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Friday
March 19, 2010 Since 1922 |
Hearing stuff an art form
By Jim Finley
Contributor Published November 13, 2009 I do believe I’m undergoing some sort of hearing loss. I’m told this comes with age, but that’s no comfort. Look, I’m still vibrantly young of face and heart, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. (See attached column picture.)
Today, however, I’m a few decibels down in my right ear. “Old Lefty” still seems fine. (As a right-handed batter, hearing better out of the left ear is OK because I can still hear the whiz of the baseball coming towards me, although I can’t always see it like I used to. Don’t know why.)
I noticed this hearing thingy at night a while back. Thinking it would go away, I shrugged it off. Now, someday (like in four years or so), I may have to visit my personal physician, Luis Fraga, M.D., to check it out.
Perhaps the problem is a buildup of troublesome wax. Or possibly grout. Or maybe it’s because I sleep on my right ear at night and the pillow is blocking out sound and stuff.
Wife Margie, with whom I’ve discussed this problem, is skeptical. She claims I’ve always had a hearing malfunction. Says I’m no worse than I’ve ever been. She wasn’t cheerful when she offered this diagnosis, either.
As a precursor to setting up a visit with Luis Fraga, M.D. – probably in late 2014 – Wife Margie took a look inside the offending ear. Other than a buildup of what she called “Grandpa Hair,” she said everything looked fine.
“I can even see all the way through to the other side,” she chuckled. Funny.
Guess I can understand why she feels that way. She’s the love of my life and we’ve been married for 49 years (we started off really young), but we’ve always, it seems, had communication problems.
Like the other day – and this is true – she announced, I thought, that she was “going to help Robin [our daughter] paint.”
This puzzled me. Huh?
You’re going to help Robin paint? I queried. Paint what?
“Are you deaf?” she asked. “I said, ‘In a minute, I’m going out to water the plants.’”
Oh.
I’m thinking it’s my right ear. She’s thinking I’m not listening.
Sometimes, when I’m in the Bat Cave, my Real Newsman Office, doing much-needed literary contributions, she’ll holler at me down a long hallway. It sounds something like this: “Groldcvh. E am gnorh ty tinx stpmaz.”
What? I’ll shout back. I have no idea what you just said. Please repeat yourself, Wife Margie!
Walking closer to me, she’ll shout, “Good-bye. I’m going to Hobby Lobby.”
Oh.
“You need to have your ears checked,” she’ll say, not smiling. “You don’t listen.”
Then there’s the TV. I like it loud. She likes it low and peaceful.
But I’m listening to and watching the NASCAR race or the Cowboys or Texans. I need to know what’s going on, even though, admittedly, most sports announcers are – pardon me here – idiots.
Wife Margie, too, enjoys athletics, particularly when the Razorbacks or Texans are playing. In the old days, she kept ogling the Texans’ David Carr. (David is a beautiful a person, I guess, but an ugly quarterback, and that’s what counts with me.)
“Do you have to have it blaring?” she’ll inquire as I watch NASCAR drivers go around in a circle. “I don’t need it that loud to watch Jeff Gordon.”
Finally, though, I’ve figured it out.
This is in direct correlation to her general viewing habits, which consist mainly of watching soft, boring HGTV all day. Let’s face it, you don’t need a lot of volume to see programs on Chippendale chairs, fake flowers, or armoire thingamajiggies.
Hear this. After further review, I’m probably OK.
Jim Finley is a retired managing editor for The Baytown Sun.
Contributor Published November 13, 2009 I do believe I’m undergoing some sort of hearing loss. I’m told this comes with age, but that’s no comfort. Look, I’m still vibrantly young of face and heart, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. (See attached column picture.)
Today, however, I’m a few decibels down in my right ear. “Old Lefty” still seems fine. (As a right-handed batter, hearing better out of the left ear is OK because I can still hear the whiz of the baseball coming towards me, although I can’t always see it like I used to. Don’t know why.)
I noticed this hearing thingy at night a while back. Thinking it would go away, I shrugged it off. Now, someday (like in four years or so), I may have to visit my personal physician, Luis Fraga, M.D., to check it out.
Perhaps the problem is a buildup of troublesome wax. Or possibly grout. Or maybe it’s because I sleep on my right ear at night and the pillow is blocking out sound and stuff.
Wife Margie, with whom I’ve discussed this problem, is skeptical. She claims I’ve always had a hearing malfunction. Says I’m no worse than I’ve ever been. She wasn’t cheerful when she offered this diagnosis, either.
As a precursor to setting up a visit with Luis Fraga, M.D. – probably in late 2014 – Wife Margie took a look inside the offending ear. Other than a buildup of what she called “Grandpa Hair,” she said everything looked fine.
“I can even see all the way through to the other side,” she chuckled. Funny.
Guess I can understand why she feels that way. She’s the love of my life and we’ve been married for 49 years (we started off really young), but we’ve always, it seems, had communication problems.
Like the other day – and this is true – she announced, I thought, that she was “going to help Robin [our daughter] paint.”
This puzzled me. Huh?
You’re going to help Robin paint? I queried. Paint what?
“Are you deaf?” she asked. “I said, ‘In a minute, I’m going out to water the plants.’”
Oh.
I’m thinking it’s my right ear. She’s thinking I’m not listening.
Sometimes, when I’m in the Bat Cave, my Real Newsman Office, doing much-needed literary contributions, she’ll holler at me down a long hallway. It sounds something like this: “Groldcvh. E am gnorh ty tinx stpmaz.”
What? I’ll shout back. I have no idea what you just said. Please repeat yourself, Wife Margie!
Walking closer to me, she’ll shout, “Good-bye. I’m going to Hobby Lobby.”
Oh.
“You need to have your ears checked,” she’ll say, not smiling. “You don’t listen.”
Then there’s the TV. I like it loud. She likes it low and peaceful.
But I’m listening to and watching the NASCAR race or the Cowboys or Texans. I need to know what’s going on, even though, admittedly, most sports announcers are – pardon me here – idiots.
Wife Margie, too, enjoys athletics, particularly when the Razorbacks or Texans are playing. In the old days, she kept ogling the Texans’ David Carr. (David is a beautiful a person, I guess, but an ugly quarterback, and that’s what counts with me.)
“Do you have to have it blaring?” she’ll inquire as I watch NASCAR drivers go around in a circle. “I don’t need it that loud to watch Jeff Gordon.”
Finally, though, I’ve figured it out.
This is in direct correlation to her general viewing habits, which consist mainly of watching soft, boring HGTV all day. Let’s face it, you don’t need a lot of volume to see programs on Chippendale chairs, fake flowers, or armoire thingamajiggies.
Hear this. After further review, I’m probably OK.
Jim Finley is a retired managing editor for The Baytown Sun.