Our home entertainment needs are satisfied by three basic devices: a 13-inch TV, VCR and DVD player on a little rolling cart we keep in the laundry room. Each component, of course, has its own dedicated remote control unit. VCR, slim black; DVD, chunky ivory; TV, thin gray.

Being of a technical bent, I normally manipulate the remotes to get everything up and running before handing them off to Mary. From then on she processes any required adjustments.

The three remotes are often joined on the table by a cell phone of similar size and shape. You can surely envision confusion, can't you, in moments of media crisis?

But just this week I determined to simplify life with a "universal remote," a device supposedly possessing the ability to consolidate all remote controls into a single unit. With one of those little rascals, I reasoned, confusion will be history.

Persuaded by its promise of "Guaranteed to work with YOUR equipment," I carefully selected Remote Number 1 off the rack and set off to fulfill my dream. But the leaflet concealed within the package enumerated 350 code numbers in print so tiny that I had to get a magnifying glass. With instructions haltingly translated from Chinese, how could I to possibly extract the exact three unique codes for my equipment?

I surrendered after an hour, returned Remote Number 1 to the store and fetched Remote Number 2 to the house. After an hour's fiddling with Remote Number 2, both TV and VCR performed nicely, but no DVD. Even after cycling through hundreds of possible codes. Back to the store.

Wiser now and markedly more cynical, I simultaneously snatched up Remote Number 3 and Remote Number 4, hoping one of them might do the trick. Remote Number 3 actually operated the TV and DVD, but not the VCR. I sullenly repackaged it. And then, unbelievably and inexplicably, Remote Number 4 easily programmed quickly and precisely. One control for three devices! Marvelous!

The recipe for simplifying life turned out to be so downright simple I'm ashamed to admit it. Just take a universal remote and add two batteries. Then carefully mix three trips to the store and four hours of squinting at tiny print and poor English. Stir with six years of college. The glow of achievement warms me still.

Surely, I reasoned, such expertise and accomplishment can be easily exploited.

So now I'm pondering how to apply my success to a far more compelling complication: three cats, three personalities, three kinds of food, three feeding locations. There must be a way.

Coming up with recipes to simplify life is a lot easier than making them work. But I'm naïve enough to stay hopeful.