Ever since my concussion, I’ve felt I’m not hearing things that other people are hearing. Every morning, I used to listen to the donkeys braying when we woke up, but lately, Maria hears it, but I don’t. I find myself saying “what?” to Maria and others speaking to me.

I  twinge at this; I remember my grandfather and his ugly, protruding hearing aid. He had trouble hearing anything I said.

At the same time, I refuse to be one of those old men who keeps asking people what they are saying. Maria says she doesn’t mind, but I bet she would in a while. I want to make aging as easy on her as is possible, since she wants to care for me while keeping her work vibrant. I can help with that.

One thing I’ve learned about aging is that getting ahead of being old is better than falling behind.  My medical efforts to stay healthy have been successful so far. I went to see my primary care doctor this morning – Dr. Dodge – and she told me it was wise to see an audio specialist and figure this out. So I am. Hearing loss is very treatable these days.

A few years ago, I would have been ashamed to write on my blog that I might need a hearing aid. Who would want to read the rantings of an old man?

To me, a hearing aid is one of the ultimate symbols of aging. I couldn’t bear to be photographed when I started losing my hair and looking away from the mirror. I’m over that.

I have a better handle on it now. I feel young and full of energy.

I want to hear the donkey’s bray in the morning again; I want to hear Maria speak to me without asking her to shout or repeat herself. My hearing is good, but I want to hear better. They have made amazing progress in making small but potent hearing aids.

I’m looking forward to it facing this and learning about it; it’s another adventure in this phase of life.

I am not ashamed of getting older anymore; I’m ashamed of hiding and lying about it. Some want-to-be troll wrote me the other day to tell me I am a narcissist and can’t handle criticism or disagreement. I had to smile. Trolls are the least of my worries; nobody is more critical of me than I am. I am narcissistic, of course. Anyone who has writtent hree memoirs must be narcissitic. But not as much as the people who think my world spins on their opinions of me.

Aging teaches me what is essential and what isn’t, and peckerheads and nasty people are not worth much of my time.  I’ve never felt happier or less interested in other people’s opinions of me and what I do—freedom at last.

I’m still trying to figure out what to make of all this, but I’m grateful for it. I was tied up all morning; I’m glad to get home, post some photos, and take some. Maria brought me some tulips, and I will have a good time with them.  We have a social weekend ahead of us; we’re going to have dinner at a neighbor’s house, and friends are coming to dinner at our house on Saturday and Sunday. A whole weekend, I’m looking forward to it.

Monday I’m taking a Leica class in using my new lens.

I put my glasses down to take a flower photo, and Zip grabbed them and started running off to the barn with them. I shouted, and he dropped them. I don’t know what to make of this either. Zip, like me, is not like the other children.

Portrait, Zip cleaning himself.

Maria brought me six bright red tulips.

Zip is always right with me when I come outside with a camera. He is a picture hog and is also insanely curious about what I am doing. I’m happy to have him around. He poses naturally.

Maria took this photo of me taking picture of the tulips while Zip looked on.

A lovely big woodpecker hung around the feeder today. I’m taking a Leika Academe class Monday morning to learn how to use my new 100-400 mm nature and bird lens.