be coming from one of his possessions, but which one? His watch? His cellphone? His computer? One of his three alarm clocks? Some other item he doesn't even remember bringing to Alaska?
The little song always ended too quickly, like a phone call that can't be traced on a cop show.
On our days off Tuesday and Wednesday, we took a road trip here, to the hot springs 60 miles northeast of Fairbanks. The Alaska drivers licenses we were required to get for our jobs entitled us to a bargain rate on a hotel room. We carried in our overnight bags and did a minimum of unpacking.
There wasn't much in the room, which made noise-tracing easier. At 8 p.m., I was engrossed in a novel when the familiar sound recurred. No doubt about where it was coming from this time -- the guilty iPod was just inches from me on the night table.
I never knew iPods had alarms, and neither did he. He does recall scrolling through some screens a while back, trying to figure out how the thing works. He never intended to set an alarm.
He has since figured out how to turn the alarm off. I think. It will soon be 8 p.m. and I am listening carefully.
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