If you read this column on Saturdays, your great memory enables you to recall that last winter I lost a hearing aid while taking off my mask on my way out of a doctor’s office.
You read of my adventures as my friends at the VA fitted me with a new pair. I said I only needed one, but Karl, the technician, said I would get two that would do everything – except resuscitate me or help me climb every mountain.
One or two friends even profited by the experience when I explained to them that, yes, my time in the Coast Guard did entitle me to VA benefits.
Only one person was not happy with my new hearing aids and, to preserve the harmony in our home, I’m not going to hint to who that was. She said that although Karl had said that these state-of-the-art hearing aids would cost me close to $15,000 in Boston, they didn’t seem to be any better than the old ones because I couldn’t understand a thing she said.
I’ve heard that same old song of exasperation at least once a day ever since I got the things months ago.
You will be glad to hear that this morning I put an end to all that jabbering for once and for all, because, while fumbling to get them in my ears, I inadvertently learned how to turn them on.
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If you have followed our adventures in having a plumbing company install a new shower stall for Marsha, you know that they are very expensive. Many people think they are worth the price, however, because if the customer has a problem, they come back and fix it at no charge.
It is good that they do so, because Marsha has decided that she will enjoy the showering experience more if the curtain rod is unbolted and moved back into the shower six inches so the water on the shower curtain runs down into the shower … and not out on the bathroom floor.
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When you are a very old Maine man, and you wake up in the morning and your back pains you so much that you can barely move, it is nice to discover that you spent the entire night sleeping on your ball point pen.
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My wife Marsha and I are lucky.
A friend introduced us to her friend who comes in once a week to change the bed, do the wash, vacuum the downstairs and pick up our groceries in town.
She’s been with us for several months now and has her system down pat.
She shares my dislike for filth and I cannot over exaggerate the way she moves. Faster than fast.
By the way she vacuums our main living quarters, I suspect that she could earn more teaching computer science.
Perhaps, like Marsha, she really enjoys working with her hands. She might be like the brilliant Vinalhaven boy Mr. Watson sent to Harvard. He got a degree with high honors, came home to Vinalhaven, and continued to cut bushes.
You know, you can tell how smart a person is just by seeing them perform some simple menial chore.
Do you remember my old story about the boy who helped me split wood? Some 30 years ago he was a friend of one of Marsha’s daughters and management asked him to give me a hand. Just from the way he worked with me I could see that he was extremely clever.
Sure enough, it was later revealed that he had a full fellowship for a PhD at a prestigious university. So I thought that he was very smart indeed – until I remembered that, 20 years before, I also had a full fellowship for a PhD at a prestigious university.
But that is not the point of this truthful little tale. When he came out to help me, he was wearing a brand-new blue jacket. The type with a hood that would have earned him a role in any Ingmar Bergman movie. So I figured he was a rich kid who didn’t worry about ruining his clothes. I patiently explained to him that I couldn’t bear to see him wearing that new jacket because it would get tarnished at best and torn to shreds at worst.
And he said: “This isn’t my jacket. It’s yours. Marsha says that for the past year she’s been trying to get you to wear it.”
The humble Farmer can be heard Friday nights at 7 on WHPW (97.3 FM) and visited at:
www.thehumblefarmer.com/
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