“What did you say?”  “Could you repeat that, please?” and “What was that?” are questions that I asked all too frequently!  Obviously, it was due to my husband’s mumbling!  Others mumbled too!  It’s true.  What else could it be?  It was either that everyone started mumbling for some reason OR I started tuning them out, selectively hearing only what I wanted to hear.

In all truthfulness, however, I did recognize that my requests for repetition extended into all areas of my life.  Conversations among friends became increasingly difficult to follow, especially in a crowded room or restaurant.  I frequently misheard words and, out of embarrassment, I wouldn’t respond until directly addressed.  I cranked up the sound on my car radio and dialogues between characters on television were unintelligible.  I’d increase the volume to a level where I could hear clearly, but that only elicited more comments from my husband that I “was losing it,” so I resorted to watching TV, straining to follow the plot.

Finally, I’d had enough.

“That’s it!” I said defensively, following one more evening of battling the volume on the TV remote control.  “I’ll go have my hearing tested!  Then you’ll see!  The doctor will say that I’m just fine and that you mumble!”

The very next week, I sat inside a soundproof chamber at the audiologist’s office, a set of headphones perched on my head, a button in my hand to press each time I heard a tone.  I wondered how long I would have to wait before the doctor started the test.  Suddenly a faint beep sounded in my right ear.  PUSH.  Then a slightly louder beep. PUSH.  And louder and louder, each time receiving an immediate PUSH on the button.  Another long lapse caused me to wonder why the doctor stopped testing me, but then a faint honk sounded in my right ear.  PUSH!  Then another and another and another in increasing intensity, again receiving a PUSH response from me.

My confidence grew as the routine repeated itself in my left ear with not as big of a lapse in time between beeps and honks.

“Boy, oh boy!” I thought, “I’m acing this test!  I can’t WAIT to get home and report my success!”

The doctor opened the chamber door and invited me to look at the test results with her.

“Here we have a graph showing your responses for your left ear and over here on this side is the graph for your right one,” she explained officiously.  “As you can see, you have mild hearing loss in your left ear, but look at this big deep dip here.  This indicates moderate loss in your right ear.”

“Excuse me?  What?  Say that again?!” I blurted out, unwilling to believe not only what I’d just heard but also what I was looking at directly in front of me.

“I’d like to fit you with hearing aids,” the doctor explained, “In fact, I can’t wait!  You’re going to be amazed at what you will be hearing!”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!”  I countered, “this can’t be right!  You’re supposed to tell me that I’m just fine and that my husband mumbles!  You’re also supposed to tell me that restaurants have really bad acoustics, and everybody has a hard time hearing in them, and you’re supposed to tell me that actors on TV shows don’t enunciate well and that everybody has to turn up the volume!  What about all the freeway sounds?  Huh?  What about THAT?  THAT’s why I have to have the radio volume up so high!  Trucks are loud, you know!  So are cars!  And MOTORCYCLES?  Fuggedaboutit!”

I was shocked!  Hearing Aids?  Those are for OLD PEOPLE!  My mind flashed back to the brochure I’d read in the waiting room:  Ten Signs of Hearing Loss.  I’d glanced at it, quickly identifying 7 symptoms I had in common, but dismissing the possibility that I really DID have hearing loss. “Dizziness,” Nope.  “Headaches,” Nope.  “Chronic ear infections and/or other trauma to the ears,” Nope.  “Complaining that people mumble.” Um . . . o.k., yes, sometimes. “Withdrawing from conversations due to inability to follow,” Um . . . maybe . . . sometimes. “Needing to turn up the volume on televisions and radios,” Yes, but only when they’re mumbling or when there’s traffic.  “Asking people to repeat themselves,” Uh . . . yes, but only when I’m not really paying attention.  “Trouble hearing consonants,” No, not very often . . . maybe sometimes, and only when people don’t enunciate very well.  “Avoidance of social settings,” Yes, but only when I don’t really want to go.

“Could the doctor actually be RIGHT?” I wondered.  “<GASP!> My waiting for the hearing test to begin wasn’t me WAITING!!!  The sounds were there!  I just didn’t hear them!!!  Oh my gosh!  Carl is going to LOVE this!”

            “Hang on just a tiny little second, doctor,” I began, “I’ve been telling my husband for over six months now that he mumbles!  He’s going to LOVE this diagnosis!”

“Well,” she offered, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to contain her amusement, “you could always follow the ‘what happens at the audiologist’s STAYS at the audiologist’s’ rule.”

“Ya,” I answered dejectedly, “I’ve already thought of that, but he knows I’m here!  He’s going to ask all about this visit the second I walk through the door!”

“You’ll be just fine,” the doctor said, trying her best to console the unconsolable, “people are fitted for eyeglasses every day and no one thinks twice about that, do they?”  It’s the same with hearing aids!  You will really like them, trust me!  I can’t wait for you to hear what you’ve been missing!”

And with that, she pulled a brand-new set of devices out of a box, programmed the right one, then the left, and helped me insert them in my ears.

“There,” she said, “I’m speaking to you in a sort of loud whisper so you can get used to the hearing aids.”

“WHOA!  A ‘whisper?’” I thought, “it sounds like she’s speaking at a normal level!” 

EVERYTHING sounded so fresh and crisp!  I couldn’t believe my ears!  Confirming my follow-up appointment for the next week, I headed for home, aware of more sounds than I’d heard on my way IN for the hearing test!  The bell announcing the elevator resonated all the way down the hallway.  The turn indicator in my car clicked-clacked in a rhythm I didn’t recognize!  Could it be that I’d only been hearing HALF of the click and not the clack?  And the RADIO . . . it was too loud!!  I quickly adjusted the volume to a more comfortable setting!  I’d probably just accidentally brushed against the control knob, inadvertently tuning it up too high as I got out of the car after I’d parked!  An ambulance sped by blasting its siren so loud I’m sure it was heard all the way to Glendale . . . maybe even Studio City!

I tried to sneak into the house undetected, but the key turning in the lock clicked so loud that it alerted the dog AND Carl.

“You’re home!” welcomed Carl, “How’d your hearing test go?”

I didn’t know whether to lie and follow the doctor’s suggestion about “what happens at the audiologist’s STAYS at the audiologist’s” or come clean and tell the truth.  I decided to go with ambiguous.

“Fine,” I said, not intending to explain further.

“Well . . . .,” Carl pushed, “’Fine’ doesn’t tell me anything!  Do I mumble or don’t I?”

“A veritable gift from Heaven!” I thought. 

“You mumble,” I said.

“Oh, c’mon,” he urged, “what’d the doctor say?”

“Ugh!  I guess I’d better tell him,” I decided, “he’s going to see the credit card charge for the hearing aids, so he’s going to find out anyway!”

“The doctor said that . . . .,” I stammered, trying to soften the results and reduce the amount of teasing I’d get, “she said that I have mild hearing loss in my left ear and just a wee bit more in my right.”

“And . . . ,” Carl urged.

“And . . .  and . . . and she fitted me for hearing aids,” I finished, running all the words together.

“HEARING AIDS you say?  YOU NEED HEARING AIDS?  You mean to tell me I DON’T MUMBLE AFTER ALL?” asked Carl with absolute delight and smiling from ear to ear.

I didn’t SAY you don’t mumble, because you do!” I said, “but . . . well . . . you wouldn’t make fun of someone who needs glasses, would you?  So, just because I have a bit of hearing loss shouldn’t give you carte blanche to make fun of me!”

“I’m not making fun of you, Honey,” he said, still thoroughly enjoying himself, “EVERYBODY gets old.  It’s just one of those things!”

I was atypically quiet as the evening continued.  I was still reeling from the fact that I’d basically flunked the hearing test.  Never in a million years did I think I’d exit that doctor’s appointment with less than a clean bill of hearing health much less a set of hearing aids!  A wave of melancholy crashed through my body with the force of a 12-point tsunami!

“Oh my gosh!  I’m playing The End Game!  My Life is on the Back Nine!  I’d better get one of those ‘I’m Dead, Now What?’ books for my kids for Christmas!”

            “You know,” Carl’s words jolted me from my pity party nightmare, “it makes sense that you thought I mumbled!  When we’re in the family room, I always sit here on your right, and you said that you’re right ear is your BAD one, correct?”

“Oh, shut up!” I thought.

“I guess,” I said, not wanting to talk.

“Then,” he continued, like an annoying little brother, pestering and pestering until you want to swat him, “I think we should switch positions!  I’ll sit in YOUR chair and you move over here into THIS one! It’ll be O.K., you’ll see!”

“I’m staying right here,” I said firmly, “You’ve already ruined one ear.  I’m not going to give you the opportunity to ruin the only good one I have left!”

Still struggling with the doctor’s diagnosis, I sent a text message to a friend who has hearing aids herself:

“Finally pulled the trigger and went for a hearing test,” I typed, “turns out I need hearing aids! I think it’s a misdiagnosis, tho, cuz Carl really does mumble!”

A series of emoticons buzzed her response . . . surprise, laughter, shock, laughter again, crying, angry and eyeroll . . . “Of COURSE he does!” it read, “BOTH our husbands talk from inside the closet!”

“Boy!  You can say THAT again!” I smiled.

 

For thirteen years I spent my summers reading novels for possible inclusion into the curriculum of my Honors English I courses.  I pored over used lesson plans to make improvements and I designed essay questions, challenging assignments and discussion topics for the following year’s students.  Yes, I was one of THOSE hyper-dedicated teachers whose goal it was to ignite a genuine passion for literature and a love of writing in her brand new, deer-in-the-headlights, high school freshmen.  And for thirteen years, every class brought with it a variety of learners ranging anywhere from the totally disinterested “I’m only here until I turn 16 and can drop out of school” level to the “I’ve read War and Peace five times, I’m fluent in six foreign languages and my PSAT and SAT scores are already published in the Guinness Book of World Records” types.  Julianna DeSoto was among the latter group.

The student was indeed ready!  Julianna was seldom if ever absent from school.  She was so intent on absorbing everything she could to prepare herself for slam-dunk, full-ride scholarship admissions into every university to which she applied.  In fact, I’m quite sure that Hollywood producers used Julianna as a template when they created Jennifer Lawrence’s character of Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games!  Julianna is fierce — she fights for herself and for her goals. Julianna was always a decent writer, but with a little guidance from Yours Truly, she became an excellent one!  As my student, she was ready for The Teacher to help hone her skills.  I loved reading her expository essays, her personal narratives, her short stories and even her poems and haikus.  After all the students deposited their assignments on my desk, I routinely shuffled through them to find Julianna’s paper to put it at the bottom of the stack . . . to save what I already knew was the best for last — for “dessert!” Whenever one of her essays received a score of 93%, she’d risk being late for her next class to inquire what it was about her work that caused it to be marked down from 100% perfect!  She was, I should say, rather . . .  annoying!  However, as time went on, I came to be continually impressed not only with her academic performance, but also with her personal character.

I retired from teaching at the end of Julianna’s freshman year, but for some reason, she and I kept in contact through email.  And . . . somewhere along the past twelve years, we became friends, and boy, oh boy, am I glad about THAT!  Every Baby Boomer should put down whatever it is he is doing and immediately head out to find a friend in the Millennial generation!  Of course Millennials are entirely self-absorbed, have a very strong sense of entitlement and are most likely still living with their parents . . .  rent free and fully insured on their parents’ policies, but if you aren’t their parents, they make superb friends!  Julianna is my fashion consultant, my advisor as to what is hip and “cool,” AND she can navigate her way around computers, cell phones, iPods, iPads, Androids and every other piece of modern technology with as much ease as a Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg!  If she filled out an application for employment with Google or Apple, my bet is she’d be running the company in no time!  She’s THAT good!

As I settled into my new life beyond the classroom, many activities filled my days.  I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with all the free time I had, so I tried EVERYTHING!  I learned how to clog; I joined our community’s knitting group, The Knitwits; I sat on a couple of boards — one at my church and one in my community; I played tennis and dominoes (but discovered right away that they weren’t for me — tennis requires way too much running and dominoes involves away too much math!); and I took up golf.

Now . . . one would NEVER think that the game of golf would inspire my latent, unattended passion for writing, but it did.  Perhaps this admission would serve me better on a psychologist’s couch, addressing the inner voices that gasp, admonish, chortle, giggle,  complain and criticize during most rounds of golf, but here we go!

The Student was ready.  I studied every book written thus far on the rudiments of golf — from the proper equipment, the proper swing, putting, short game, bunker shots, names of clubs, golf terms . . .  EVERYTHING!  After that, I concentrated on the mental side of the game. Oh, the MENTAL side!  That’s when The Voices were born!

“How could you scull a shot like that?” chided The Critic inside me.  “You KNOW you lifted your whole body just as you hit the ball!  Don’t you know that every time you look up you see a sh#tty shot?”

“Good Grief!  Get your butt back to the driving range and work on that!  Do you HEAR me?” ordered The Coach.

“Oh, NO!” moaned The Whiner. “You’re SUCH a loser!  The last thing you said to yourself was ‘DON’T LOOK UP!’ and that’s exactly what you did!  You looked up, you Stupid Head!”

“Ha Ha Ha,” sang the playful voice of The Comic.  “You should have seen how funny you looked just now!  There you were, looking SOOOO serious, like you were on the PGA tour or something, then BOOP!  Up popped your whole body like a jack-in-the-box!  I wish I’d have taken a picture of you! Oh, my God!  I can’t stop laughing!”

And so it continued . . .  and evolved.  I observed my friends as they struggled with The Mental Game.  The Comic LOVED it.  She’d mentally draft scripts that she thought might be going on in her friends’ heads, thoroughly enjoying the fictitious dialogues.

The Comic, try as she did, could just not stay silent — she HAD to open her big mouth – – – OUT LOUD – – – and include her entire foursome in her fantasies.

To make a L-O-N-G story short(er), at my friends’ emphatic encouragement, I began writing a pseudo newspaper sports column for my regular group, recapping our 9-hole match play matches.  Most super star athletes have nicknames, so . . . we did too!  The Marquis and Princess Cut, Whacker and Pounder fought tooth-and-nail for the victory dinners at The El Rey every season.  The sports page articles circulated the following morning to each of the four subscribers.  But the subscribers forwarded their emails to their friends and pretty soon, the distribution list grew and grew and grew!

“Oh my God, Peggy!  These recaps are so funny! You should put them in a book!” was the general consensus, but The Introvert didn’t think so. The Comic did, but The Introvert told her NO! The Writer was intrigued, but  . . . noncommittal.

Daily recaps flew across The Pond during my 10-day European vacation with Heidi.  At one point we received a response:

“Don’t come home!”

Not feeling the love and nearly on the verge of tears, I read on:

“We are enjoying your recaps SOOOOO much!  We don’t want you to come home because then this will all be over!”

The Writer was flattered but The Comic . . . well The Comic was adamant!

“What if we DID put our stuff in a book?” she mused, “Do you think anyone would read it? Forget a book! I think we should start a blog!”

<GASP!>  A BLOG????  That involves a computer!  A domain name!  The internet!  The freakin’ World Wide Web!!!

So . . . what does one do when confronted with something about which she knows NOTHING?  The student was ready!  I called my teacher, Julianna DeSoto!

“Hey — would you come over and help me figure out how to start a blog?” I texted (because I learned that Millennials TEXT rather than use the telephone for everything except emergencies!)

A “thumb’s up” emoticon accompanied by another one in the shape of a hand signing “O.K.” buzzed into my phone.

There we sat at my computer, Student and Teacher, except this time the roles were reversed.  Julianna’s fingers danced across the keyboard as if she were Beethoven performing a sold out concert at Carnegie Hall!

“O.K., there,” she said, pleased with her progress. “See how easy that is? Now . . . tell me . . . ‘how do you get to your media manager?'”

<deer-in-the-headlights panic evident in my expression!>

“Um . . . .wait . . . what’s a ‘media manager?'” I asked, stalling for time and sounding ever so much like the students waiting until they turned 16 so they could drop out of school.

“Remember . . .we’ve gone over that several times already!  Now pay attention . . . it’s not that hard,” she instructed, trying not to sound impatient.

“Watch my hands,” she said gently, “I’m just gonna press the Control key at the same time I do THIS!”

Because I had always been the Teacher and Julianna had always been the Student thus far in our relationship, I was a bit uncomfortable with the role reversal.  I didn’t want to make it even more obvious that I didn’t know the first thing about creating websites or customizing them, so I fought the need to take notes!

“O.K.,” I repeated, hoping that articulating her directions orally would somehow burn them into my memory, “press the Control key . . . look for the little picture icon to add clip art . . . click and drag into my ‘media manager’ (whatever THAT is) and ‘preview your post.'”

And lo, and behold the blog came to life!

I am still a bit rusty on all of the ins and outs of blogging, but I dare say The Comic is pleased as punch, The Writer is inspired and The Student LOVES her new Teacher!