Hearing Aids

When I was growing up I fancied myself a little Mermaid.  Water was always a haven, even bath water offered an opportunity to submerge, muting sound and surroundings and offering that perception of being in seclusion of the sea. 

That being said, I also suffered with chronic “swimmer’s ear”, those nasty infections that triggered the urge to go like Van Goth, and just cut the damn thing off.   There was constant ringing in the affected ear, pain and a throat so sore that swallowing was a challenge. 

Back then there were drops and efforts to remove the water from there ear with peroxide or alcohol which I’m sure did nothing to stop the infection.  But something was being done, and that was better than nothing. 

It has been years since I’ve had a proper swim…so it is no wonder I was clueless when the throbbing started.   It was a persistent little annoyance that I treated as if it were no more than a cold or sinus infection.  I stayed away from friends, avoided hugs, ate chicken soup and drank plenty of water.  But an odd thing happened, I began to feel vulnerable as most symptoms persisted and some elevated.  It was only when I woke up in the night and realized I couldn’t hear that I began to recollect.  

Home with the physician’s affirmation and a few antibiotics, I am grateful that my health issues are small and treatable with a recovery prognosis of approximately ten days.  In the past few years I’ve seen so many dear ones go through agonizing therapies that tested their spirit and physical constitution.  While I am sure they had down days, I never witnessed one.  There must have been fear; but I never saw it.  These women are my heroes; they are my Warrior Princesses, my Super Heroines.  

Today I am grateful for my diagnosis of “swimmers ear” and humbled by my passing discomfort.     Today, while I wait for this little ruptured eardrum to heal, I hear you in this sweet silence and thank you again for sharing your journey with me. 

What you ask for...

I’ve been looking at that cabinet for goin’ on three months.  It’s a mess; mostly filled with beads and jewelry making tools and whatever scrap of nothin’ I thought I might be able to transform  into sumpin’.  It’s just what I do.  I see possibility in near about everything, from that withered potato that might grow if I plant it, to my collection of blue jean pockets, cause you always can use an extra pocket, doesn’t matter that it’s not attached to anything.    

“Hold on to it Sissy, you might can use it later.”  Never fails, those are the words I grew up with and I’ll hear’um till I leave this place.  But I digress; the story in all this is that I’ve just never had it in me to organize that cabinet.  I look at it and want to, but I don’t.  Jumble today, jumble tomorrow.

So that’s why I thought it strange that I started on it out of the blue today.  

I firmly believe our dear ones are someplace about us.  Maybe not form enough to see, but they are certainly capable of makin’ a breeze or stirin’ a memory.  I try not to call on them much.  I know they have to be busy on the other side, doin’ whatever it is they are called home to do.  

That bein’ said, when I woke up this morning I rolled over and said a howdy to Mr. C’s picture, I have one on both sides of the bed cause some nights I’m restless and just want to make sure I see him when I wake up. 

 This  morning I said, “Babe, I miss you…and it’s rainin’ again…and I just need to hear from you today.”

Well, I laid there real quiet in some kind of anticipation, like he was gonna say,   “What’s for breakfast?” but I didn’t catch a thing and decided it was time to get up and get this show on the road. 

A little after noon my brain started workin’ on a little project…which lead me upstairs to the dreaded cabinet.  I knew I had a scrap of leather in there…somewhere. 

Well, I found what I was lookin’ for…and a little something else.  Answer to a prayer. 

Love you forever. 

This Bud's for you....

I haven't written a story in goin' on some time.  Due to life's little events, I was in hibernation, not makin' too many stories...least not the ones I wanted to tell.  But I'm back now.  I hope to be makin' lots of stories.  Here's my first in a bit.  

Lord, I do love a good story and I’ve just got to share one from the weekend.  VerDell  and Bubba have some wonderful friends over there on the Cape.  Bless’um one and all.  One of’um, Ms. Miriam is always on the cuttin’ edge of stuff; like flavors and wines and Prosecco’s etc, because she has a good eye and a super pallet and is I’talian (and you know they are famous for style).  All that bein’ said; upon arrival, VerDell brings out the Champaign in what Lurlene might call a bud vase.  

 It was a beautiful thing, light as a feather and even to my eye, of good form.   So I took it, thinkin; bless her heart, I have got to get this child some glasses from the Dollar Tree, cause you know, we get rowdy and things break and now she is havin’ to serve us from her collection of Bud vases. 

So I said, “honey, what happened to your champagne glasses, you know I have about a dozen I picked up last week at the Tree, and I would be more than happy to bring some on the next visit. “  

Well, she looked at me pitiful like, not wantin’ to hurt my feelins in the least and gently replied, that those glasses were a gift from her friend, the one with the good taste, and they were fine Italian, hand blown champagne glasses, all different, each a work of art. 

I turned my head just so slightly to the side, the right side, the one I use when I am being polite, the one that precedes, “Ahhhhhh,”   and bought myself a moment of composure.   

Well you can guess the rest of the story.  I hit the Tree when I got home and picked myself up some fine Italian style.  Just look in the bud-vase section.  They hold 8 ounces, a hefty flute if I ever saw one.   Oh yes, and check out my champagne cooler.  Life is good at the Crow Bar.  Happy Hour starts at five, oh and don’t worry, if you break one, I’ve got a spare.    

Thank you Miriam for the fine inspiration.