My niece, age 16 and pretty as the day is long, emerged from my old bedroom at Mom and Dad’s farmhouse not long ago.
“Alexa, what time is it?” she asked.

Not a sound followed, except my mom shuffling through cattle registration papers downstairs. Marlee stretched and tried again, louder this time. 
“Alexa, what time is it?” 

Still nothing. 

One more attempt: “Alexa, what’s the weather?”

My mom appeared at the bottom of the stairs, equal parts concerned and confused. 

“Who are you talking to, Marlee?”

“Your Alexa, Grandma. Where is she?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know anyone named Alexa. If you need the time, there’s a clock in the bathroom. It’s about 20 minutes behind. If you need the weather, there are four windows in that bedroom. Look outside.”

Marlee stood there, blinking, as the generational gap widened by about a mile.

For those unfamiliar with Marlee’s invisible friend, Alexa® is Amazon’s virtual assistant — the modern household’s quiet little eavesdropper. She sits on a counter, listening for commands to turn on lights, play music or remind you you’re out of coffee. In my opinion, Alexa is like that weird cousin at reunions who doesn’t talk and only observes. There is a lot of opportunity for misinterpretation.

I don’t need help being misunderstood in my own home.

I can ask my husband what sounds good for dinner, and he’ll respond with something like, “Rain moving in Thursday.” 

I can ask our daughter a yes-or-no question and get an answer that includes three different stories and no resolution. And our son communicates primarily through carpet farming demonstrations and pellet gun shooting reenactments. 

Truly, I don’t need a robot to complicate this further.

Honestly, if we brought an Alexa into our house and let her listen in, she’d probably file for early retirement.

A typical day sounds something like this:

Cody: “Don’t forget: covering a lot of ground next week. I fly out Sunday night to Bozeman, then east to North Dakota. I’ll fly out of Sioux Falls Friday morning. 701 and 3601 might cycle, so check them before bed. Feed comes Wednesday. Papers need signed by Tuesday, but you can e-sign and email if that is easier.”

Me: “Got it. I should probably check my email … I haven’t in days. Do you need dry cleaning for that trip? I thought 3601 was bred? Will you be home Saturday night? Also, fall ball: how far are we taking this? If we agree to it, are we giving the heifers enough attention before show season?”

Cody: “Not sure yet. Still a ways off. And yeah … probably home for dinner. I’m flying Southwest.”

Or this:

Cyrus: “I know what contest I want to do for Angus junior nationals.”

Me: “Awesome! Which one, buddy?”

Cyrus: “Sparrow shooting!”

Me: “Sparrow shooting? Why in the world would they have sparrow shooting at Angus junior nationals?”

Cyrus: “To teach other kids how to shoot birds, so they can take care of things at their house.”

Me: “I feel like shooting sports don’t have a lot to do with Angus cattle. “
Cyrus: “Then why do we do a coloring contest?”

Me: “Fair.”

Cyrus: “Besides, if there’s a war…we’re going to need a lot of people who can shoot guns. And hit stuff.”

Me: “This is going off the rails in a hurry. You’re 7, and you’re not going to war. You’re doing salesmanship and photography. Red Ryder® stays at home. Conversation over.”

At this point, Alexa would quietly unplug herself.

And don’t even get me started on privacy. You all know how I feel about a device listening to your dinner table conversations; lump that right in with Apple watches and DNA heritage tests: Nope. The only difference between an Apple watch and a probation bracelet is that the watch doesn’t alert the authorities when you take out the trash.

I guess if I wanted strangers to know the details of my family life…well, I’d just go ahead and write a quarterly column about it. 

Editor’s note: Lindsay Sankey is a freelance writer from Economy, Ind.