Ear today

This happened a while ago, but I'm still excited about it, so here you go. (WARNING: INFORMATION ABOUT THE INSIDE OF MY EAR)

When we flew home from Hawaii, my ears popped open and closed several times, and the left one just stayed closed. This got irritating. It was like having been in a submarine and shot somebody, and now I was deaf in one ear. It also cut down significantly on eavesdropping. I could hear myself chew. I could hear my singing. EWWWW.

After a month, I wondered if I oughta have someone take a look. (OK, insert lecturing here. Yes, I should have gone sooner.)

My internist said I may have a ruptured eardrum, so he packed me off to an ear-nose-throat specialist (as if I didn't see enough of that kind of practitioner from birth-grade school). The doc he referred me to, Dr. Lin, must be new and building a practice, or just lonely, because she and her staff were INCREDIBLY glad to see me. I felt like I should present them with something much more dramatic. An ear parasite I picked up in the Peace Corps, or the like. All I had, sadly, was a truckload of compacted wax. Dr. Lin went at it with a tiny vacuum, and after two rounds - success. The skies parted, angels sang, the crowd stood as one and cheered. I was cured! I felt at least 150% better. I wasn't dizzy, there was no pressure, my jaw ligaments were silent, andI could hear in surround sound. She showed me part of what she took out, and it was not pretty. It was hideous. I think some of my brain (badly needed) may have been in there. It is amazing how much stuff can fit in your ear.

These little things are the miracles of modern medicine: cheap, painless, curative. I was a whole new person. I nearly skipped. Copy editors don't skip. Dr. Lin recommended having an ear cleaning once a year. I felt so good, why not?

10-4

As we were driving home from Everett, Matt noticed rain on the windshield.
Matt: "Look! It's raining!"
Me: "You might have to play inside for a while."
Matt: "We'll have to scrub the mission."

Pardon me while I rant

Last night, Jim and I (adults, at least most of the time) went to see "Public Enemies," about John Dillinger and his pals and their heyday robbing banks before the mob took over and ruined everything (!) .

What caught my eye - and raised my eyebrow a foot - was a man who brought a little boy about Matt's age, say 4 or 5, with him. I was wondering, while also contemplating leaping over my seat back and chewing him out, what his thought process was before coming to the movie. (Assuming he had such a process, of course, which may be incorrect.)

--"Hey, here's a movie about gangsters. They usually end up dead. I'll bring my son."
--"Hey, here's an R-rated movie with a guy with a machine gun on the poster. I'll bring my son."
--"Hey, they made a movie about John Dillinger, who I believe hung around with people who were kind of crazy, and was shot to death on a Chicago sidewalk. I'll bring my son."

One of those must have been the winner, because there he was. What a jerk. I sat there and worried about the little boy. Not what I pay for when I go to the movies. Stupidity I can get for free out on the street.

Where the hell are we going?

We're taking Grandma Ann back home and we're meeting Jim's brother Steve halfway there in Tri-Cities.

Matthias thought we were driving all the way to Ontario until we were around the breakfast table. We explained to him that, no, we are actually just going to the Tri-Cities.

"We're going to the Tri-Sillies?" Matthias asked.

"No," Melissa said. "The Tri-Cities."

"Oh, we're going to the Dry-Cities?" Matthias asked.

Well, yes, yes we are.

Don't go there

Matt was in the tub last night, and started scrounging around in his left armpit.
Against my better judgment, I asked, "What are you doing?"
He said, "Look what I found in my armpit!"
It was an alarmingly long piece of string.
I said, "How did a piece of string get in your armpit?"
Matt: "Oh, it was from dinner."