I Hold My Next Vacation in My Hands

There is a high cost to be paid for being afflicted with certain conditions.

I first had my hearing tested shortly after the age of 40, when all seemed not to be as it should. It was then deduced that I didn't yet require hearing aids. Several years later, however, when a class laughed at my answer to a certain question, I knew that I had misheard the question and given an inappropriate answer.

My next hearing test revealed what I had suspected: that I was due for hearing assistance.

That was four aids ago. They only last for about five years, give or take.

The pair that I had been wearing was seven years old, and both aids had already been repaired once, and I knew the end was nigh and planned to get a new pair this year. I wasn't quick enough, however, and one device quit working before I was able to implement my plan. Oh, I could have had it repaired at a cost of $400, but they would only guarantee it for six months. On top of that, I figured the other one would likely give up the ghost at any time.

So, here's the result.



Yes, I have two new hearing devices, so I should, more or less, be set for another five years.

The price ... are you ready for this? ... $3000.

And this is the basic, no frills model. A pair of top-end hearing aids would cost at least double that amount.

It's nice that our provincial government will chip in $500 per device, but two thousand smackeroos for these little, fit-in-my-hand-easily suckers is still a mighty big expense — and one that will crop up again every five years or so until ... until you know when.

Compare one to the size of my thumb.



There is a high cost to be paid for being afflicted with certain conditions.

Consider that our first car cost slightly less than this tiny, little pair of cuties.

That's the equivalent of two round-trips to the West Coast for two ... or one very, very fine camera.

But it beats saying "Eh?"all of the time. I guess. Eh?

Here's to Red Trilliums and Twisted Sisters

Raining and cold on a Saturday morning at 6:15 when I've already been up for almost an hour. These days, my odd sleeping patterns continue to be odd but in an upside down sort of way. To wit: instead of going to bed late and having trouble falling asleep, I am going to bed early and having trouble staying asleep — at least past an unearthly early hour. In fact, I almost didn't sleep past about 2:30 this morning but did manage to get a few subsequent, fitful hours of repose. In the event, I'll probably be very tired tonight and go to bed earlier, which means that I'll likely wake up even earlier tomorrow morning.

Cuppa and I will go out for Mothers Day breakfast sometime this morning. Depending on whether we think today's or tomorrow's weather will be worse, we'll then head out on a studio tour. You see, today calls for rain and tomorrow possible snow, so we're kind of between the devil and the deep blue sea — if you'll permit a metaphor that doesn't seems to fit too well when we're talking rain, snow and cold. Whoda ever thunkit that we'd be longing for March weather in May? Really: March and April's weather were preferrable to what May hath wrought so far.

Aside: would it be to much to ask to be able to see the cursor in the Blogger compose box? What happened to that thing anyway. Editing becomes a mug's game, especially when you're the world's most hapless and abysmal typist and must edit frequntly.

You should know that the studio tour that we're going on is the Red Trillium Studio Tour and that we invited Lorna to come along. Apparently, she preferred to tour France instead. The nerve. In fact, she just posted her first post from France at a MacDonalds in Paris [sic]. Both Cuppa and Lorna are jewelry freak-mommas, which is highly appropriate for Mothers Day weekend, and Cuppa wished to introduce Lorna to the marvels of Twisted Sister jewelry (get it: she twists metal into jewalerific shapes that please ladies to no end?), which is a stop on the tour, and really the only reason that we plan to do this particular tour — for the ninety-fifth time.

If all goes according to plan, AC will dip into his limitless pocket book to purchase a glittery bauble for Cuppa's Mothers Day gift. He'd better do it too since he has managed to lose the card that he purchased just two days ago: the one that Nikki Dee promptly bent, and the one that he then hid ever so cleverly.

It's now 6:30. Do you think I should go in and wake up her sleeping beautiness, so that she can get an early start on her MD weekend? No, I didn't think so. We wouldn't want to slip an a between the M and the D in our Mothers Day abbreviation, would we?

More Fiddling and Step Dancing

For those who can stand it, here's one more clip from our fiddling weekend. This is from the other concert featuring local talent, and it is shorter than the previous one. The five fiddlers and two step dancers all reside in the local area. I'd give their names, but without the spelling of one or two in front of me, I'll resist rather than risk making a mash of it.



Watch on YouTube

Out of the Woodwork

I am beginning to think that in these parts the surest sign of spring has not to do with robins or tulips but with fiddlers. After not being aware of many, if any, concerts for lo these many months, I have been receiving concert notices apace lately. On the weekend, we chose to go to two concerts. It's not something that one would normally do, but one has become more or less a spring-rite for Cuppa and me, and the other featured three very notable fiddlers that I didn't want to miss.

On Friday evening, we attended the Fiddle "n" Fame concert, the one with the three noteworthy fiddlers, in Pakenham. The fiddlers represented different styles. Andre Brunet brought us Quebecois fiddling, Louis Schryer more of an Old Time or Ottawa Valley style, and Troy MacGillvray represented Cape Breton (Eastern Canada).

They each did their solo thing, but the neatest thing is when fiddlers get together and feed off each other. I took the following video when they were doing this at the end of the concert. It's a long set (about six minutes) followed by a coupe of minutes with step dancing being added to the mix. I don't know if you will be up for the whole clip, but for however long that you do watch bear in mind that these three have never played together before.

In part, I attend such concerts to bear witness to the tradition that now only exists on the fringes of awareness. As a pathetic beginner fiddler, I also can begin to appreciate the incredible skill of such people. For me, such skill is worth supporting, and such traditions are worth keeping alive.

(Oh, I got the kids' Camcorder out of storage. It's new to me, but I dusted it off because it's zoomable, which makes it a much better tool than our little camera. However, it is taking some getting used to, as is trying to figure out how to work with the result. It works with a tape, a digital tape but a tape nevertheless, which makes it different and more difficult to work with. What with that and trying to figure out the appropriate software, it took me a mighty long and frustrating time to be able to post this clip.)



Watch on YouTube

Not So Significant Anniversaries

I checked out the "How Old Are You?" calculator that Ruth mentioned in her post about worship. This is what it calculated for me.



My two billion second birthday will occur in January 2011. I am giving you lots of warning: lots of lead time to consider and send appropriate gifts.

I also learned that I will die on August 02, 2028 when I am 81 years old. Actually, this calculator assumes a life span of 81 years for everyone. Eighty-one seems good to me right now, but I suppose that if I make to 80, I might not be so sanguine about it.

I am posting this because I am too lazy to think of something clever to say and because you might like to check out the site too.

PS: I do kid a lot, but I think you could at least send a sympathy card to Cuppa come August 18 years hence.

How Do You Like Dem Apples?

Last weekend we had Nikki Dee out for a ride and stopped to visit the horses in these pictures. Because she kept trying to feed them twigs and straw that she scavenged from the ground, we decided to take her back later in the week along with some apples. Unsurprisingly, she was hesitant to get close enough for them to take the apples from her. So, it was left up to the Bupster.



When the apples were done, she went back to offering them twigs and straw.



Turns out that the critters weren't terribly interested, but they did hang around hoping for more apples.

Calling Long Distance

Back in 1967, Cuppa and I had only begun to go out just a few months before I headed off to university. My place of residence that year was in an old building with long halls. It wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it was maintained and functional, and unlike the newer residences, the rooms were a good size. So, I was fine with the place as I was with the whole university experience, which I loved.

I had worked for a year after high school and was mature and motivated enough to really appreciate and enjoy higher learning. It was a nice campus, and my classes were relatively small, which worked well for me and how I best learn.

But I missed my Cuppa. We wrote a lot of letters back and forth, and I got home on most weekends, but I still missed her.

At some point I discovered that the school's telephone switchboard was located in my residence. It was the old fashioned kind but standard for its time. The operator would put the necessary plugs in the appropriate holes as they did in those days. I learned that the school had an open line to Toronto, and while it wasn't meant for frosh such as I, I could make use of it if I went down to the switchboard room, which I began to do with some frequency. Come eight or nine o`clock, I`d head downstairs and ask the operator if the line was free. More often than not it was, and he [sic] would let me dial Cuppa on the public phone in the switchboard room.

People were careful about calling long distance in those days. There were no long distance plans as there are now, and it was relatively expensive to talk across the miles, so making the trip downstairs was a way to save a few bucks and keep in touch with my sweetie.

I get all poignantly wistful thinking of those times on a Saturday morning forty-plus years later. Life was good. It still is, but you know what I mean.