The images and descriptions are so visceral I don't see how anyone could react to them with anything other than horror, disgust, and tears.
I'm talking about the daily onslaught from the media of images and sound bites from all the trouble spots in the world and from all the trouble spots in Donald Trump's mind. There is almost nothing else to look at, to think about, and I'm wondering how it is possible that our country is so divided that two people, one liberal and the other conservative, could look at the same phenomena and come away with two completely opposed opinions.
Let's start with something easy. Do you suppose that Trump supporters looked at everything Obama and the Democratic coalition did with the same horror that I look at everything Trump and his minions do? For instance, I love Governor Polis. I love his daily Facebook messages. I love how quickly he has moved. When I think about free full day kindergarten I almost want to cry because it has been so long coming. My education convinces me that full day kindergarten will be a boon, not only to parents who don't have to fork over tuition payments anymore, but to the entire state. The money we will have to spend will be paid back tenfold. But does a hard core Republican look at free kindergarten as some kind of harbinger of the end of the world. Will it just start our state down the slippery slope to financial ruin? Does that hard core Republican ever take into consideration the welfare of Colorado's children?
I saw a report on TV this morning about our country's new policy of keeping immigrants in Mexico as they wait to see if they can enter our country. The report cited statistics showing the increased danger many of those immigrants face because of this policy. And, of course, the TV showed grainy images of the living conditions those immigrants have to face.
I look on that situation with a combination of horror and shame. I can't believe our country is treating people like that. Does a Trump supporter (Wait. Cross that out. I'm going to stop using the phrase Trump supporter and just start using Republican instead. If anyone can still call themselves a Republican after the last three years, they are complicit in Trump's systematic destruction of the country.). Does a Republican look at that same situation at the border with pride and satisfaction? Do they insist that it is about time we kept people from shithole countries out? I can't fathom that reaction and I guess Republicans can't fathom mine.
On the same TV station there was a report from Syria. A Turkish bomb exploded nearby, killing several civilians and injuring others. One of those injured was a little girl with a bandage around her head and wounds all over her body. Her mother explained to the reporter what had happened and the little girl tried to put her hands over her ears so she couldn't hear. She didn't want to relive her nightmare and she started weeping and reaching for her mom. She kept asking why.
I was overcome. Is it possible that a Republican could look at that clip and take pride in our abandonment of the Kurds? Would they be proud of Trump for having the "courage" to pull us out of this endless war in the mideast? Would they just ignore the human toll Trump's pull out has caused and continues to cause?
There was yet another article about Greta Thunberg talking to a state legislature. Whenever I think about her, I get happy. I know what passionate teenagers can accomplish. I think they are the only people who can lead us out of this morass we find ourselves in. When a Republican looks at Greta does he just revert to Fox speaking points? Does he/she see a kid who is mentally ill? Are Republicans convinced that her crusade is all part of the Deep State's liberal plan to ruin the world? Did Al Gore put her up to this?
I read an article yesterday in The New Yorker about black women fighting against anti-abortion forces in the South. I came across some startling facts. For instance, in Georgia prisons regularly shackle pregnant women during childbirth. The state legislature actually debated the practice. When I read that I am yet again horrified. When a Republican reads that, does he or she believe shackling women (read: black women) during child birth is a good idea? After all, we don't want them escaping, trailing their placenta behind them. How is it possible that there could be two opinions about this practice?
In South Carolina in 1995, the state added regulations that required all clinics practicing second trimester abortions meet the same design and construction standards as "ambulatory surgical facilities." The result: More than half of the South Carolina women seeking abortions had to leave the state. I look at those regulations as an obvious attempt to circumvent Roe v. Wade. Do Republicans really see the added regulations as an honest attempt by the legislature to insure the good health of those seeking abortions?
TRAP (Targeted Regulation of Abortion Providers) laws have been passed by Republican controlled state legislatures to subvert Roe v. Wade. As a result, in Alabama, there are only three clinics in the entire state, down from twenty in 1992. Now, I don't much like the idea of abortion. But I like the idea of taking away choice from women even less. Do Republicans look at this same situation and praise Donald Trump for reinstalling Christian values to mainstream America? Please.
One more example. A woman called up the two black crusading women and told them that she was in her early twenties, with two children, on Medicaid, unemployed, and eight weeks pregnant. Her abortion would cost 600 bucks and she only had 200. The abortion was scheduled for the next day and she was contemplating hocking her wedding ring. They told her to "hold on to that." They would figure it out before it got to that point.
When a Republican sees this pregnant woman's plight, does he/she see a threat to our country? Does he/she just casually think that it was her fault? She shouldn't be so irresponsible as to get pregnant again? Does he think that it serves her right?
That's why I've been so depressed of late. I don't want to believe that we are that far apart, all evidence to the contrary.
Sorry there weren't any jokes in this.
Saturday, October 12, 2019
Thursday, October 3, 2019
My New Ladder Is Ready To Climb
I was turning onto Yosemite when the tears started coming. Kathie even put her hand on my shoulder and asked me if I wanted her to drive.
I was fine.
I assured her.
The thing is I cry over almost anything lately. I think/hope it comes with being in my seventies.
How terribly strange.
I had to stop watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show because they had me crying so much. Opie does it to me every time. That's a slight exaggeration, but it makes my point.
We were just coming from my latest hearing appointment. I've ordered hearing aids. They'll be here the first part of November. Kathie and I have from now (October 3) until then to figure out how to pay for them. I'm almost in favor of forgetting the whole thing. I have managed to cope with my abysmal hearing for over forty years. I'm seventy-one. What's another forty years asking Kathie what everybody is talking about?
Whenever I say stuff like that, Kathie and anyone else within earshot roll their eyes. I guess they're right.
So, we ordered the things. There were four or five price ranges, each reflecting the quality of the hearing device in question. We chose the top. I figure if I have to have hearing aids, I might as well have the best.
I got to choose the color. It was a lot like buying a car. The selections were limited, but if I wanted to get a children's hearing aid, the colors would be a lot brighter. I went with the grey. There was a flesh colored choice, but it looked too much like something that fell off a Barbie Doll.
But back to the tears on Yosemite. This hearing thing has been the first thing in my life (rheumatic fever when I was six doesn't count) that required repeated visits to the doctor, the first sign that I'm getting old. I know that sounds stupid--I've been getting old for years--but that's how I looked, am looking, at it.
You have to understand that it has been a terrible month, maybe even a little longer. I had to have a root canal and a subsequent crown. We had to buy a new television. We had to buy a new lawn mower. Then Kathie's crown broke. And now we have hearing aids to buy.
There is a movement going through Congress to add hearing aid coverage to Medicare, to no longer consider hearing aids as merely cosmetic(!), but Mitch McConnell is working happily to keep it off the floor.
So I guess all that stuff coalesced in that one moment on Yosemite.
By the time I got home, I was all better and ready to climb up my new ladder to paint my house.
It is what it is in the suburbs.
I was fine.
I assured her.
The thing is I cry over almost anything lately. I think/hope it comes with being in my seventies.
How terribly strange.
I had to stop watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show because they had me crying so much. Opie does it to me every time. That's a slight exaggeration, but it makes my point.
We were just coming from my latest hearing appointment. I've ordered hearing aids. They'll be here the first part of November. Kathie and I have from now (October 3) until then to figure out how to pay for them. I'm almost in favor of forgetting the whole thing. I have managed to cope with my abysmal hearing for over forty years. I'm seventy-one. What's another forty years asking Kathie what everybody is talking about?
Whenever I say stuff like that, Kathie and anyone else within earshot roll their eyes. I guess they're right.
So, we ordered the things. There were four or five price ranges, each reflecting the quality of the hearing device in question. We chose the top. I figure if I have to have hearing aids, I might as well have the best.
I got to choose the color. It was a lot like buying a car. The selections were limited, but if I wanted to get a children's hearing aid, the colors would be a lot brighter. I went with the grey. There was a flesh colored choice, but it looked too much like something that fell off a Barbie Doll.
But back to the tears on Yosemite. This hearing thing has been the first thing in my life (rheumatic fever when I was six doesn't count) that required repeated visits to the doctor, the first sign that I'm getting old. I know that sounds stupid--I've been getting old for years--but that's how I looked, am looking, at it.
You have to understand that it has been a terrible month, maybe even a little longer. I had to have a root canal and a subsequent crown. We had to buy a new television. We had to buy a new lawn mower. Then Kathie's crown broke. And now we have hearing aids to buy.
There is a movement going through Congress to add hearing aid coverage to Medicare, to no longer consider hearing aids as merely cosmetic(!), but Mitch McConnell is working happily to keep it off the floor.
So I guess all that stuff coalesced in that one moment on Yosemite.
By the time I got home, I was all better and ready to climb up my new ladder to paint my house.
It is what it is in the suburbs.
Sunday, August 18, 2019
Papery Stalactites and Garbage
Meow Wolf
In the early 70's, I had a friend in Loveland who was a talented commercial photographer. He was also something of a self-styled sage and philosopher, a middle aged hippy freak. We had lots of fun conversations in between reading THE WHOLE EARTH CATALOGUE and the collected works of Jack Kerouac.
He developed a theory I still cling to today. He posited that the only truly beautiful things were isolated pieces of nature that man had not yet despoiled and the garbage that Despoiler Man had thrown away. To prove his point, he made a slide show alternating little slices of nature (a wildflower growing out of a crack in a rock, a mushroom sprouting at the base of a tree, etc.) with pieces of junk he found in the local dump (an abandoned medicine cabinet with surprising patterns of rust, an old tennis shoe juxtaposed to a pair of crutches, etc.) . He set the whole thing to "Rocky Raccoon." It not only proved his point, but it was a delight to watch and hear.
Meow Wolf in Santa Fe celebrates this idea in an interactive "museum" filled with the detritus of our culture. It is like the creators of this place spent a few years scavenging discarded things out of local junk yards, used book stores, used record stores, basements and attics filled with the accumulated stuff of lives fully spent. Then they took all this stuff and rearranged it into a series of rooms, corridors, closets, and secret passages by classifying it into as many categories as they could. There is a room lit in flickering blue and green lights with papery stalactites hanging down around the heads of all the museum goers. There is also an old dinosaur skeleton in the room and you can play a song on its ribs. Of course, you really can't because there are dozens of people already playing their dinosaur tunes and refusing to give anyone else a chance.
There is a room in black and white with black tea dripping down the white cups and onto the white table with the black outline. There is another room that is meant to look like the bedroom of some kid from years gone by. The room itself is too dark to determine a dominant color, but there is a bookcase against a wall filled with old textbooks. You know, textbooks are what kids used to use before everything got placed on line. If they had only asked us, we had enough old textbooks littering our basement that we could have made our own room. When Meow Wolf starts scavenging Denver for their new installation, they should give us a call. I have a stack of Big Chiefs that would be perfect.
Kathie posted our trip to Meow Wolf on Facebook and she got dozens of enthusiastic reactions from folks who had been there and loved it and from folks who were desperate to go. I'm sorry, but I don't share the enthusiasm.
While standing in line to get in with the 10:20 group, people who had been there before told us that folks spend anywhere from 30 minutes to six hours in the place. Kathie and I lasted 25 minutes, thereby setting a new record.
I appreciate why so many people want to go. I see the attraction, but I shared the opinion of a lady standing next to me in the black and white room. "I just don't get it," she said.
On further reflection, Meow Wolf seems like a combination of a terrific haunted house and an after-prom designed by a group of incredibly creative and resourceful juniors. If I could have managed to walk through the place in that spirit, it would have been a much more rewarding experience. If I had my grandchildren with me, it would have been even more terrific.
I guess the thing I'm reacting negatively to is that they call the place an art museum. Just because something has been collected and displayed doesn't make it art. I felt the same way about my photographer friend's slide show. It was clever and well done, but I won't accept the idea that putting garbage in a slide show or in an all black and white room magically turns that garbage into art.
I guess I make a distinction between art and archaeology. In my classes I used to initiate a discussion about Art with a capital A by taking an old hammer and pounding three nails into my classroom wall. Then I would take the hammer, place it at a slant on two of the nails and from the third I hung an old frame. The transformation of the hammer from a tool to a piece of art in that scenario is a little startling to anyone open to the experience. And, if I say so myself, it was a clever way to get a conversation started, but I don't think an entire building filled with those kinds of "framed hammers" constitutes a museum that anyone past puberty really needs to see.
I'm glad I went to Meow Wolf. When one opens in Denver next year, I'll take my grandchildren. But for myself, if I want to see art I'll go to DAM. There are no backlit, papery stalactites there to get in my hair.
In the early 70's, I had a friend in Loveland who was a talented commercial photographer. He was also something of a self-styled sage and philosopher, a middle aged hippy freak. We had lots of fun conversations in between reading THE WHOLE EARTH CATALOGUE and the collected works of Jack Kerouac.
He developed a theory I still cling to today. He posited that the only truly beautiful things were isolated pieces of nature that man had not yet despoiled and the garbage that Despoiler Man had thrown away. To prove his point, he made a slide show alternating little slices of nature (a wildflower growing out of a crack in a rock, a mushroom sprouting at the base of a tree, etc.) with pieces of junk he found in the local dump (an abandoned medicine cabinet with surprising patterns of rust, an old tennis shoe juxtaposed to a pair of crutches, etc.) . He set the whole thing to "Rocky Raccoon." It not only proved his point, but it was a delight to watch and hear.
Meow Wolf in Santa Fe celebrates this idea in an interactive "museum" filled with the detritus of our culture. It is like the creators of this place spent a few years scavenging discarded things out of local junk yards, used book stores, used record stores, basements and attics filled with the accumulated stuff of lives fully spent. Then they took all this stuff and rearranged it into a series of rooms, corridors, closets, and secret passages by classifying it into as many categories as they could. There is a room lit in flickering blue and green lights with papery stalactites hanging down around the heads of all the museum goers. There is also an old dinosaur skeleton in the room and you can play a song on its ribs. Of course, you really can't because there are dozens of people already playing their dinosaur tunes and refusing to give anyone else a chance.
There is a room in black and white with black tea dripping down the white cups and onto the white table with the black outline. There is another room that is meant to look like the bedroom of some kid from years gone by. The room itself is too dark to determine a dominant color, but there is a bookcase against a wall filled with old textbooks. You know, textbooks are what kids used to use before everything got placed on line. If they had only asked us, we had enough old textbooks littering our basement that we could have made our own room. When Meow Wolf starts scavenging Denver for their new installation, they should give us a call. I have a stack of Big Chiefs that would be perfect.
Kathie posted our trip to Meow Wolf on Facebook and she got dozens of enthusiastic reactions from folks who had been there and loved it and from folks who were desperate to go. I'm sorry, but I don't share the enthusiasm.
While standing in line to get in with the 10:20 group, people who had been there before told us that folks spend anywhere from 30 minutes to six hours in the place. Kathie and I lasted 25 minutes, thereby setting a new record.
I appreciate why so many people want to go. I see the attraction, but I shared the opinion of a lady standing next to me in the black and white room. "I just don't get it," she said.
On further reflection, Meow Wolf seems like a combination of a terrific haunted house and an after-prom designed by a group of incredibly creative and resourceful juniors. If I could have managed to walk through the place in that spirit, it would have been a much more rewarding experience. If I had my grandchildren with me, it would have been even more terrific.
I guess the thing I'm reacting negatively to is that they call the place an art museum. Just because something has been collected and displayed doesn't make it art. I felt the same way about my photographer friend's slide show. It was clever and well done, but I won't accept the idea that putting garbage in a slide show or in an all black and white room magically turns that garbage into art.
I guess I make a distinction between art and archaeology. In my classes I used to initiate a discussion about Art with a capital A by taking an old hammer and pounding three nails into my classroom wall. Then I would take the hammer, place it at a slant on two of the nails and from the third I hung an old frame. The transformation of the hammer from a tool to a piece of art in that scenario is a little startling to anyone open to the experience. And, if I say so myself, it was a clever way to get a conversation started, but I don't think an entire building filled with those kinds of "framed hammers" constitutes a museum that anyone past puberty really needs to see.
I'm glad I went to Meow Wolf. When one opens in Denver next year, I'll take my grandchildren. But for myself, if I want to see art I'll go to DAM. There are no backlit, papery stalactites there to get in my hair.
Saturday, August 3, 2019
Overcoming Nausea
We had a get together in our back yard for a group of about eight or nine former students a week ago. Corey was there and Kevin and Tenly and their kids. There was Joann and Mario along with their spouses. Joanna and Dan and their little girl, Victoria, completed the group.
I had just gotten my "loaner" hearing aids and was pleasantly surprised to see that I could follow the conversation without asking people to repeat themselves. Joanna and I had a nice side conversation and I remember telling her that I wouldn't bore her by listing my maladies. Suffice it to say that getting used to the hearing devices was and continues to be number one on my list. But the point I was attempting to make was that I had come to the conclusion that my maladies were the least of my problems. They were not the reason that I get nauseated by almost everything, why I can't eat, or sleep, or get up the energy to do anything anymore.
When I told her that I thought I had just become overwhelmed by the state of the world and that nausea was the only sane reaction, I felt myself beginning to tear up. I quickly changed the subject to life in Singapore, or something like that.
I was a philosophy minor in college. I gobbled up all that existential stuff. I read Sartre (Nausea, No Exit, and Being and Nothingness). I read other French existentialists. I switched to Nietsche (is that how you spell that?) and Heidegger and Mann and all those other German guys. I understood the whole idea about existential nausea, but it was nothing more to me than an idea. I was a husband, a new father, and a student teacher. I was too pleased with myself to feel Nausea.
I understand it now. Luckily, I have these new hearing aids to take my mind off all the existential dread that would normally occupy my attention.
My first outing with them happened at Chris' house. Exactly what I didn't want to happen, happened. People assured me that they didn't even notice them. Christian assured me that with my newfound ability to hear, people would be less likely to think me an asshole. That was so comforting. The thing Chris doesn't fully understand about me is that I've always been something of an asshole. Hearing had nothing to do with it. Just ask anyone I ever taught with.
I did have a lovely conversation with Christine's mom. I think I shared a scrapple recipe. I wouldn't have been able to do that two weeks earlier.
My best moment with the new hearing aids happened last Monday. I was hanging out at the park with Willa and Jaydee, helping them swing, standing by while they tried to cross the monkey bars, the usual. There was a moment when the girls were huddled up and looking at something on a catwalk leading from one slide to another. I walked over to see what it was.
Do you know those sickeningly sweet commercials for miracle hearing aid companies? There is always a distinguished looking, gray-haired gentleman in a cardigan sweater with pushed up sleeves. On his lap are two grandchildren looking at him adoringly as they whisper seven year old secrets to him. He has a great big smile and if the picture moved he would be shaking his head. His grandchildren smile, validated by their grandfather's new hearing.
That was me on that catwalk on Monday. I sat between them and helped them investigate whatever it was, a bug I think. I didn't once have to ask them to repeat themselves. I didn't once pretend I heard them.
It would have made a nice ad.
I had just gotten my "loaner" hearing aids and was pleasantly surprised to see that I could follow the conversation without asking people to repeat themselves. Joanna and I had a nice side conversation and I remember telling her that I wouldn't bore her by listing my maladies. Suffice it to say that getting used to the hearing devices was and continues to be number one on my list. But the point I was attempting to make was that I had come to the conclusion that my maladies were the least of my problems. They were not the reason that I get nauseated by almost everything, why I can't eat, or sleep, or get up the energy to do anything anymore.
When I told her that I thought I had just become overwhelmed by the state of the world and that nausea was the only sane reaction, I felt myself beginning to tear up. I quickly changed the subject to life in Singapore, or something like that.
I was a philosophy minor in college. I gobbled up all that existential stuff. I read Sartre (Nausea, No Exit, and Being and Nothingness). I read other French existentialists. I switched to Nietsche (is that how you spell that?) and Heidegger and Mann and all those other German guys. I understood the whole idea about existential nausea, but it was nothing more to me than an idea. I was a husband, a new father, and a student teacher. I was too pleased with myself to feel Nausea.
I understand it now. Luckily, I have these new hearing aids to take my mind off all the existential dread that would normally occupy my attention.
My first outing with them happened at Chris' house. Exactly what I didn't want to happen, happened. People assured me that they didn't even notice them. Christian assured me that with my newfound ability to hear, people would be less likely to think me an asshole. That was so comforting. The thing Chris doesn't fully understand about me is that I've always been something of an asshole. Hearing had nothing to do with it. Just ask anyone I ever taught with.
I did have a lovely conversation with Christine's mom. I think I shared a scrapple recipe. I wouldn't have been able to do that two weeks earlier.
My best moment with the new hearing aids happened last Monday. I was hanging out at the park with Willa and Jaydee, helping them swing, standing by while they tried to cross the monkey bars, the usual. There was a moment when the girls were huddled up and looking at something on a catwalk leading from one slide to another. I walked over to see what it was.
Do you know those sickeningly sweet commercials for miracle hearing aid companies? There is always a distinguished looking, gray-haired gentleman in a cardigan sweater with pushed up sleeves. On his lap are two grandchildren looking at him adoringly as they whisper seven year old secrets to him. He has a great big smile and if the picture moved he would be shaking his head. His grandchildren smile, validated by their grandfather's new hearing.
That was me on that catwalk on Monday. I sat between them and helped them investigate whatever it was, a bug I think. I didn't once have to ask them to repeat themselves. I didn't once pretend I heard them.
It would have made a nice ad.
Thursday, July 25, 2019
It's Even Weirder Putting On Hearing Aids In The Morning
Hearing Woes, Part II
Do you remember the scene in SINGING IN THE RAIN when Ms. Lamont, she of the squeaky voice, is miked up for her first foray into talking pictures? You could hear her every move, the crinoline creaking, her too loud steps across the stone floor, her breathing. That's what my world sounds like now. The BANGING of the keyboard. The ROAR of the air conditioner. Anyone's CRASHING steps across our wood floor. When the refrigerator turns on, it is agony. I stepped outside to get the paper and when I went back inside, the SCREECH of the screen door made me look quickly behind me to see which of our sadistic neighbors was strangling his cat.
This experience will not last, the hearing lady at Kaiser assured me. After some initial testing, some adjusting, and perhaps a cochlear implant, I will be pleased with the results. Again, the hearing lady assured me. I put a little pressure on her when I told her if my world was going to sound like this from now on, I would surely kill myself. I was only semi-joking.
The thing is I developed tinnitus about 35 years ago when Katherine was going to grad school in Greeley. I didn't really tell anyone; I just coped. I've been coping all that time. I did go to Dr. Kaufman a few years ago (maybe 10) and told him about my ringing ears. He just laughed and said that it was just Nature turning up the volume. Some consolation.
Lately, it has been getting worse. If I am in a crowded room, I can't make out anything anyone says. I have an impossible time hearing the speaker at the drive-thru at McDonald's. Katherine has to translate almost everything to me. My children, I am sure, are making jokes behind my back. And the thing that drives me the craziest, the thing that probably drove me to the damn audiology department in the first place, is that I can't hear my grandchildren when I am taking them for rides in the car.
So, to make a long story short, I have loaner hearing aids and they are tuned as loudly as I can stand it in an effort to acclimate my brain to hearing things again. After a month or so, I will go in for more consultation, get my little surgery (big surgeries), get new hearing devices adjusted and be good as new. And they will look so attractive too.
The thing I am being a little shocked by is how horrible the world sounds. I guess it has been 35 years since I've really heard the daily din assaulting us. I have been blissfully ignorant of the true horrors of leaf blowers, and out of tune cars, and planes flying by overhead, and neighbors talking to each other, and laughing, and yelling. Not to mention the droning electric sounds coming from our television. Was Mayberry really that loud?
How did you all stand it all those years?
I live in constant fear that something will set off our smoke detector.
Oh well, I can't take the sound of the computer humming anymore. I'll keep you posted.
Do you remember the scene in SINGING IN THE RAIN when Ms. Lamont, she of the squeaky voice, is miked up for her first foray into talking pictures? You could hear her every move, the crinoline creaking, her too loud steps across the stone floor, her breathing. That's what my world sounds like now. The BANGING of the keyboard. The ROAR of the air conditioner. Anyone's CRASHING steps across our wood floor. When the refrigerator turns on, it is agony. I stepped outside to get the paper and when I went back inside, the SCREECH of the screen door made me look quickly behind me to see which of our sadistic neighbors was strangling his cat.
This experience will not last, the hearing lady at Kaiser assured me. After some initial testing, some adjusting, and perhaps a cochlear implant, I will be pleased with the results. Again, the hearing lady assured me. I put a little pressure on her when I told her if my world was going to sound like this from now on, I would surely kill myself. I was only semi-joking.
The thing is I developed tinnitus about 35 years ago when Katherine was going to grad school in Greeley. I didn't really tell anyone; I just coped. I've been coping all that time. I did go to Dr. Kaufman a few years ago (maybe 10) and told him about my ringing ears. He just laughed and said that it was just Nature turning up the volume. Some consolation.
Lately, it has been getting worse. If I am in a crowded room, I can't make out anything anyone says. I have an impossible time hearing the speaker at the drive-thru at McDonald's. Katherine has to translate almost everything to me. My children, I am sure, are making jokes behind my back. And the thing that drives me the craziest, the thing that probably drove me to the damn audiology department in the first place, is that I can't hear my grandchildren when I am taking them for rides in the car.
So, to make a long story short, I have loaner hearing aids and they are tuned as loudly as I can stand it in an effort to acclimate my brain to hearing things again. After a month or so, I will go in for more consultation, get my little surgery (big surgeries), get new hearing devices adjusted and be good as new. And they will look so attractive too.
The thing I am being a little shocked by is how horrible the world sounds. I guess it has been 35 years since I've really heard the daily din assaulting us. I have been blissfully ignorant of the true horrors of leaf blowers, and out of tune cars, and planes flying by overhead, and neighbors talking to each other, and laughing, and yelling. Not to mention the droning electric sounds coming from our television. Was Mayberry really that loud?
How did you all stand it all those years?
I live in constant fear that something will set off our smoke detector.
Oh well, I can't take the sound of the computer humming anymore. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, June 20, 2019
It's Weird To Wake Up Knowing You're Deaf
After my first round in the booth, the audiology tech walked in, took off my ear phones, and, looking a little paler than she did a few minutes earlier, said, "Well, you have a profound hearing loss!"
She used the same tone Richard Dreyfus used in JAWS when he examined Chrissy's body after the first shark attack. "WELL, THIS IS NO BOATING ACCIDENT!"
She then asked me, the look on her face growing even more concerned, if I had ever had a hearing test. I admitted that I couldn't remember. She shook her head and put the head phones back on. "I'm going to play a man's voice now. I want you to repeat the last word he says in each statement."
So, I got serious. I sat up straight. Closed my eyes. Concentrated. I only got twenty per cent of the words correct, she informed me, now on the verge of tears.
I wanted to give her a little hug and tell her that it was gonna be alright. Mostly, I felt guilty about being such a bad audiology patient. I was also happy that she couldn't pull my license to walk freely around the world. I mean with my hearing the way it is, there are a lot of things I could inadvertently run into without hearing them first. Crying babies in carriages. Angry honks from delivery trucks. Buskers singing and dancing in the middle of the street. The hazards are rife.
I didn't want to go to this appointment in the first place. I knew what the results would be, but Christian, obviously growing tired of having to repeat everything he says when in my presence, made an appointment for me at one of those miracle hearing places that advertise on TV along with personal injury lawyers and Chia Pets.
I gave in and told him I would make an appointment at Kaiser.
All the loved ones around me knew I was not looking forward to the appointment. Kathie even volunteered to rearrange her schedule so she could go with me. Chris offered to hold my hand. Christine said she would go if I really wanted her to.
I assured them that I was perfectly capable of taking myself to a medical appointment. Just to prove it, I even managed to check in at a self-serve kiosk instead of going to the desk. See. Even high tech doesn't intimidate me.
I also kind of liked it at the Audiology Department. Everyone there made it a point to look right at me when they talked and they pronounced their words carefully and loudly. If everyone just talked and acted like that, we could all save a lot of money on hearing aids. Maybe there are lots of people who could even lose their comfort dogs if we made a nation wide push for more articulation.
Finally, she told me to come out of the booth and have a seat. She came in a few minutes later with two printouts of my hearing test. She sat down with a sigh, looked me straight in the face, and shared her concern.
I couldn't help but laugh at the whole noirish feeling of the whole thing. "I'll bet you're wondering how I manage to negotiate my world with my hearing."
"Yes, I am," she answered, holding back a sob. "I have never seen anyone with hearing like this who could function without a hearing aid! You have to promise me you'll come in for consultation. I even think your loss is such that you would qualify for a cochineal implant."
At least that's what I thought she said. I couldn't really make out all the words.
She went out and made an appointment for me and the lady at the desk spoke very slowly and clearly.
I couldn't help myself. Before I left, I gave the tech a reassuring pat on her shoulder. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm going to be alright."
She nodded her head as if to say I hope so and walked slowly away.
I meet with a doctor when I get back from Jenny Lake. I'm going to take Katherine with me this time.
She used the same tone Richard Dreyfus used in JAWS when he examined Chrissy's body after the first shark attack. "WELL, THIS IS NO BOATING ACCIDENT!"
She then asked me, the look on her face growing even more concerned, if I had ever had a hearing test. I admitted that I couldn't remember. She shook her head and put the head phones back on. "I'm going to play a man's voice now. I want you to repeat the last word he says in each statement."
So, I got serious. I sat up straight. Closed my eyes. Concentrated. I only got twenty per cent of the words correct, she informed me, now on the verge of tears.
I wanted to give her a little hug and tell her that it was gonna be alright. Mostly, I felt guilty about being such a bad audiology patient. I was also happy that she couldn't pull my license to walk freely around the world. I mean with my hearing the way it is, there are a lot of things I could inadvertently run into without hearing them first. Crying babies in carriages. Angry honks from delivery trucks. Buskers singing and dancing in the middle of the street. The hazards are rife.
I didn't want to go to this appointment in the first place. I knew what the results would be, but Christian, obviously growing tired of having to repeat everything he says when in my presence, made an appointment for me at one of those miracle hearing places that advertise on TV along with personal injury lawyers and Chia Pets.
I gave in and told him I would make an appointment at Kaiser.
All the loved ones around me knew I was not looking forward to the appointment. Kathie even volunteered to rearrange her schedule so she could go with me. Chris offered to hold my hand. Christine said she would go if I really wanted her to.
I assured them that I was perfectly capable of taking myself to a medical appointment. Just to prove it, I even managed to check in at a self-serve kiosk instead of going to the desk. See. Even high tech doesn't intimidate me.
I also kind of liked it at the Audiology Department. Everyone there made it a point to look right at me when they talked and they pronounced their words carefully and loudly. If everyone just talked and acted like that, we could all save a lot of money on hearing aids. Maybe there are lots of people who could even lose their comfort dogs if we made a nation wide push for more articulation.
Finally, she told me to come out of the booth and have a seat. She came in a few minutes later with two printouts of my hearing test. She sat down with a sigh, looked me straight in the face, and shared her concern.
I couldn't help but laugh at the whole noirish feeling of the whole thing. "I'll bet you're wondering how I manage to negotiate my world with my hearing."
"Yes, I am," she answered, holding back a sob. "I have never seen anyone with hearing like this who could function without a hearing aid! You have to promise me you'll come in for consultation. I even think your loss is such that you would qualify for a cochineal implant."
At least that's what I thought she said. I couldn't really make out all the words.
She went out and made an appointment for me and the lady at the desk spoke very slowly and clearly.
I couldn't help myself. Before I left, I gave the tech a reassuring pat on her shoulder. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm going to be alright."
She nodded her head as if to say I hope so and walked slowly away.
I meet with a doctor when I get back from Jenny Lake. I'm going to take Katherine with me this time.
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
A Fire in the Morning; Ice in the Afternoon
I like to think I am easy to please. Innkeepers and restaurateurs must like to see me walk in the door. When Kathie and I enter a place like Mizuna, everybody is happy to see us. At Jenny Lake next month, staff members with smiles on their faces will give us hugs and welcome us back.
I remember a conversation we had in the lodge one evening before dinner with some friends who had some legitimate complaints about dinner (too many consommés), housekeeping, and the woeful job the concierge was doing. Rachel, the sweetheart of a manager, was there with us and I said that I was easy. Give me a fire in the morning and ice in the afternoon and I'm content.
The wonder then is that I end up in so many places and situations that go out of their way to please me, to make me happy. Our recent travels are a case in point.
By our standards, the last two months have been pretty hectic. We flew to Orlando for a four day weekend to see our grandson get married. That was the end of March, beginning of April. We flew back home for a few days and then got on another plane and traveled to Belize for two weeks. Back home for another week and then off to New York City and then Ireland.
You have to remember that I hate to travel. I think of all that money and I'd rather stay home and go out to restaurants. But then when I am actually in the act of traveling, I end up having great times. This is especially true of the last two months.
Let me make a list.
- After an easy cab ride from Orlando's airport to the Royal Carib just off Disney property, we met Chris and Nate at the bar for drinks.
-We had a great dinner with Nate and Ashley at Rick Bayless' place at the Disney Marketplace.
-We were at the pool hanging out with Chris and Franny and the grand girls. Jaydee took off from one side of the shallow end and managed to somehow stroke and kick and squirm her way to the other side. "Well, at least I didn't die," she said when she got her head above water. I think that's my favorite memory from all of the travels.
-I liked giving Sage and Shannon a toast and reciting Sonnett 116. I think I've got that sucker down pat.
-Kathie and I were walking the beach in Placencia one morning when we came across a golf cart that someone had managed to drive into the ocean. A policeman and two others were surveying the scene, trying to figure out how to get the thing out of the ocean without getting wet. The policeman motioned to me. He pointed at my feet and said, "Bare feet. Bare feet." I told him that he was right and I was indeed barefoot. I finally figured out that he wanted me to get into the ocean and pull the thing out because I wouldn't be getting my shoes wet. I gave it a try. Finally, after a few fruitless tugs, the other guys jumped in and helped me pull it free. I felt like a local and so useful. And my shoes never got wet.
-We had a wonderful afternoon with Gavin at MoMA with a lunch afterward at The Warwick.
-I loved our walk through Central Park all the way up to the top of the reservoir and then down past all of the construction outside the Met.
-The fact that we were the only plane landing at Shannon at 6 in the morning made the entire experience easy.
-While our fellow passengers were looking for their tour buses or queuing up in front of car rental places, we were greeted by a gentleman in a vest and tie holding a sign with our names on it. He led us to a black Mercedes. The back seat had lap blankets and bottles of water to appease us during the fifteen minute trip to Adare Manor.
-Adare Manor! Need I say more. Our room was ready at 7 AM! A friendly chap greeted us at a welcoming desk and led us through the maze of stone hallways to our room.
-Our room!! Huge. Two closets in their own hallway with mirrored double doors. A bathroom with fluffy towels and robes and a rain head shower in a separate stall.
-Breakfast. The breakfast at Adare was in the Great Hall, a giant room with two killer stained glass windows on either end hovering over the feast.
-Dinner at the Carriage House (day 2). The Carriage House is at the golf course. There is a bar, a golf shop, a rental shop, and a restaurant serving lots of fish and lamb. The food and the service were exceptional, but the thing I most remember is an older couple (Read: my age) sitting against the wall. The woman was happily devouring her meal and drinking her wine. The man, sitting grumpily with his arms crossed, was busily sending back every plate. How could anyone be that sad in a place like this?
-Dinner at the Oak Room. We were seated by a window overlooking the garden, the 18th green just on the other side. A young Irish lad was our server. He had a delightful sense of humor and timed the dinner perfectly. I would have to say that the only meal I have ever had to equal this one was at Meadowood in Napa Valley about ten years ago. Simply amazing.
-A different gentleman in a different Mercedes picked us up at Adare and drove us to the Ashford Castle. Driving through the Irish countryside is fascinating. The only other countryside not in the US that I have driven through has been in Belize. The difference between the little towns and villages in a Western Democracy as opposed to a Third World Country, even a well developed one like Belize, is stark. There is a lot to be said for infrastructure and a strong central government. There, I had to get that in. The Cliffs of Moher were certainly interesting, but the crowds there made me more worried than happy. We told the driver that we would just as soon get on to the castle. That made him happy.
-The arrival at Ashford was a lot like the arrival at Adare. We were shown to a couple of velvet chairs and given drinks made out of gin. We barely had our first sip when we were shown to a desk, signed in and ushered up to our room.
-Breakfast at Ashford, while not in a room nearly so glorious, was even better than Adare. The best smoked salmon of my life. In fact, all of the food was spectacular.
-I loved the walk along the river into Cong, the little village that doubled as Innisfree in THE QUIET MAN. We stopped at Pat Cohan's pub more than once. Good conversation; okay fish and chips.
-We spent one memorable morning walking the entire property. We walked by the skeet shooting range, hoping that the rifles were pointing away from us. Then we passed the archery area. After that was the equestrian center. Finally, the falconry range. We ended up on a narrow wooded lane that somehow led to a series of gardens. There was a hidden garden, yes there was. A walled garden. A terraced garden. Each one was more secret, more impressive than the last. What a place.
-One final thing that made me happy. We were flying back to Denver and there was a couple in front of us who acted like they were returning from a honeymoon. They held hands, and kissed a lot, and the girl rested her head against his shoulder. Very sweet. That's not what made me happy. About half way through the flight (the five hour mark), the girl started running her nicely manicured nails through the guy's hair. He wore his hair short. She didn't do it once or even twice! She kept on doing it! The rest of the way back to Denver! The fact that it was his hair she was doing that to and not mine made me happy and the rest of the flight bearable.
I'm home now. Except for Jenny Lake and one two night trip to Santa Fe in August, there will be no more travel in my life for a year. I don't really need to. As Buckaroo Bonzai said, "Wherever you go, there you are." Besides, there are all kinds of things around here to make me happy.
I remember a conversation we had in the lodge one evening before dinner with some friends who had some legitimate complaints about dinner (too many consommés), housekeeping, and the woeful job the concierge was doing. Rachel, the sweetheart of a manager, was there with us and I said that I was easy. Give me a fire in the morning and ice in the afternoon and I'm content.
The wonder then is that I end up in so many places and situations that go out of their way to please me, to make me happy. Our recent travels are a case in point.
By our standards, the last two months have been pretty hectic. We flew to Orlando for a four day weekend to see our grandson get married. That was the end of March, beginning of April. We flew back home for a few days and then got on another plane and traveled to Belize for two weeks. Back home for another week and then off to New York City and then Ireland.
You have to remember that I hate to travel. I think of all that money and I'd rather stay home and go out to restaurants. But then when I am actually in the act of traveling, I end up having great times. This is especially true of the last two months.
Let me make a list.
- After an easy cab ride from Orlando's airport to the Royal Carib just off Disney property, we met Chris and Nate at the bar for drinks.
-We had a great dinner with Nate and Ashley at Rick Bayless' place at the Disney Marketplace.
-We were at the pool hanging out with Chris and Franny and the grand girls. Jaydee took off from one side of the shallow end and managed to somehow stroke and kick and squirm her way to the other side. "Well, at least I didn't die," she said when she got her head above water. I think that's my favorite memory from all of the travels.
-I liked giving Sage and Shannon a toast and reciting Sonnett 116. I think I've got that sucker down pat.
-Kathie and I were walking the beach in Placencia one morning when we came across a golf cart that someone had managed to drive into the ocean. A policeman and two others were surveying the scene, trying to figure out how to get the thing out of the ocean without getting wet. The policeman motioned to me. He pointed at my feet and said, "Bare feet. Bare feet." I told him that he was right and I was indeed barefoot. I finally figured out that he wanted me to get into the ocean and pull the thing out because I wouldn't be getting my shoes wet. I gave it a try. Finally, after a few fruitless tugs, the other guys jumped in and helped me pull it free. I felt like a local and so useful. And my shoes never got wet.
-We had a wonderful afternoon with Gavin at MoMA with a lunch afterward at The Warwick.
-I loved our walk through Central Park all the way up to the top of the reservoir and then down past all of the construction outside the Met.
-The fact that we were the only plane landing at Shannon at 6 in the morning made the entire experience easy.
-While our fellow passengers were looking for their tour buses or queuing up in front of car rental places, we were greeted by a gentleman in a vest and tie holding a sign with our names on it. He led us to a black Mercedes. The back seat had lap blankets and bottles of water to appease us during the fifteen minute trip to Adare Manor.
-Adare Manor! Need I say more. Our room was ready at 7 AM! A friendly chap greeted us at a welcoming desk and led us through the maze of stone hallways to our room.
-Our room!! Huge. Two closets in their own hallway with mirrored double doors. A bathroom with fluffy towels and robes and a rain head shower in a separate stall.
-Breakfast. The breakfast at Adare was in the Great Hall, a giant room with two killer stained glass windows on either end hovering over the feast.
-Dinner at the Carriage House (day 2). The Carriage House is at the golf course. There is a bar, a golf shop, a rental shop, and a restaurant serving lots of fish and lamb. The food and the service were exceptional, but the thing I most remember is an older couple (Read: my age) sitting against the wall. The woman was happily devouring her meal and drinking her wine. The man, sitting grumpily with his arms crossed, was busily sending back every plate. How could anyone be that sad in a place like this?
-Dinner at the Oak Room. We were seated by a window overlooking the garden, the 18th green just on the other side. A young Irish lad was our server. He had a delightful sense of humor and timed the dinner perfectly. I would have to say that the only meal I have ever had to equal this one was at Meadowood in Napa Valley about ten years ago. Simply amazing.
-A different gentleman in a different Mercedes picked us up at Adare and drove us to the Ashford Castle. Driving through the Irish countryside is fascinating. The only other countryside not in the US that I have driven through has been in Belize. The difference between the little towns and villages in a Western Democracy as opposed to a Third World Country, even a well developed one like Belize, is stark. There is a lot to be said for infrastructure and a strong central government. There, I had to get that in. The Cliffs of Moher were certainly interesting, but the crowds there made me more worried than happy. We told the driver that we would just as soon get on to the castle. That made him happy.
-The arrival at Ashford was a lot like the arrival at Adare. We were shown to a couple of velvet chairs and given drinks made out of gin. We barely had our first sip when we were shown to a desk, signed in and ushered up to our room.
-Breakfast at Ashford, while not in a room nearly so glorious, was even better than Adare. The best smoked salmon of my life. In fact, all of the food was spectacular.
-I loved the walk along the river into Cong, the little village that doubled as Innisfree in THE QUIET MAN. We stopped at Pat Cohan's pub more than once. Good conversation; okay fish and chips.
-We spent one memorable morning walking the entire property. We walked by the skeet shooting range, hoping that the rifles were pointing away from us. Then we passed the archery area. After that was the equestrian center. Finally, the falconry range. We ended up on a narrow wooded lane that somehow led to a series of gardens. There was a hidden garden, yes there was. A walled garden. A terraced garden. Each one was more secret, more impressive than the last. What a place.
-One final thing that made me happy. We were flying back to Denver and there was a couple in front of us who acted like they were returning from a honeymoon. They held hands, and kissed a lot, and the girl rested her head against his shoulder. Very sweet. That's not what made me happy. About half way through the flight (the five hour mark), the girl started running her nicely manicured nails through the guy's hair. He wore his hair short. She didn't do it once or even twice! She kept on doing it! The rest of the way back to Denver! The fact that it was his hair she was doing that to and not mine made me happy and the rest of the flight bearable.
I'm home now. Except for Jenny Lake and one two night trip to Santa Fe in August, there will be no more travel in my life for a year. I don't really need to. As Buckaroo Bonzai said, "Wherever you go, there you are." Besides, there are all kinds of things around here to make me happy.
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