What did you say?

I look for any rays of joy I can find as I move beyond the supple, smooth skinned, chiseled form and necessary six-pack abdomen that others my age had as I have moved beyond boomerhood. 

The place where my imaginary six-pack was supposed to have been is now more like a keg. I found an inspirational ray the other evening on TV. Someone was interviewing James Earl Ray, who at 70, is beginning a new role on Broadway as Big Daddy in "A Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." I love his great, beyond boomer booming voice, and I would enjoy seeing him in the play.

Only one problem: I probably couldn't hear even him from the last row balcony seats my wife, Joyce, and I could afford. I can't even hear her when she is not in the same room with me anymore. But I look for rays of hope everywhere. For example, I'm getting a lot of exercise walking to whatever room she is in when she says something to me.

Occasionally, I hear the sound of her voice when I am deeply engrossed in something and do not take my short hike closer to her for interpretation. When she finally does get my attention, I have a good reply. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't hear you."  It's at least an idea. I might really try it sometime.

Pine beetles and my neglect killed about thirty percent of my hearing. No, pine beetles didn't crawl in my ears and eat away my eardrum. They killed hundreds of pine trees that fell all over our place, and I have been using a chain saw - without hearing protectors. I know better but old habits and forgetfulness don't help. But I still love my chain saw, even though its sound is not like the Harley I really want in my post-boomer crisis time.

I think I can blame my grandfather (genes) also, who was nearly deaf. My mom and his other children bought him a hearing aid when he was 80. He tried it for about a week and rejected it outright, saying "there is just too much noise in the world." He also had selective hearing.

Maybe the rejection of the noise of the world was a factor in his living in virtually perfect health until he was 103 - that along with his freedom from never owning a car.

The only road rage he ever experienced was trying to get the attention of Sally, the mule he carried the mail from Marion to Spruce Pine on. He learned from Sally that selective hearing could have its benefits. Granddad was a great role model.

Les and Joyce Brown are retired from Gardner-Webb University. They will be writing this column each month, sometimes separately and sometimes together. The Browns enjoy  reading, writing, music and anything Appalachian. Les is a potter while Joyce
tries to write a bit of poetry.