Insatiable Nomad

11-24-15
After graduating from high school, I decided to spend my summer hitchhiking around the country. On a hot June day I was walking along a lonely stretch of highway just outside of a small town in the middle of Kansas. I heard a roar behind me, turned and put out my thumb. A red motorcycle with a black sidecar came zooming around the bend. It screeched to a halt just in front of me and the rider pointed to the sidecar. 'Nomad' was emblazoned across it in bright red script. My eyes were drawn to the obviously female figure, wonderfully dressed out in tight black leather; I hesitated. She pulled off her helmet, shook out her long black hair and gave me a mischievous smile that spoke of excitement.
 "Get in!"
I grabbed the helmet off the seat, slid my backpack off my shoulders and climbed in. "You didn't ask where I was going."
She let loose a laugh and I could feel the adrenaline surge through me. "Where ever I'm going and not even the Nomad knows where that is; but I might get you home for college by September." She laughed again as she popped on her helmet, dropped the cycle into gear and I held on for the ride of my life.

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

We were talking on the phone once, during one of our annual calls, when she asked me a very odd question; “If I had asked you, would you have married me?”

In a fraction of a second, which was all I had, I reviewed all the times we were together, the break up and all of the subsequent times our paths crossed, either on purpose or accidental and gave her my honest answer.

“Yes.”

“I was just wondering.” Was all she said.

You were just wondering? Like, ‘I was just wondering if I should have another glass of water’? I do wonder what was going through her mind at the time. Was she looking back on her choices in life, the choice that led her away, the choices that kept leading her to reach out to me, reconnect and sort of try again? Until we lost touch with each other, and then, by the time our paths crossed again, it was too late for you?

Because, when I look back, it was always you who came back to me, if only for the weekend.

Perhaps I look at things differently. Once it’s over, it’s over. We tried, in our own fumbling teenage ways. Sometime after you went off to college, you decided that the long distance thing was just not working, so you decided to end it.

So, it was over and I moved on.

And you kept finding me.

I know that when circumstances end something, it never truly ends.

So I wonder if, at that point in your life, you were looking at ‘might have beens’? Were you wondering if you did the right thing? Maybe, if you tried harder, asked me the question, things might have turned out differently? So you reached out to once again, to touch the maybe, feel the warmth, and reassure yourself that the 'maybe' was still real.

I hope that it was just because you were curious, not that you were having troubles. Because there is nothing I can do for your troubles…except be your friend.

And I never want to think that you might have made an error in your selection. For I know that I didn’t.

And I don’t want to think of you, lying in your bed at night, wondering if your life would have turned out better, if only it was me lying beside you.

Interstate 5 daydreams

It’s always boring, driving down highway five. Okay, it’s not a ‘highway’, it’s an Interstate. And yes, I know the difference.

There it sits, hundreds of miles of straight, flat road, in the middle of California. Nothing much to see but flat fields, an occasional oasis of service stations and fast food places. Oh, and the stockyards you smell before you see.

Regardless of the boredom, it is the fastest route to L.A. from the Bay Area.

But once you set the cruise control to 80mph (125kph), 70 when the price of gas was $4 a gallon, it’s a struggle to fill the hours.  Wonder-Girl reads a book, since the farmers don’t post signs on their crops.

I glance at the road sign, “Speed limit enforced by aircraft’ Enforced? I wonder how. The mind drifts and I can visualize a World War One biplane cruising through the skies, monitoring traffic.  It’s a two-seater and the pilot and gunner both have handlebar mustaches and goggles.

The gunner sees a sports car weaving through traffic at a high rate of speed.  He taps the pilot on the shoulder and gestures down. The pilot gives him a thumbs up and banks over into a dive.

As the plane levels out, the gunner swings his twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns over and aims just in front of the nose of the sports car.

With a crazed look in his eyes, he squeezes off a burst of tracer rounds. The sports car slams on its brakes and slides into the slow lane.

The pilot laughs, along with the gunner, as he pulls back on the stick and climbs.  Four crazed bloodshot eyes scanning the road for another victim

Sure, I have seen the real helicopter spotters overhead, but they are boring.

--

I always wonder, what sick mind names the prisons around here?  Not far from the Grapevine you see the sign. ‘Happy Valley State Prison’ Oh, you know the prisoners just love it there, in the happy valley.

And in this flat area, there are no little valleys, so why did they name it that?

--

You see, on the Interstate, there is no cross traffic. On the highway, you always see signs warning about cross traffic ahead. I always wonder how they know the traffic is angry?

--

I am glad I don’t bruise easily. Last time we drove down 5, it was summer. Wonder-Girl asked what all the white stuff was, stuck in the shrubs. “Oh it’s cotton.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s caught’n all the bushes.”

Yeah, she hit me.

Looking at it another way

I have this friend back east that I have known since the 90’s. One of the reasons we remain friends, probably, is that we think in similar ways, have a similar sense of humor and enjoy each other’s company.

Skinner, as I call her, and I became friends through phone calls and emails at work. It wasn’t until a few years later that she met me in person. (I had already met her, but she had forgotten the meeting. I suppose that indicates the first impression I had on her, or lack thereof, sigh.)

Anyway, the friendship worked, partly (I think) because we kept it as a friendship. (though if I had been single at the time…I probably would have made a nuisance of myself.)

There were a few curious things over the years that, if I take them out of context, squint and tilt my head just the right way; might indicate some other ideas she may have had.

The first thing was sometime in the mid nineties, before the internet. I had mentioned reading certain stories on a bbs. She asked, if she wrote such a story, would I post it for her?

Now I have been writing stories for quite a while, regular fiction, and had shared some with her. So I figured that it would be regular fiction.

So she sends me a little three page sex story and I posted it. (It is still archived at several internet sites and if you knew my original email address at my last company, you could find the story.)

The story had what I thought as a good sex scene between the two characters. Not the quiet, slow lovemaking; but a rough, pull her dress off, throw her on the bed, mount her from behind and fuck her hard, fast and deep. (With a nice touch of her wanting/having her nipples pinched hard at just the right moment.)

 I have read the story several times and based on how we act when we are together, I am sure it was not meant to be about us.

And there is something else. That is that both of us respect marriage. If she had other ideas about me, she would keep them to herself. If I had other ideas about her, I would keep them to myself. Some things are just not done.

Some years after that, she told me she had written a similar story for her boyfriend and his reaction was pretty lukewarm.

The second thing was at one time, she sent me a book to read. It was called ‘Mercy’. It was a psychological murder mystery about a man who liked to dress up in women’s clothing, a series of murders; and a woman who like to dress up as a man. The ‘Mercy’ title comes from the safe word that was used by these two people, because they were also both into BDSM

I did like the book and told her so; but it always struck me as strange that she would send it out to me. Especially since I read mostly science fiction and fantasy.

So I suppose I could take these two items together and weave it into a supposed fantasy that she has about me, or a fantasy she had and I would be suitable. But that idea is so farfetched, based on what I know about her, that it is hardly worth considering.

Maybe flattered

The other day, Wonder-Girl came back from a women’s get together and told me a strange thing. She said, “Do you know what Chemical-Girl said to me tonight? She said, ‘All the women want your husband.’”

“What?” I said incredulously.

“She said that.”

Now I am totally perplexed. You’ve met me and you know that I’m a pretty average looking guy. So that can’t be it. Now I do have a lot of female friends, in fact most of my friends are female. I suppose that means that I’m a pretty nice guy and fun to be with. (And probably because I am not trying to get into their pants, they feel safe and comfortable around me?)

I think it also might be because Wonder-Girl doesn’t constantly grouse about me? (I am only guessing this because we all know that when a spouse is on their own, they may say things.)

Maybe it’s because most of the women are divorced, or married to their second husband; and this is my first?

I don’t know. I just can’t figure that one out.

Crossing the line

(years ago) So we were sitting at the party, spinning yarns and shooting the breeze. Someone brought up different mixed drinks and Prickly's dad asked what was in a 'Long Island Iced Tea'. It has four or five types of booze mixed together. "I don't know," I answered. "But it is strong enough to knock the skirt off a college coed!." Suddenly there was silence, so I quickly added, 'Or so I've heard." Nice save, GW, but no one believed me. Deep Throat thought it was pretty good. I am just glad the kids were in the house, out of earshot. Twelve-year-old boys should not be learning the tricks of the trade, yet. Us older guys will bide our time. For such knowledge should be passed on. It’s not as if women wear tee shirts that say, I'm not that kind of girl, but if you buy me another drink...

Black Years

It was last September, a month after our mom died, and I was talking to my twin sister. She said, "You know, next year is going to be another black year." "Yes, I know." For she and I are faced with the same things, almost. Our step-sister had metastatic breast cancer at the time and was getting worse. She had been fighting a heroic battle for years and was slowly losing. Our stepmom is fighting a different type of metastatic cancer, but for now, is holding her own. We share that and the sorrows to come. But I have another darkness flowing my way. Our beloved Tommy dog is now almost eighteen. A Border-collie-beagle, he has been a smart and loyal companion. But I know his days are numbered. I recently stopped taking him on his short morning walk, the walks we have done every morning for sixteen years. His back legs are weak, his front legs are arthritic and he has trouble walking without panting in pain. His mind, ears, and eyes are not as good. So I know that at some point, probably this year, his legs will give out, or something will break down. And then it will be time. Time for us to take the last ride to the vet, as I have done twice before with our other dogs. And it will be a blacker year for me, because I'll be the one to nod to the vet that it's time. Time to say goodbye. And I will cry for Tommy more than I'll cry for anyone else.

A lot has happened.

And not so much. After being laid off from my job of twenty-seven years, and searching for a new one for a year, I became gainfully employed again. It has been interesting, learning a new job, meeting new people and trying to understand the mindset of people who have not spent their lives in a manufacturing environment. One thing I learned very quickly was to keep my mouth shut about my situation. We were about halfway through my period of unemployment when Wonder-Girl looked up at me one afternoon and said, “I am so glad you convinced me to pay off our house.” What happened was, as she was determining what to do with her inheritance, I offered this idea. (Now understand that her inheritance is hers. Whatever she wanted to do was fine by me. I fully trust her judgment and offered only one suggestion.) “I think it would be a good idea to pay off the house. This way, if you want to work, you can. If you don’t want to work, you can do that also.) So as we sat there, watching the weeks of my severance pay diminish, we knew we didn’t have to worry about the house. This became more important as we watched the housing market implode from everyone’s bad decisions and circumstances beyond their control. We knew several friends who had a divorce, loss of job, or sickness suddenly change their situation. Suddenly, the house they could afford was no longer affordable. Many lost their homes. Sure, a few did stupid things when they bought their houses near the peak of the market; some got terrible advice also. Wonder-Girl always said that she never wanted to take out another loan and use the house as collateral. Do nothing to endanger our home. And now I sit and talk to friends and coworkers who are suck where they are because they owe more on their house than it is worth. I find it best to commiserate with them on the market, the job opportunities, etc. I don’t tell them that I have not had to worry about a mortgage payment. No sense in gloating over the fact that we were both careful and lucky.

Strange Sight

Sunday at 10 am, Molly and I left the house for a walk. As I reached the hedge and turned, I saw a young lady sitting on the curb, legs stretched out into the street. (The one glance showed, besides the long, good looking legs; a very short black skirt. Long blond hair, thin black jacket, black high heeled pumps next to her feet. What some of my lady-friends have called their ‘fuck-me shoes’.)Kinda surprising. I looked left and right, to check for cars and started across the street. I looked back at the young lady. She turned, looked up at me. I said “Good morning.” She smiled and said “Hi.” (Of course, she smiled, I had my cute beagle with me. That always gets a smile from women. But I digress.)It was a pleasant ‘Hi’, no worried smile, or concerned look. If she had looked as if she was in trouble, I would have asked her if she needs to use the phone. We continued on our walk and I smiled to myself. After the first glance and seeing the long expanse of bare leg, my second thought was how cold she must be! It was maybe 38 and overcast. The thick fog had lifted, but it was very damp.I suppose she must have been at a party and just fell asleep on the couch. But judging by her evening attire, I suspect that some guy took her home after meeting her at a bar or dance party. (She was very take-homeable)Endless ideas as to why she was sitting on my corner, waiting for her ride. And there are, alas, no answers. For when Molly and I returned, the young woman was no longer there.

Constraints

I like to write stories. Sometimes, just to take my mind off my troubles, I weave the stories in my head as I try to fall asleep. (Yes, I can hear you now, ‘They must be really boring stories!” Oh shut up! But I digress.)The fun thing about them is that none of the characters, though lightly patterned after bits of people that I know, really exist. This way, I can have anyone do anything. Go on adventures, fall in love, make love, kill an enemy; it doesn’t matter.Until now.A while ago, I reconnected with a dear friend on one of the social networking sites. We had lost touch thirty years ago, due to a falling out I had with a mutual friend.Being the silly person that I am, I wrote a fictionalized account of how we first met and posted it on her account. (based solely on what I remembered about her 30 years ago and our mutual liking of Star Trek). To my surprise, she added several paragraphs to the story. Over the last few months, each of us has added bits to the story, based solely on what the other person wrote. It’s turning out to be very fun, since neither of us knows where the story is going.And yet, there are constraints, for I know where the story is not going.Like I said, when I write a story, it is about fictional characters. This time the characters are us, but in a fictional setting. So I cannot let my character do things in the story that I would not do in real life. And that’s the rub. For if anyone else were to read the story, they would soon wonder, ‘When are these two gonna admit their feelings for each other and spend the night together, locked in passion?’ Ah, but that can’t happen, the story has constraints .I have the story in my head and avoid the obvious traps. The elephant in the room. If these two people are stuck aboard a crippled starship for almost a year, they will either end up falling in love, or one shoves the other out the airlock! And I have to dance between those two extremes and still make the story plausible. At least I have a fun story to think about as I drift off to sleep at night.

It’s safe now.

Yeah, it’s still out there. The story (rather racy) that my friend wrote and I posted to Usenet for her, back in ’93.

Some years back, while searching for my old work email address, I found her story archived at a bunch of sites. (see April 02, 2006 - Words never die on the Internet).
No big deal, except that at the bottom of the story was my work email address! Anyone reading it and who worked for my company could figure out it was me. That made me worry since I did not want a call from HR asking me to explain a sex story with the companies name on it!
Now, seventeen years later, I don’t have to worry since I no longer work for that company.

Still, amusing how some things never go away in the aether.

Betty look alikes and slipping into the Twilight Zone

First day on the job, I passed by her office and let my eyes glance covertly in her direction.
I had to look twice at her, carefully because no gal likes to be stared at. Yep, there is an uncanny resemblance. I let my eyes slide away from her and acted as if I never glanced in her direction.
Another Betty look alike.

Oh sure, this gal is attractive and that does catch my eye, but her profile reminds me of Betty. Straight on, she is just a pretty woman. And she seems nice.
Over the months that I have been here I have talked to her just a little, we say hello as we pass in the hallways. Maybe there is some resemblance from the front, but really it is the profile.
A lot of the people I work with do their work in the field, so I don’t see them all the time.

What is also amusing about my work is that I now work with another woman who resembles my twin sister a bit and another that resembles my sister-in-law. (more sound of her voice and how she speaks.) Oh, none of these are doppelgangers, it’s just that they have some resemblance.

Now if someday, the Betty look-alike pulls me to one side and says, “You know GW, I know a guy who looks very much like you.” That’s when I will know I have slipped into the Twilight Zone and I will start to worry.

I’m not saying we ought to misbehave

So last week, on my day off, we went next door to help Chemical Girl pack. Losing her house has been tough on her, and besides the help, she could use some company.
Later, while we were eating pizza, I thought I’d relate a story to her.

Years ago, one of my work friends was going to move. I wasn’t sure when and was a bit surprised when, as he was talking to a bunch of us guys, that he said he moved over the weekend.
“ Everett, I didn’t know it was last weekend. I kinda expected you to ask me for some help.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to help.”
“Sure, but I would have had to go to the adult store first.”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Well, I thought it would be funny to buy a big dildo. When I got to your place, I would roll it under the bedroom dresser. Then, when a couple of the other guys moved the dresser and discovered it, you would have some explaining to do!”
Everybody busted up laughing, but Everett just got a worried look on his face, “You would really do that to me?”
“Oh, probably not; but I thought of it!”

Wonder-Girl and Chemical Girl thought the story was funny.
And I reassured CG that no, I would not do that to her.
I hope she isn’t worried.

Guilt

My neighbor just lost her house. Breaking up with her S.O. and then losing her job took its toll. Add in the housing bubble bursting and she was underwater with a house she could no longer afford, nor sell. While she was trying to renegotiate her loan and avoid the foreclosure, the bank sold her home.
Yesterday I found out what the new owner paid for it and I feel bad. The house sold for a mere $236,000.
It has now occurred to me that despite not even having my job for a year, I probably could have qualified for a loan, bought her house and rented it back to her. Then, some years down the road, after she has repaired her credit, she could buy it back. (WG thought the same thing. After all, we own our home completely, and our cars.)
Now I feel guilty about not helping her. Yeah, I can just hear my friend FL saying, ‘Why do guys feel the need to always rescue a gal?’
It’s just who we are, I guess. If a gal feels some need for security and protection, it just fits that us guys feel some need to protect and provide security. It’s not a major force, but it is there.
It’s that entire ‘Damsel in Distress, Knight in Shining Armor’ thing. Sure, bothersome at times, but if a gal does need rescuing; it’s nice that there can be someone there to rescue her.
So sure, I would be ‘rescuing’ my neighbor. However, she’s a nice gal and both WG and I like her. Good neighbors can be hard to find. (Yeah, the dogs love her too.)
I would never want to be a landlord, I dislike being in charge, but being CG’s landlord would be fairly easy. Oh sure, there would be complications. I couldn’t charge her too high a rent. It’s one of the rules; a KiSA does not take advantage of a DiD. It would be rude.
I would have to play down the ‘you owe me big time’. I could tease her once in a while, but I have seen the look of horror creep over a woman’s face when she realizes that she owes me.
A KiSA should not give women nightmares!

There have been a number of occasions where I was the KiSA. Yeah, an average looking guy in a ’73 Valiant would never qualify as Prince Charming on a white horse; but I was there when a KiSA was needed. Fixed the problem, got a nice thank you and was on my way. (Yes ladies, despite some nasty stories, all we really want is to help and receive a nice thank you. We are happy to help, because that’s what we are supposed to do.)

And now I realize that I might have missed this one and it was a big one.

(PS- Yes, we can argue for hours, the semantic difference between rescuing and helping. Some other day.)

(PPS – maybe that’s why some of my independent, female friends have trouble finding someone, they don’t need rescuing. I guess some guys can’t handle that. But that’s a discussion for a later date.)

Cross Country

What if there was a huge disaster that wiped out eighty percent, or more, of the human population? What would you do? Where would you go?
As a fan of ‘end of the world’ type stories, I have often thought of this and wondered what I would do.
That brings up a special term I have for a few people. “I would travel cross country to find you.”
Imagine the desolation of your country. Roaming packs of starving dogs. Roaming bands of lunatic people. Gangs of despicable people. Religious fanatics.
Yes, for some people, I would travel cross-country to find them. Family, and some friends.
I know that to some of you, the whole idea is frightening. So be it.
But there is another frightening aspect to this. There are people I know that I would not want coming to look for me! More acquaintances and co-workers than friends. But none the less, people whom I would rather avoid.
“I guess you are nice enough, but I would rather travel three thousand miles through a hell infested wasteland to look for someone who might be alive, than be with you.”
Hmmm…I guess it’s better than; ‘Well, maybe if you were the last woman on earth.’ I just want to go see if the second to that last woman on earth is still alive.

There are only a handful of people, for whom ‘I would travel cross-country to find you.’ applies.
And I am sorry, but as fond as I am of you, attempting to pilot a yacht or 275 foot Coast Guard cutter across the Pacific to find you is beyond my skills. (Not that I have ever thought of it, despite the fact that the cutters are only twenty miles from here and they have a range of 6,000 miles. :-)

Time is tight

So, I have been working again for just over six months now and could not understand why I have no time for anything. Get home, eat, play with the dogs, talk to my wife. A bit of TV and then off to sleep.
I used to get home from work, work on a project, write a bit; then the rest of the stuff. Now, there is no time.
I puzzled about this for a while and then it dawned on me what was different, I go to work.
Back in 2005, I was working three days in the office, two at home. That morphed to the point that during my last few years, it was four at home, one in the office. That gave me an extra two hours at home and a later bedtime.
So now, time is tight.
Early to rise, early to bed, makes a man healthy, wealthy and dead. Sigh.
And just give up things.

I really shouldn’t give this up.

Black Coffee

It’s just after seven and as usual, I am awake. When I first got laid off, I would sleep in till eight or so. There was no reason to get up early. Yeah, I know, talk to the dogs. They will tell you that I should be up on time and take them for their walk.
Over this last year, despite not having to get up, I started getting up early. I am basically a night person and I have the unique ability to ignore noise on a Saturday morning and sleep in.
Now, I wake up between six and seven and get right up. It’s almost against my religion to get up so early, especially when I don’t have to. Sigh, so here I am, sitting at the kitchen table of my brother’s house. He and his nice wife seem sound asleep and I have to figure out a strange kitchen.
I managed to find the coffee and make a small pot. Soon that magic herbal remedy will infuse me with wonderful chemicals and I will wake up enough to realize that I should have stayed in bed.
There is no sugar in the house! Yeah, yeah, I know from past visits that they usually don’t have sugar on hand. Yeah, I should have brought some from the hotel, but I didn’t. Oh, I could go searching through the kitchen cabinets, but I just don’t like looking through other people’s cabinets, even if it is perfectly okay.
There was a half-packet of sweetener on the microwave and I used that to sweeten my first cup. I know there is more, but I won’t search.
So I will sip the strong, bitter liquid and slowly wake up.

I wonder if the rats in the walls have quieted down? Someone just knocked on the door leading to the garage. I hear creaking footsteps.
There is storm blowing outside and it makes the house creak in different ways than my house, so I notice them.
A walk right now would be good, I haven’t gone for a walk all week. However, it’s raining and I don’t have any rain gear. So it’s sit inside and listen to the house creak and the wind blow.
And wait for my brother and his family to wake up and start the day.

Inappropriate Toy

Most of the toys from my dad’s collection are the usual things, Marx cars, Tootsietoys, model airplanes, etc.
But there is one toy that, while it may have been funny in the fifties or sixties, in light of the recent scandals; it is no longer amusing.
It’s called ‘The Merry Monk’ with fun raising action.

Watch the video.

I am just not comfortable selling it, but I am curious as to what it is worth.

One of a kind Ol Yeller Fire Truck

One of the interesting things in my dad’s toy collection, is a late fifties, early sixties, yellow peddle car. It’s a fire truck with ‘Roseville Fire Department’ on the sides.

As you can see from the pictures, it’s a Hamilton Steel Products fire truck, built on a jeep chassis. The odd thing is, it is yellow. My research guy has started looking into this and has found that Hamilton only made red and blue fire trucks.
So my research guy has started contacting fire departments.
It looks like Hamilton might have made a yellow fire truck for the Roseville, Michigan Fire Department. The local fire chief may have a picture of this car on display, years ago, in the firehouse. With any luck, he can find the picture and send us a copy.

Someone at the Roseville, California fire department also emailed him, saying that they remembered a yellow fire truck. They are checking with some of their ‘old timers’.

It will be interesting to see what the rest of the research leads to and ‘how one of a kind’ this peddle car turns out to be.

If it truly is one of a kind, the value increases.

Addendum - Feb 2.

It's nice when experts give you the value of their experience. My research guy has found out that the front and rear ornaments are not standard on the Hamilton trucks (which is what we figured). Also, the hose reel is non-standard. Further checking revealed that the lettering is vinyl. Though the yellow paint is the only paint, there is a little bit of red over spray by one of the peddles.
So, we figure that someone(possible who worked for one of the fire departments), took a red Jeep fire truck, stripped the paint off and had it repainted in yellow.
It's still a good looking truck.

Wifey Ear

Years ago, a coworker was trying to get my attention from across the aisle. Exasperated, he finally raised his voice and said, “GW!”
“Yes?”
“Stop using your ‘Wifey ear’.


So, I went in to have my hearing checked last week because I have been noticing greater difficulty hearing some people, particularly my wife.

I fully expected the Audiologist to come back into the room after the test and say, “Your hearing is fine.” Whack me on the arm and say, “So pay better attention to your wife!”
But alas, it turns out I have lost some hearing in the higher frequencies. (Yes I know, it comes with age.) The Audiologist explained that this type of loss makes it harder to hear women and children, since their voices are usually at a higher pitch. This explains a lot, since Wonder-Girl has a soft female voice. There have been many times when she answers the phone and the person on the other end asks if her mommy is home.
This also explains how easy it is for other noises to drown out WG’s voice.

The Audiologist said that I should consider hearing aids. (Thank goodness my young female friends in the Philippines don’t read this. They already tease me about being old!)
So I’ll consider hearing aids and look into the types and price (shudder)

But maybe there is a bright side. I might as well go back to my old habit of staring at women’s chests, especially since there is no point in trying to listen to them anymore:-)
(Gosh, there must be some kind of witty tee-shirt slogan I can make.)