Hearing Aids

            Last week Kim went in to order new hearing aids. Her old ones weren’t working well, and the help she got at the place where she got them was less than satisfactory. What sealed the separation was that the packaging on the replacement batteries made it impossible to open them.

 

            But I don’t want to discuss hearing aids. Kim’s new hearing doc, Jesse, after explaining all the benefits of the new ones he was selling Kim, confided three keys to hearing that he and his wife had discovered – keys that have nothing to do with hearing aids. I think it has a lot to do with the brain’s role in hearing, especially as we age.

 

            First, conversation works better if you are face-to-face with your partner. This suggests that some lip-reading is involved, and there is nothing wrong with that if it helps the communication. Also, if you are speaking and listening face-to-face, you are probably in the same room. One of the problems Kim and I sometimes have is shouting from another room. And though Jesse didn’t mention it, face-to-face conversation will help you keep in mind the person you are speaking with – not just the spoken message.

 

            Second, it may take us a moment to shift into listening mode, so it might help to give a brief lead-in before you start a conversation. Something innocent, such as, “I read something interesting today,” or “I was just thinking . . ..” I appreciate it when Kim leads with “I have an idea!” To me, this means, “Brace yourself – our lives are about to change!”

 

            I imagine a brief rewiring taking place in the brain, and it’s a courtesy to let, or make, that happen. This is especially the case if your conversation is with an old person. You probably know that you can’t multi-task the way you could when you were young. Well, you may need to help your conversation partner get through a mini-multi-task as he shifts his attention from the movie he is watching to whatever you have to say. Throat-clearing might be a way to do this.

 

            I can’t remember Jesse’s third key to listening. I must have been thinking about the second one when he was talking.

 

            Jesse’s three suggestions reinforced, for me, the distinction between hearing and listening. I have great hearing. I can hear distant sounds – a car passing the house, an unexpected thump from our back yard or roof, a loon’s faint call from across the lake. No, my problem isn’t hearing – it’s listening. Apparently, I spend too much time inside my head – thinking about my to-do list, or maybe my next blog entry. Or sometimes I’m just not paying attention. Kim suggests this happens most often when she is speaking, though sometimes it’s women in general. It may be that men just have trouble listening to what women have to say. We are more tuned into important guy stuff – you know, sports and politics – not what women tend to talk about, though for some reason I don’t know what that is.

 

            So, Kim gets her new hearing aids next week. I’m looking forward to it, partially because I can ask Jesse about his third of his keys to hearing – which are more about listening than hearing. I’m not sure when my listening aids arrive.

Mind

            I was young when I learned the distinction between a person’s brain and a person’s mind. The brain is a physical thing – a wet lump of cells wired together in order to produce the person’s mind, which is not a physical thing, at least, as far as we know.

 

            Generating a mind is not, of course, the only thing that a brain does. (No examples needed here – come up with them on your own.) And I believe I read somewhere that the Ancient Greeks would point to their chest or gut when asked to locate the source of what we call “mind” – whatever kind of awareness that motivates our decisions and actions.

 

            Clear enough, I suppose, but what, exactly, is a mind?

 

            As an English major (long ago), I feel obliged to try to answer the question by looking at language. What do we actually say about what we call the “mind”? Common expressions that come to mind, off the top of my head (brain location), include:

 

·      make up your mind

·      change your mind

·      narrow mindedness

·      mind your manners

·      mind your parents

·      mindfulness

 

Let’s consider these one at a time.

 

            I like the mandate to “make up your mind.” Your mind doesn’t just exist as a clear product of your brain. No, it’s something that you need to “make up” from time to time. This would seem to give you some sort of creative control over what your mind is, does and says. You can just make it up. I know the phrase usually applies to making a decision between alternatives you had been pondering, but I think there’s more to it than that.

 

            This is consistent with “change your mind.” Don’t like what your mind is telling or showing you? Well – just change it. The implication behind “change your mind” suggests there are two alternatives, and you change from following one to following the other. But the creative opportunities are greater than that. Just change your mind! And if you don’t like the options, then just make up your mind – something totally new! Exchange your mind. And then, use it! As the United Negro College Fund warned us years ago, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

 

            At the other end of the continuum is “narrow mindedness.” Maybe that means declining to consider other minds that you might live by – a failure to make up or change your mind. I confess that I usually use the term to apply to people who don’t agree with me, but there is more to it than that. It may be good, at times, to have your mind focus on a narrow subject or project, but narrow mindedness is usually seen as a disability because you don’t even consider alternative mind-sets.

 

            All of these phrases see the “mind” as a more or less coherent way you process and interpret the wet turmoil going on inside your brain. Apparently, we need a clear and consistent view, though it’s encouraging that we can change it or even make it up. And sometimes that clear and consistent view comes from an outside source which you are expected to obey, as in “mind your parents,” which means to adopt their view of what you should do. “Mind your manners” suggests a similar obedience to an outside source: Exchange your mind – for theirs.

 

            “Mindfulness,” as summarized by the mindless Artificial Intelligence on my computer, refers to “the practice of being present and fully aware of the current moment, without judgment.” To me this sounds a bit like mindlessness because you are surrendering your own mind to be absorbed and transformed by that current moment – living in the present tense. But maybe it’s more like changing your mind – escaping from whatever rut your mind has been stuck in and moving to a fresh new mind that is free from the stale demons that ruled your old self’s mind.

 

            Which reminds me: Why do we say “on your mind” rather than “in your mind”?

 

Aussies

            A number of people have suggested that Kim and I need to step away from the stress of buying and selling homes. After not a lot of thought, we decided to escape from all the hassle by making a radical change: We are moving to Australia.

 

            I know, I know – this seems rather extreme. What do we know about Australia? Neither one of us has ever been there (though I have been to New Zealand twice), and I don’t believe we know any actual Australians. But we really enjoy Australian movies, and we think the movies have given us a pretty good feel for the place. It’s time to make a move.

 

            Of course, we will have to travel there by ship, as Kim does not fly. We will shed the weight of our possessions by donating our Bark House, fully furnished, to our favorite Land Conservancy, and we will donate our car to someone or something, as the whole idea here is to travel light. Someone else will have to deal with the big job of disposing of the rest of our stuff. We probably should hold onto our car until it conveys us to California, where we expect to catch a boat ride to Australia.

 

            We don’t know exactly where we will live when we get there. Six months or so on a ship should give us plenty of time to explore and decide where we want to live, thanks to the internet, and to decide what we want to do in Australia. Hopefully there will be some fellow Aussies onboard to advise us. Farming has a certain appeal. I have been fascinated by goats for the last several years, and horses since reading Gulliver’s Travels.  And Kim’s gardening skills will make her a valuable member of any farming enterprise. The Outback also has a certain hardy attraction, and we should probably go on a walkabout – the ones in movies seem pretty cool. We don’t have many Aborigines here in Northern Michigan, and we hope to get to know some. Let’s just do it! We simply have to trust that the universe, which has looked after us so well in the past, will continue to do so. 

 

            There are, of course, some complications we will need to deal with. We will need to learn Aussie slang expressions, none of which I can recall right now. And learn to watch for kangaroos (“roos”) as we drive about in the car we will have to get. We will have to get used to the fact that January in Australia occurs in the summer. We will have to earn some money and find out how to get pensions and Social Security delivered to us. We will have to establish a team of doctors, dentists, etc., to look after our medical issues. (Did I mention finding a place to live?) We won’t know anybody there, so we will have to be a bit aggressive in making friends. Fortunately, we are Americans, so most people in other countries are predisposed to like us.

 

            Another potential complication is that Kim is pregnant. We have often wished that we had a baby together who we could raise, and as I said, the universe looks after us, so here we are! My friend Bill is exploring whether the universe has consciousness. I’m wondering whether it has a sense of humor.

 

Blue Highways

            Blue Highways is a book by William Least Heat-Moon that I read about 40 years ago. The book, as I recall, describes how, denied tenure at a university, the author decides to drive around the country going only on the highways on his map colored blue, which excluded all the Interstate Highways. His companion was his dog.

 

            Kim and I decided to travel back and forth to Atlanta using only blue highways. We didn’t use a paper map, so there was nothing blue. Instead, we told our GPS (we named her Gertrude) to stay off of expressways. Gertrude agreed, though I did detect some reluctance in her tone of voice.

 

            So, a couple of weeks ago, when we drove down to Atlanta to stay a few days, see family, close the sale of our condo, and pack stuff for the movers and our own reliable car, we traveled using blue highways. By staying off expressways for the 1,000-mile drive (each way), we avoided trucks, excessive speeds, and a hypnotic sameness of the view. We traded that for an exploration of our country: the farms, the small towns and restaurants (not always great), the old barns, and the hills and the clouds.

 

            Kim spent much of the trip with her camera pressed against the window, taking pictures of, mainly, the fields and clouds. Many of the photos did not turn out well enough, due to the motion of the car, the bugs on the tinted windshield, and the hand-speed necessary to get the camera aimed and focused as we drove through a scene.

 

            But this doesn’t really matter. Kim was seeing and appreciating, whether her camera caught what she saw or not. This is her artist’s eye, and it informs her love of the world. I, on the other hand, suffer from a condition that I named “male pattern blindness.” I miss stuff, unless it’s pointed out to me. This happens around the house, a lot, but also in the garden and in the car, where at least I have an excuse that I’m driving. Kim’s capacity for appreciation is amazing, especially considering her potentially distracting health issues. She was also collecting pictures for future landscape paintings - studying the colors of clouds and fields.

 

            Here are a few of Kim's photos from our trip, in no particular order:

 

We missed most of the rain.

One of the bigger small towns we passed through. Note blue highway signs.

Clouds were always with us.

Kentucky has black barns.

We saw a lot of barns in need of repair.

newer version

Twisting roads in Kentucky

Looks like a . . . ?

Chattanooga speaks.

Amazing what is required to put a road through the mountains.

Bumper Crop

We saw a lot of productive farms.

Exciting Sky

Another Blue Highway Town

Somehow this did not rain on us.

Functioning, but needs paint

Blue Highway

Taller

            This really happened.

 

            After a morning of yardwork and housework and then Kim’s arduous dental appointment, we settled onto our couches in front of the television for an afternoon nap. After about an hour I tired of the movie and couldn’t sleep, so I moved across the room to my desk. Kim was dozing lightly.

 

            She awakened, stood, and then said in a startled voice, “David! Look at this! Look at me! I feel like Alice in Wonderland!” I did as I was told. She was significantly taller than the Kim I have known for years. 

 

            “Everything looks different – the table, the couch, the floor! I’m seeing them at a different angle! Come here!” I did so, and we gave each other a hug – something we’ve done at least a thousand times. This one was different. She was taller.

 

            We went upstairs to measure her height. She assured me that she was 5’ 7” in her younger days, but in the last few years, thanks to gravity and her spinal issues with degenerative disc disease, she now regularly measured 5’ 4”. Most mornings she would hang by her fingertips from a door frame, and that might stretch her an inch – for a while. But now she was 5’ 7”.

 

            We were puzzled. What caused it? Was there something in the drugs that numbed her jaw at the dentist’s? No, this was not some drug-addled delusion, as I saw the difference from across the room and tested it with a hug and then a tape measure. Was it the mushrooms? No, because we were due to have mushroom ravioli for dinner, but that was several hours from now. Or maybe it was the result of several hours in the dentist’s chair, tipped way back because the dentist is not very tall. Maybe.

 

            What was most refreshing wasn’t the added inches, but rather the fact that the world can offer us such surprises, and the more unexplained, the better. I feel a similar delight on the rare occasions that I stumble into something from quantum physics, something that violates what is sometimes called “common sense.” (For a taste of what I mean, try the movie What the Bleep Do We know. Cool stuff, and don’t worry how true it is, or whether the concept of “true” really applies.)

 

            Within an hour Kim was back to 5’ 4”. A hug confirmed it.

Adventures in Housing

            As I mentioned a few weeks ago, we put our Atlanta condo on the market and moved back to our Bark House, waiting for us unsold in Northern Michigan. Several of my readers advised that this was a good decision, and we should just relax without all the stress of house shopping.

 

            So, we told Kelly, our realtor, to take our house off the market. She didn’t do it, probably at the suggestion of her boss, and we’ve had three couples looking in the last two weeks, all with our permission. We did this because, coming home, we immediately encountered a mountain of yard work – leaves, weeds, gravel that the snowplow had scraped into the garden – and we felt (in our backs and knees) that we could not handle the work here, and we have been unsuccessful in finding help (except for one guy who charges $150 per hour).

 

            It also occurred to us that it would be nice to have a modest condo in Traverse City, a place where we could spend our winters in non-isolation, and where we would live full-time when the Bark House was too much. We found one in the old mental institution where we lived while building the Bark House, and we made an offer, but we backed out after the contractor’s inspection revealed some serious problems. We are still waiting (two weeks now) for our earnest money to be returned.

 

            Meanwhile, we continue to look for a condo in or near Traverse City. What if someone actually wanted to buy our Bark House? Where would we go? Could we ask the buyers to wait? Every day we go back and forth about staying here full time or selling and moving to a condo. This is feeding the stress that my readers mentioned.

 

            Adding to the stress: Our Atlanta loft is under contract, and in a few days we will drive to Atlanta (1,000 miles) to pack, meet the movers, and close the deal – we hope. Then drive home. Might not be a blog entry next week . . ..

 

            So, pending:

·      closing sale of the Atlanta place – possible delay for lender appraisal

·      earnest money from Traverse City condo – it’s been two weeks Got it.

·      sale of Bark House – one couple “somewhat interested,” but on African safari now

·      finding help with Bark House – guy came over, but more of a carpenter.

·      finding senior-friendly housing, probably a condo, purchased if/when Atlanta place sells. Looked at one Monday afternoon - Nope

 

Time for a cocktail . . ..

On Being Told I Look Young

 On Being Told I Look Young

I am aging from the inside

out, I replied. Look in and

you will see my heart sifting

dust like an hour glass, dust

swirling like scraps in windy

corners, large organs drying like

buffalo chips, my stomach an

ashy fireplace, the healthy pink

we loved turned gray, as in

the nightmare where the door

of the microwave oven was left

open and some Betty Furness had

her insides cooked (well done) on

camera. At times debris works

its way to the surface—a 

bit in my scalp or navel,

some grit in the cracks in

my forehead, some unexplained

dirt under my nails, and

a dry musty smell

of long unopened books.

 

The thing is: I wrote this poem when I was in my 20s. Now, in my 80s (early 80s), it’s not so amusing. Prophetic, perhaps.

 

            While on the subject of my internal plumbing, here’s another poem I wrote years ago:

 

Twist

 

The doctor studies the slope

of my electrocardiogram

and announces that my heart

twists unusually in my chest.

He can’t tell if this odd

axis is a recent shift,

or whether a twisted heart –

its electricity turned to strange

vectors, impulses staggering

out through my skin askew

—has always been with me.

After being told I’ll die

from something else, not that,

I accept this heart:

                                    Doc

Williams in Paterson said

to let our words visit love

by falling to it aslant.

I’m happy to know I’m equipped

for romance. Another doc said

that when repairing vasectomies he

splices the tubes with oblique

surfaces joined to increase

the size of the passage for sperm.