We are now on our way to a more connected home, thanks to my boyfriend Marc. We have a Canary downstairs, no not the delightful little bird but a dainty camera that watches you. I do like its design. It’s for security though Marc has been using it to check in on the dog.
“Look she’s moving,” he says.
I’d rather not know what she does the eight hours we are away. The dog is kept in a square, cold tiled and empty laundry room with a few windows of entertainment.
Next it will be the doors. He’s already investigating mobile locks.
Maybe next the fridge or the frying pan to measure what’s too hot or too cold. Don’t you know the perfect temperature? Are you really standing their grazing, looking inside the fridge when you just ate? An alarm will sound. You will be notified immediately.
Again and again till every nook and crannie can be examined like we are playing doctor with our own home, our own lives, all up for display.
“I have measured my life in tea spoons,” the great T. S. Eliot once said. Could he imagine? The tea spoon talked back, “Yes, that’s three cups of tea and two cups on a bad day, seventy two thousand teaspoons of sugar per lifetime.”
What does it all add up to?
I walk past the canary. It is almost unnoticeable except I know that it’s there. I can’t swear or curse or say anything with anger because it’s listening. Someone is listening waiting to examine, to explain and tell me what I may not want to know.