Monday, September 05, 2005

You can never go home again, except for holidays weekends when you need to do laundry.

Some trampoline fun over labor day :)


Beyond the incredibly cute pictures featured above, I also found this past labor day to be a bit of an adventure. Just about every superhero finds himself weakened at some point in his career -- batman was once blind, spiderman was without his powers and I'm pretty sure every night is kryptonite for Superman these days. My weakness, however, was not nearly so heroic -- I just couldn't hear a damn thing in my right ear.

At first the symptoms were similar to spending too much time in the pool -- you hop out and hear the gush gush swish of water trapped in your ear. On the way back to the locker room you tilt your head and shake like a madman while trying to avoid the curious gaze of the lifeguard and before you know it, voila (vwala?) you're able to hear again.

I was not so lucky. At first, I self medicated -- but a google search for "why can't I hear a damn thing" turned up very little. Was I over Q-tipping? Under Q-tipping? I think the standard is 15% (buh dum dum ching). I was starting to get tired of hearing myself think (actually it was all I could hear) when I had the bright idea that maybe, just maybe, I had a pimple in my ear. It was just gross enough to be true! Imagine, a pimple slowly gathering strength in your ear canal, silently plotting to block all hearing with its pulsing acne powers.

So I did what any normal male would do. I jabbed it with a paper clip.

Oh the pain! The humanity! Man alone discovered fire, man alone discovered the wheel, but when God handed down commandments he should have felt the need to include "Thou shalt not jab thy brain like an imbecile." Maybe Moses dropped that one on the ground, thereby dooming me to clogged ear-hole and feeling like and a-hole.

So to make a short story long (as I like to do in the infinite space I'm renting here), I traveled home to seek the learned wisdom of my mother. Moms are modern day oracles -- they know how you hurt yourself, why you hurt yourself, and that you are bound to hurt yourself again and again in the future. When I explained to her that I couldn't hear, she recommended an advanced procedure known only as hydration of the temporal bone through application by pressurized liquid.

Otherwise known as shooting water into my ear with a turkey baster.

Yep. Turkey baster. And I'll be damned if it didn't work. After what seemed to be fifteen squirts (preheated to 350 and served with au juice), the tiny sounds of the natural world returned to me. Once more I could hear the birds chirp in the trees, the dog pant below the table, the toilet running after my brother returned from a long car ride. The world was my boombox and I was going to turn it up to eleven!

So now I sit, writing this time-waster, all noise returned by a turkey baster. (
Confidential to the only Vikings fan in Egypt -- I added a couple of exclamation points to last you until you get home on Friday. Have a safe trip and I can't wait to show you the new place).

Until next time, I'll be in the bathroom unclogging my nose with a garden hose.

3 Comments:

Blogger Erin Lawrence said...

you are too funny. ah, that rare observational humor that stops just short of annoying. it`s a rare gift. keep it up.
love,
your fellow library rat alumnus

7:43 AM  
Anonymous CynicL said...

Ah, the irony of being medicated with a turkey baster...

It was precisely this skill that led me to ask for your mother's hand some twenty-five years ago.

Love the pages. Go Vikes!!!!!!!!

2:28 PM  
Anonymous Momma-San said...

My co-workers tell me that when you are away from home far enough and long enough to realize how truly quirky I am; you will write an entire book.

4:45 PM  

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