Ear Today

Hearing Test:
Picture rooms in straight line, open-door order: kitchen>dining room>living room. In the living room is elderly Will, grandmother's cousin; mother and grandmother are in the kitchen. Mother is saying "Guess I'd better go into the living room to see if Cousin Will(Transitions -Feb 10) wants tea at supper. He's as deaf as an old post."

From the living room comes a male voice: "Yes,I'd like a cup of tea."

Hearing Test:

While on a visit to a retirement center I observed a family in the reception area
who were greeting an inhabitant. The local asked of the visitors:
"Where's Linda?"
"She's gone to the drugstore to get batteries for your hearing aid."
"Oh my! Does she have hearing problems too?"

Hearing Test:

I was stretched out on the examining table as the ear doctor probed for wax in whatever the technical term is for where he was. In the midst of the procedure I heard a cell phone ring coming from the doctor's belt area.

"If it's for me," I said, "say that I am busy."

Things Never Change

23 Jan 1942
US Army Reception Center, FT Niagara, NY

Third day in the army and since 0500 (that's 5 am to civilians) I'm on KP in the mess hall. At 0645 I'm slinging some kind of gruel onto mess trays toted by 'faces white from the office light' - those with seniority as great as mine.

"There's one thing for certain, the army is not particular who serves food around here." I looked up and saw a friend for the first time since college graduation. We both exchanged broad grins and he passed on down the chow line and out of my life.


The Mess Sergeant must have out sized a pro-wrestler Man Mountain Dean. The 'Sarge' was huge. He puffed and waddled when he walked. When the GI's quit coming through the breakfast chow line, the Sarge put the largest skillet I had ever seen on the stove. To the skillet he added an equivalent slab of ham. As the ham sizzled he had a dozen eggs frying, sunny side up, in the bubbling grease.
Skillfully sliding the ham and eggs onto a tray, he placed the tray on a butcher's block; a stool squeaked as Sarge plopped onto it next to the block. We stood around watching the operation expectantly.

Then Sarge bellowed - "Whatcha lookin' at? Can't a guy eat in peace? Get yer
butts trew dat line and get some grub fer yerself."

How did that song go? "This is the army, Mr. Jones-"

Summer 1946
Binghamton, NY -Chenango Valley State Park Golf Course

After four plus years I'm finally out of military service and on the golf course.
On the the eight tee I realized that I had left the pitching wedge near the
last green. As I returned to the seventh green a voice called out:"There's one
thing for certain, they are not particular who plays golf around here either."

It was the college friend I had last seen at the Induction Station in 1942!

Sound and Fury

The Pasta Shaque
Hot Springs, AR 719xx


This is in reference to our dining at The Pasta Shaque Sunday , February 11, 2007. The food was of the quality we expect at The Pasta Shaque. For some unexplained reason the hot part of the meal was rushed to the table before we had received the salad.

We appreciate that no staff member used 'guys' or 'you guys'. Those trite greetings have infested the restaurant industry . The Pasta Shaque seems to have avoided the malady.

The sound system is operated at too high a level. When mentioned to the wait-person it was shrugged off with 'it just seems so because the tables are not full'. Later an offer was made to 'try' to have it turned down but we declined as we had finished eating and were leaving. We were in error by not mentioning the noise level during ordering as the wait person asked us to repeat the orders because of the loud sound in the background.

Fortunately we do not have hearing problems. However if we were at the stage where we were wearing hearing aids, we could have turned off the hearing aids and dined in comfort.

Perhaps The Pasta Shaque's operating policy is to launch music at high levels so customers will vacate the tables faster and provide a higher rate of table usage. Just as the chef uses the right amount of spices and flavorings to provide palatable meals, the proper level of music provides a pleasant acoustical surrounding for dining.

If the music is still loud at the next visit it's 'addio signora' and we will leave without eating.

Sincerely,

TRANSITION

A grandson recently gave us the Marx Brothers DVD 'Night at the Opera'. That set off a chain reaction of memories. 'Back then' it was a standard expression to extend the right hand and flick the last three fingers like Groucho flicking the ashes from his cigar. Today the motion has degraded to the index finger.

The name 'Marx Brothers' also brought back a family memory. My maternal grandparents saw a Marx Brothers movie one afternoon; my parents the following night. Later on my grandmother asked my mother "Did Harpo play 'Silver Threads among the Gold' when you saw it?" "I'm sure he didn't change a note," my mother replied.

I thought that conversation was the most stupid thing I had ever heard until my mother gave an explanation. She said that before movies stage plays were presented a week at a time by touring companies. When there was music songs were often changed from one presentation to the next.

Incidentally my grandmother had a first cousin who was on the stage with such a 'touring company'. While on stage he used the name of Will Bingham. I Googled him and found that he toured in Ohio in the early 1900's.

I remember going to the "silent" movies with the dialog printed on the screen. One highlight day the curtains closed in front of the screen; the theater went completely dark; lights slowly came up; the curtains parted revealing the screen. An actor was standing there on the screen and he said OUT LOUD: "Hello, I am Conrad Nagle, and soon this the-ay-ter will have motion pictures in talk and sound." I believe history will show that I was constipated for a week.

Those were great times -1927-I was in the fourth grade, Lindy flew the Atlantic, Babe Ruth hit sixty home runs, and movies started to talk.

And to the one who gave us the DVD : Hope you will see as many changes - most for the better - as I have.

The Snow Slide

One winter day large snow flakes floated lazily down to earth. It was not long before they were no longer floating but pelting. To the oldsters the storm was a 'noreaster' and we were in for it. After two days about the length of the yardstick measured the snow's depth.

My father and I helped my grandfather to shovel the snow from the walks. Our shoveling had created a large pile of snow to the right of the front porch steps. Looking up, Grandpa noticed the snow on the slanting slate roof over the porch. He decided it was high time that he clean the snow off the porch roof. Armed with the snow shovel he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Opening a window he leaned out and started to push the snow off the roof with the shovel.

Next Grandpa sat on the sill and leaned forward to get more leverage. Then the shout "Lookout below - I'm coming down." He was sliding feet first down the slate roof into space, and landed in the piled snow.

Arising from the snow pile he retrieved the snow shovel and headed into the house. As he started back up the stairs, grandmother looked up from her crocheting and said "I thought you were upstairs shoveling the snow off the roof?"

"I was - I certainly was," he replied and continued on up the stairs with the shovel in hand.

Footnotes on a Shoehorn

When I say "Footnotes on a Shoehorn" I'm revealing my understanding of music. Thankfully understanding and enjoyment are filtered in different parts of the brain. Within my trivia file there is the retrievable information that music notes are patterned on a staff composed of lines and spaces. The lines are Every Good Boy Does Fine and the spaces are FACE. If pressed I might find a few more terms but not for everyday use.

At one time it was foreordained that I should play the banjo-mandolin because a deceased uncle had played one. I had lessons with a musician who had learned several instruments while growing up in Italy. His main gig was conducting a local symphonic orchestra. He smoked stinking El Cheapo cigars and used the soggy end to point to various notes on the sheet music that I had misinterpreted; often gooey remains drooped from his lower lip; a sight to gag a maggot. I did discover that I could break the strings by striking them on the support edge of the piano keyboard.

During the third, and last lesson, he screeched :"That note has a sforzando!"

I did not know then what 'sforzando'. Hoped it wasn't catching. Didn't see anything except some doodling over the note. Ink blot? Could have been a dripping from his stinking wet cigar butt for all I knew.After looking up the word I still did not and don't understand it. However, that was a happy day. He told me after he collected the fifty cents for the lesson that he was no longer giving lessons on the mandolin - it really wan't his 'spashalty'. My mother had musical ability and she had already recognized that I was hiding behind the door when music talent was passed out.


Once in my grandmother's wonderful attic I found a cabinet with my mother's piano sheet music. Heavy stuff - bunch of foreign names - lots of black black notes. Her playing days ended when she cut a tendon on the middle finger - right hand. After the healing process she was never able to bend that finger.
What happened to the banjo-mandolin is blank. The genes skipped a generation and are with our oldest son.

There was a popular song along the way "Johnny One-Note". I don't even have that and wouldn't recognize it if it bit me. My friend Zim dared me to attend choir practice at the church one Wednesday night. He had me stand next to him in the bass section. The choir director, Pops, was the music teacher in high school but he was fortunate in that I was never included in his schedule.

Sheet music was passed among the choir members, Pops slapped his hands together once and all (minus one) started humming the scale. Then he asked the
choir to hum the music on the sheet he had passed out. Following the humming he got down to business and the choir broke out into song. I was doing great - lip- synching all the way. He had the choir start over again and then clapped his hands together. The music stopped and he said loudly: "Basses, that third note is a sforzando! Let me hear it." I was trapped. How does one lip-synch something he still couldn't identify?

After choir practice Zim and I were talking. Pops approached us and suggested that I find something else to do around the building during the practice hour. His hearing must have been great. Even my lip-synching was in monotone! In spite of that failure I still find myself lip-synching in church, at ball games and in other situations where one is supposed to break out in song. What a break that is for the listening audience.

VIEWPOINT

This is for the CHAD fans with inquiring minds. Chad spent a weekend with us while he was in college. After a black tie affair at the J-ville Country Club, I sat at the computer and showed him the family genealogy program. It aroused him not a bit that his grandmother had roots back to Scotland and Germany. That my roots were Scotch/English/Irish caused not a stir. "SO?" was the response to an ancestor, a Minute Man who, fortunately for me, was a day late getting to the Battle of Bunker Hill. Nor was he impressed that this was my Patriot for membership in the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR).

To it all Chad's response was: "But that's all about dead people."

I took the hint.

The next morning Chad (with his ears supporting a halo) remarked knightly: "Hey: I read First and Second Kings last night!"

"Really, Chad; that's all about dead people."

Get a Horse

From comments it seems that some anticipate that I will share some nefarious happenings from grandson Chad's background. (A discussion I had with an uncle of Chad's has diverted my ten second attention span: "Guess you thought I was plenty strict when you were growing up," I quizzed quizzenly. "Knowing what I know, you weren't strict enough," he replied knowingly.)

(Back on course.) In this particular situation Chad plays a cameo role, perhaps like the man with the jug of water who was a guide to accommodate the Last Supper; or the carriage driver who brought the distraught sailor to Sherlock Holmes' place of abode.

To set the scene, Chad, a younger cousin, and I were munching on whatever makes Wendy's famous. Chad leaned over to me and excused himself to use the restroom. The cousin finally came up from his plate and realized that Chad was no longer at table.

"Where's Shad?" he asked.
"Gone to see a man about a horse."
"Oh."
Chad returned and we finished the meal.
"Let's head for the hills" I said, or gave some other sign that we were leaving.
"What about Shad's horse?" was the next inquiry.
"Not enough room in the car - let's go!"