Trego's Mountain Ear

It was a day that wound up highly scheduled – which is unusual for a retired guy. Renata had a dental appointment at 9:15, mine was at 10, and then we wound up with babysitting duties for the youngest grandson. Despite hanging out in the dentist’s reception room for a couple of hours, he was close to being the perfect baby – until it was time to get into the carseat and go home. Then it became howling time.

I grabbed the infant and carseat and headed out to load him up. He didn’t quiet – so I turned on the radio. No channel, just extra loud static. I tried all the buttons. Just extra loud static – so I stuck in Kris Kristofferson. I did get rid of the static, but it was still at maximum volume. Well, I’m hard of hearing, Renata blew an eardrum with this last cold – so we drove home, sounding like 1970, as Kris sang at full volume about the Silver Tongued Devil, and Don’t Tell Me How the Story Ends, until we got home and hit the big switch.

Nathaniel hadn’t tried to compete with Kris and the broken radio. He had gone to sleep, possibly recognizing that an infant’s lungs were overmatched. Or maybe he just likes Kristofferson.

When the rain slacked off from the veritable downpour, I went outside, popped the hood, and pulled the fuse. I can again drive in relative silence. The only problem is that, without the radio, I don’t have a clock in the car. I think it’s going to be worth it.