On a lighter note

Today is my birthday and it has been lovely all day from salmon with friends for lunch, Oprah's Faulkner books, bars of Swiss chocolate hidden under my pillow and in my purse, an exquisite fairy from my sister, calls from well wishers and a new toaster. And, near midnight, the arrival of our oldest son, his wife and our perfect and only granddaughter who turns two next week. A delightful celebration on an evening that blesses us with open windows and a cool summer breeze.

Being deaf

My parents are here. Dad is 85. Mom is 76. That's four hearing aids. Three weeks ago, I got water in my left ear and still cannot hear. We have become a symphony of "what?" Grocery shopping, neighbors dropping by, wedding receptions and people are a jumble of sound. I suspect that I am also deaf to loneliness, dependency, aching bones, pricked diabetic fingers, slow walking, and a desire to be thought about and loved and reassured. It must feel disappointing when the thunderstorm fails to wake you in the middle of the night. It is certainly a small grief yet a reluctant march toward greater loss.