Hearing loss can be quite frustrating for the one who can’t hear and the speaker. You might be having a dialogue with a deaf guy, and all he hears is a jumble of nonsense, or he just might hear something quite different from what the other conversastionalist said. You might ask the fella, or filly if they voted, and they may come back stating they don’t have a boat, but wished they did. And so it was for Craig Boumount, a part time farmer; full time sheet metal worker. In his fifties, Craig’s hearing had been terrible for years due to the loud banging of metal at the sheet metal shop, and the fact he didn’t use hearing protection when he went bird hunting. He started losing hearing in his forties. At the time he couldn’t understand why everyone was whispering to me. “Huh!“ became a large part of his vocabulary. An audiologist got him hearing aids, and said when he turns eighty he’d be completely deaf.
Telephones, unless you have a loud volume control, are just out of the question for a deaf person. The phone rang one evening, Martha , his wife, was out of the room, and out of desperation Craig picked it up. He could faintly hear a voice coming through the receiver. Martha back in the room ,sat down, and watched Craig nodding his head and saying “yeah”, for about twenty minutes, and hang up.
“Who was that?” Martha asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You talked to them a long time. You must have known who was on the other end.”
“Nope!, I was just too embarrassed to hang up. I could tell they were trying to tell me something, but didn’t know what.” Two weeks later six magazines arrived, none that he would ever order. Playboy, New York Review, Women’s Home Companion, Birds & Bloom, Prevention, and Gay Blade.
Fred, an ex-Marine, was retiring after 31 years at the shop, and Craig went to his retirement party. The company had gave him a certificate for him and family to eat at Harris Ranch, a fancy steak house.
“How ya goin’,” Craig asked. “Ya flyin’, takin’ a ship?”
“What’cha mean fly?”
“I mean Paris France, that’s great their sendin’ ya to dinner in France.”
The old Marine slowly walked over to Craig, put his nose on Craig‘s, like a DI in boot camp, and screamed, “It’s HARRRRIS RAAAANCH!”
Craig stepped back. “Jus’ kiddin’ Fred. I knew it was Harris Ranch.”
Craig and his wife, went to Pepe Delgatos one evening for dinner. They planned to eat and go to a movie. The waitress came to their table, handed them a menu and said a few inaudible words to Martha.
“The waitress sounds English,” Craig said.
”The waitress is from London.”
“Oh,” he said, “I didn’t hear her tell you that.”
“She was standing next to you.”
“Landing, what landing?”
“STANDING NEXT TO YOU,” she said.
The waitress came back to take the order. She gave the specials for the day speaking so low Craig leaned over asking Martha what she’d said. “The specials are, chicken enchilada’s, or carne asada.”
“I’ll take the asada.”
The waitress looking at Craig and mumbled something, He figured she hadn't heard and wanted to know if I had chosen an item.. She looked a little perplexed when h replied, “Asada.”
Martha nudged him with her elbow, “She wants to know if you want FLOUR, or CORN tortilla’s.”
“White.”
“He means flour,” Martha said.
The meal came and as always, delicious. The margaritas were made just the way they like them. While eating, a family sitting across from them, suddenly stood up, and with puzzled expressions, looked around the room . The waitress came rushing into the dining room, cocking her head to the side, trying to locate a sound. Martha placed her hand on Craig’s shoulder and mouth next to his ear informed him his hearing aid was buzzing. Sometimes, while eating, it would work a little way out, and make a loud buzzing noise, the pitch too high for him to hear. Craig twisted it back in. Everyone in the room relaxed, and those standing ready to exit at any minute thinking it was a fire alarm, sat down. .
Martha loudly informed the room, “It’s his HEARING AID!”
In a whisper he mumbled, “Thanks for letting everyone know,” .
Driving home after the movie he asked Martha to explain what the girl in the movie said to the man to make him forsake his job, and get on the ship that sank on its way to Istanbul?
“What movie were you watching, for heaven sake? There wasn’t anything about a man forsaking anything to go anywhere. It was about the sinking of the Titanic.”
It was his turn to look confused, and he uttered, “Ahhhh, I see.”
On the way Craig and Martha laughed at the silliness of it all. They say losing ones ability to hear is a serious matter, but if you can’t laugh at your ailment, and take it too seriously, you’ll soon be crying in your ear trumpet.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Grass Triming
“Grass Trimming”
Carlos Ortega owns the most popular restaurant in the little Colorado town of Sprucedale, Population 2000, located in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains Range. La Tia Elena Restaurant, named after a favorite aunt, served breakfast and lunch. He opened at five-thirty each morning to accommodate the early rising farmers and ranchers. Carlos was born in Durango, Mexico, but moved to Alamosa, Colorado working the fields as a Bacerro, then to Sprucedale, and proudly became a U.S. citizen. Carlos worked hard, saved his money and bought the place thirty years ago.
Carlos is short, heavy set, with black hair tinged in gray. On a friendly, wrinkled brown face a grayish moustache hangs under a large nose, continuing straight down to his chin. Carlos’ heart is big and you could not meet anyone who would say a bad word about him. People gave their confidence to Carlos as he knew their fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, girls, wages, hopes and fears. Always their friends, sometimes their philosopher.
Last summer Carlos moved ten miles out east of town. He purchased a twenty acre place located up a winding five mile dirt road into the mountains. It had some out buildings, and a house needing a lot of repair. He worked on the old house everyday until he could move in. It had a good well, lots of water and he put a nice lawn in front of the house. At the time of this telling there is was no electricity, or telephone, and Carlos gets by with a butane tank, and generator. He hates talking on the phone, so he doesn’t own a cell phone. When he’s at the place there isn’t any contact with the outside world. Carlos never married liking the freedom of a bachelor’s life.
“Carlos, why do you want to live so far out of town? That’s a long, hilly, curvy road to drive everyday?” I asked one day sitting at the counter chomping down on a red chili and bean burrito.
“It’s so peaceful, Charlie.” he said,. “I go there an’ jus’ relax. No one round to bother me. It’s nice, real nice.”
Last week I went to the La Tia Elana for breakfast. It was late morning and the early crowd had left to fill their day. I sat at the counter eating green chili and eggs and drinking coffee. Carlos refilled my drained cup.
“Hear what happen, Charlie?”
“What?”
“I got robbed.”
“Here?” I asked.
“No, no, no, at my place, around three yesterday afternoon.” Carlos leaned flat handed in front of me, a stern look on his face.. “I come to work, and after closing drive home. When I come aroun’ the corner I see this big truck sitting in my driveway. A man comes outta’ the house carryin’ sompthin‘, and puts it in the truck. I watch. He goes back inside an’ I drive slowly in back of the house. I grab my thirty-thirty from the back window rack of my peekup. I get out, stan’ hidden ‘ahind the corner a the house. ‘Bout a minute later he come out carrying my, what you call it, eh, plata ensillar..
With my sleeve I wiped some chile off my moustach . “Siver Saddle?”
“Si…si, my saddle given to me Jorge, my tio, when he gone." Carlos crossed himself. I jump out an’ point my rifle at him and yell, ‘Up with yer hands, senior!’ He look surprised an’ scared. He drops the saddle; up goes his hands. I have him move out to center of driveway. He’s a white guy, ’bout six feet tall an‘ mean lookin‘. But, now I fine I have a problemo. Know what that is?”
I leaned way back on the stool, with one finger tipped my cowboy hat back. “No bullets?”
“No. no, no, its’ I have no phone, no cell thing, no nothing to call police. I have this guy standing in my driveway, his hands are up. I think, now what do I do with him? What you think I did, Charlie?”
“Shoot him?”
“No, no, I look around to find something to keep him occupied while I think what to do. I tell him to mow my grass. I keep a cover on him. He pushes the mower up the grass an’ down the grass. Not a big lawn took him ten minutes. I still want to keep him busy. I have him chop wood. He picked up the axe an‘ glared at me. Ka-pow-ee! I fire one in the ground next to him, an’ tell him not to get feisty. He looks real terrified thinking’ he has some nut on his hands, an’ he chops the wood fast. When he’s done choppin’ I have him put everythin’ back into my house from his truck. I finally figure out what I’m going to do with this crook… Guess what, I do, Charlie?”
“Now you shoot him!” I said taking a bite a green chili.
Carlos refills my half empty cup. “No, no Charlie, I let him go.“
“You what?,” I was stunned. “Just let him go after he tried to rob you?”
“ Ah, si, Charlie, but first I tell him to give me his divers license. He reach in his pocket, takes it outta‘ his wallet an‘ geeves it to me. I tell him to get you truck and get a goin‘. He jumped in an’ took off in a cloud a dust. I drove back to town, called the sheriff and gave ‘um the crooks license.”
Finished I shoved my plate to the side and held out my empty cup. Carlos refilled it, put the pot back and leaned with one arm back on the counter. I asked. “Have they caught’em?”
“Sure, last night they catch him at his house in Alemosa. He wasn’t too smart.“
“That was good thinking, Carlos. You’re a pretty smart fella’. I probably a jus’ shot him.”
That afternoon I found Sheriff Juan Ortiz sitting in his squad car at the Cream Bowl drive-in drinking a cherry soda. I leaned down, placed my hands above the door, and spoke to him through the rolled down window. “Juan, Carlos told me about the robbery attempt up at his place.”
Juan chuckled, “Yeah, Carlos was smart letting’ this guy go. He was one bad dude, an ex-convict with a bad disposition. He lived in Alamosa, brought him back here a couple hours ago”
“Got him locked up, huh?”
“Yeah,” Juan laughed, sipped the last of his soda, “but before we did that we had him do some yard work around the jail.”
Carlos Ortega owns the most popular restaurant in the little Colorado town of Sprucedale, Population 2000, located in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains Range. La Tia Elena Restaurant, named after a favorite aunt, served breakfast and lunch. He opened at five-thirty each morning to accommodate the early rising farmers and ranchers. Carlos was born in Durango, Mexico, but moved to Alamosa, Colorado working the fields as a Bacerro, then to Sprucedale, and proudly became a U.S. citizen. Carlos worked hard, saved his money and bought the place thirty years ago.
Carlos is short, heavy set, with black hair tinged in gray. On a friendly, wrinkled brown face a grayish moustache hangs under a large nose, continuing straight down to his chin. Carlos’ heart is big and you could not meet anyone who would say a bad word about him. People gave their confidence to Carlos as he knew their fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, girls, wages, hopes and fears. Always their friends, sometimes their philosopher.
Last summer Carlos moved ten miles out east of town. He purchased a twenty acre place located up a winding five mile dirt road into the mountains. It had some out buildings, and a house needing a lot of repair. He worked on the old house everyday until he could move in. It had a good well, lots of water and he put a nice lawn in front of the house. At the time of this telling there is was no electricity, or telephone, and Carlos gets by with a butane tank, and generator. He hates talking on the phone, so he doesn’t own a cell phone. When he’s at the place there isn’t any contact with the outside world. Carlos never married liking the freedom of a bachelor’s life.
“Carlos, why do you want to live so far out of town? That’s a long, hilly, curvy road to drive everyday?” I asked one day sitting at the counter chomping down on a red chili and bean burrito.
“It’s so peaceful, Charlie.” he said,. “I go there an’ jus’ relax. No one round to bother me. It’s nice, real nice.”
Last week I went to the La Tia Elana for breakfast. It was late morning and the early crowd had left to fill their day. I sat at the counter eating green chili and eggs and drinking coffee. Carlos refilled my drained cup.
“Hear what happen, Charlie?”
“What?”
“I got robbed.”
“Here?” I asked.
“No, no, no, at my place, around three yesterday afternoon.” Carlos leaned flat handed in front of me, a stern look on his face.. “I come to work, and after closing drive home. When I come aroun’ the corner I see this big truck sitting in my driveway. A man comes outta’ the house carryin’ sompthin‘, and puts it in the truck. I watch. He goes back inside an’ I drive slowly in back of the house. I grab my thirty-thirty from the back window rack of my peekup. I get out, stan’ hidden ‘ahind the corner a the house. ‘Bout a minute later he come out carrying my, what you call it, eh, plata ensillar..
With my sleeve I wiped some chile off my moustach . “Siver Saddle?”
“Si…si, my saddle given to me Jorge, my tio, when he gone." Carlos crossed himself. I jump out an’ point my rifle at him and yell, ‘Up with yer hands, senior!’ He look surprised an’ scared. He drops the saddle; up goes his hands. I have him move out to center of driveway. He’s a white guy, ’bout six feet tall an‘ mean lookin‘. But, now I fine I have a problemo. Know what that is?”
I leaned way back on the stool, with one finger tipped my cowboy hat back. “No bullets?”
“No. no, no, its’ I have no phone, no cell thing, no nothing to call police. I have this guy standing in my driveway, his hands are up. I think, now what do I do with him? What you think I did, Charlie?”
“Shoot him?”
“No, no, I look around to find something to keep him occupied while I think what to do. I tell him to mow my grass. I keep a cover on him. He pushes the mower up the grass an’ down the grass. Not a big lawn took him ten minutes. I still want to keep him busy. I have him chop wood. He picked up the axe an‘ glared at me. Ka-pow-ee! I fire one in the ground next to him, an’ tell him not to get feisty. He looks real terrified thinking’ he has some nut on his hands, an’ he chops the wood fast. When he’s done choppin’ I have him put everythin’ back into my house from his truck. I finally figure out what I’m going to do with this crook… Guess what, I do, Charlie?”
“Now you shoot him!” I said taking a bite a green chili.
Carlos refills my half empty cup. “No, no Charlie, I let him go.“
“You what?,” I was stunned. “Just let him go after he tried to rob you?”
“ Ah, si, Charlie, but first I tell him to give me his divers license. He reach in his pocket, takes it outta‘ his wallet an‘ geeves it to me. I tell him to get you truck and get a goin‘. He jumped in an’ took off in a cloud a dust. I drove back to town, called the sheriff and gave ‘um the crooks license.”
Finished I shoved my plate to the side and held out my empty cup. Carlos refilled it, put the pot back and leaned with one arm back on the counter. I asked. “Have they caught’em?”
“Sure, last night they catch him at his house in Alemosa. He wasn’t too smart.“
“That was good thinking, Carlos. You’re a pretty smart fella’. I probably a jus’ shot him.”
That afternoon I found Sheriff Juan Ortiz sitting in his squad car at the Cream Bowl drive-in drinking a cherry soda. I leaned down, placed my hands above the door, and spoke to him through the rolled down window. “Juan, Carlos told me about the robbery attempt up at his place.”
Juan chuckled, “Yeah, Carlos was smart letting’ this guy go. He was one bad dude, an ex-convict with a bad disposition. He lived in Alamosa, brought him back here a couple hours ago”
“Got him locked up, huh?”
“Yeah,” Juan laughed, sipped the last of his soda, “but before we did that we had him do some yard work around the jail.”
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