We survey the inventory of microwave, food processor, blender, coffee maker, coffee bean grinder, electric can opener and knife sharpener, crock pot, digitized meat thermometer -- the list is endless -- and marvel that somehow our mothers managed to get meals on the table with only a few primitive tools: electric stove, refrigerator and mixer.

My counters are so full I have no place to prepare food. Our kitchen was built in 1928, when no one could have dreamed of all the gizmos we "modern" cooks would require.

Sometimes I extend the game to the rest of the house and consider how uncluttered our old house must have been before the technological revolution. No television or stereo, with their alphabetic components of VCR, DVD and CDs. No computer with its peripheral printers, scanners, speakers, and reams of paper.

I have yet to acquire the handheld goodies that would otherwise clutter table tops: cell phones, digital cameras, Palm Pilots, MP3 players . . .

And then there are the white elephants. Electronic stuff is designed to be obsolete in a year or two so we'll continue to buy newer, better, faster. What do we do with the old stuff?

* * *

THE AMERICAN home is apparently becoming so cluttered, there's a wildly popular Internet site (www.flylady.org) whose sole purpose is to motivate people to get rid of junk.

Would I want to go back to those pre-microchip, un-digitized, sans cyberspace days? Never.

Especially I'd never want to give up what the computer age has meant for people with disabilities. Technology has burst open doors to mobility and independence.

Nearly ten years ago, when my husband was paralyzed by stroke, we were amazed and thrilled by sophisticated scanners that would allow him to drive a wheelchair or operate a communications device. The official title is "adaptive technology," and what we were seeing a mere 10 years ago was a primitive forerunner of what's available today.

* * *

IN THOSE EARLY days after the stroke, I would get caught up in the promise of technology. I would think that if we could just acquire all the right "stuff," we could make up for all the movement, and communication and independence John had lost.

But the stuff is cumbersome. It's still only stuff. Technology is just a tool. It offers a way of living, but it is not life. The losses and limitations, the wounds of the soul and bruises to the spirit still must be dealt with.

All of us, willing or not, immerse ourselves ever more deeply into techno-tools. Most of us appreciate what they're doing for us, but do we consider what they're doing to us?

Our lives are becoming controlled by devices we'd barely heard of 10 years ago, but now can't live without.

The other day while walking our dogs in the park, I crossed paths with a friend who was taking a break from her roller-blading. She was trying to figure out why her portable CD player had stopped working.