Category: Miscellaneous

A Progress Report on My Fifties: Could you please repeat yourself?

Hearing_Aids

Back in 2017, I devoted a blog post to the milestone of reaching the half-century mark. I am a few months shy of reaching the half-way point of my fifties, so I figure it’s an appropriate time for a mid-way update on my experiences with aging and the passage of time.

If you watch the nightly television network news, an old-school way to keep up with the world, I realize, there is a steady stream of pharmaceutical advertising in which earnest, attractive, and fit folks in their middle years begin a sales pitch with the tag-line, “if you’re over 50 then talk to your doctor about…” One can quickly determine that the big 5-0 ushers in some fairly ominous predicaments and decisions. Yet, I at least take some comfort in the notion that my fellow mid-lifers are having fun or at least portraying themselves as having fun.

My Hearing Aid Journey
Right before the pandemic started, I was talking on my iPhone at work, and all of a sudden, it seemed rather difficult to hear the other person speaking in my right ear, so I switched to my left ear, which was at least some degree better. I wondered if my problem somehow related to my perpetual unwillingness to spring for the latest and greatest Apple device, but that thought made no sense at all.

Upon a bit more reflection. I realized that I had gotten into the mode of “what?”, and “Huh?” or in my more polished tone “Pardon?” in conversations, especially at home with my spouse. Then, there was my growing tendency to crank up the television volume when left to my own devices. Not extreme situations, mind you, but noticeable nonetheless.

All my life, I have been plagued with the label of “loud talker,” in terms of how my vocal chords and brain were seemingly configured. Yet, this oddity had become more pronounced, and I deduced that perhaps my hearing situation played a role. Maybe I had lost a measure of my never quite adequate ability to hear–and register the volume of– my own voice.

I made an appointment for a screening at the Costco Hearing Aid Center, and then I went for a second screening at an audiologist/ENT clinic. The tests gave nearly identical results of mild to moderate hearing loss. The deficit was asymmetrical in nature, which the ENT said was slightly concerning. He declared that I would probably benefit from hearing aids, but an MRI might be helpful to eliminate other possibilities. So, since nothing about this seemed hair-on-fire urgent, I figured I would wait a year and see how things were then.

So, after 12 months where things stayed about the same, I went back to the audiologist/ENT and asked to undergo the MRI to be sure this wasn’t a brain thing. Given my claustrophobia, I had always dreaded the thought of an MRI, but positive self-talk–and a valium–helped me get though that symphony of strange noises in a small space.

My brain was deemed normal, though those around me might dispute that finding, but at least nothing tied to hearing loss could be detected. So, back to Costco for their requisite repeated tests. That made a total of four hearing screenings, all with the same conclusion: one ear was worse off than the other, but both could benefit from hearing aids to at least some degree.

So, I took the plunge, and it’s proven pretty positive without seeming miraculous. When I put some effort into it, I seem to be able to hear and control my own voice better. My spouse thinks I am now less loud a talker, though if I get emotional or agitated, he still has to let me know that I need to tone it down a bit. It took some getting used to when certain sounds, like the faucet running or the flip of a light switch, seemed extra pronounced, but somehow that started to become a reassuring novelty of sorts for me.

So, I have a new electronic medical appliance in my life. Yay! Back in 2005, I began wearing a CPAP to bed for my sleep apnea (Darth Vader-style mask and hose) every night and hauling said equipment with me when away from home. Now, add to that a little charging case where I tuck my hearing aids in each night. When my other half and I travel, I now have to look for two absolutely essential electrical outlets in the hotel room. On our recent cruise, we ended up unplugging the mini-bar fridge to make it work. Seems like a pretty minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.

Pre-Type Two Diabetes
During this same approximate timeframe, I also had a routine physical with the standard blood testing. The result was an elevated blood glucose, which my doctor explained had been a rather recent shift, so this gave me a chance to nip things in the bud relatively smoothly. He prescribed medication and also suggested that I approach carbs and sugar (two of my favorite things in life) more sensibly.

A year and a half later, whatever I am doing seems to be working. It’s not so much that I say a firm no to bread and dessert, but I do say no to the type of endless portions that I had become accustomed to in my old life. Setting some limits is not nearly as disheartening as I feared it might be. And, my treatment plan is really a piece of cake when you think about it, albeit a pretty sensibly-sized one.

Confronting Aging
There is that old saying along the lines of not minding aging except for the fact that it happens so quickly. That’s really how I see things. I feel so much wiser and self-assured at 54 than I did at 34 or even 44. Yes, I have my quirks and worries, but I think I see the bigger picture. Part of me wishes that I could exist like Brad Pitt in the Benjamin Button movie and get an increasingly younger body to go along with the experience of age. However, I think that the vulnerability of aging is part of what gives us perspective, and besides that movie had a really depressing ending anyway.

Ultimately, I feel so grateful for the adventures I get to have in my life. I am making the most of it. It may not be quite as charmed as what the over-50 crowd in those commercials seems to be experiencing, but if anything gets me down, I can always ask my doctor about it. I am, after all, over 50.

Trying–And Failing–To Build a Bridge While Cruising the Cumberland

The_General_Jackson

My spouse Tom and I try to be reasonably friendly with strangers–at least in terms of basic civility–but given the hot-button situations out there, we also try to practice the sort of boundaries that prevent a potentially ugly scene. We look for clues with regard to how receptive folks might be to our situation, and we become especially mindful of when we might be stuck in an awkward shared seating or dining arrangement.

Late this past September, Tom and I found ourselves in one of those thorny encounters. We had just come out of two weeks of quarantine from a breakthrough COVID infection during the height of the Delta variant, so it felt especially good to get out of the house on a weekday evening and play tourists in our own city. We boarded Nashville’s General Jackson Showboat for a dinner show cruise; we had booked that evening’s sailing in particular, because a good friend of ours was part of the talented group of musicians performing.

Upon boarding, we found our assigned table and were soon joined by an outgoing middle-aged man and woman. We exchanged pleasantries and learned that they were celebrating their anniversary and had recently moved from Southern California to a rural enclave in one of the suburban counties outside of Nashville. Both husband and wife declared that they had fled the Golden State because they didn’t like “having their tax dollars support lifestyles they didn’t agree with.” Hmmm, just what lifestyles are those, we wondered, but of course we didn’t ask.

Another married straight couple arrived at the table. They identified themselves as tourists from Montana, where they own and operate a ranch. Please let me state for the record that I grew up in a rural community in Western Kentucky and maintain deep respect for folks from all settings and walks of life. So, no judgment intended, but the husband projected a rather bold and crass swagger in pretty much all his interactions.

The Montana wife was pleasant and soft-spoken, but in mere seconds, they both developed an instant kinship with the California-to-Tennessee refugee couple and firmly asserted their preference for Red State life and their disenchantment with all things urban and progressive. At this stage, Tom and I largely withdrew from the conversation.

I will give the California husband and wife credit, sort of, for trying to engage Tom and me in some chit-chat. They asked us if we were brothers and quizzed us about our family ties. I think we did end up stating that we lived in the same condo, but we did our best to keep our cards close to the vest, given the tenor of the other threads of conversation at the table. We don’t wear wedding rings, as Tom is not a fan of jewelry, but I still figured that at some point, we got our point across without exactly spelling out our nuptial status.

I know this always seems patronizing to say, but I have people I like and care about who hold political or religious views with which I don’t agree. It’s not a matter of me wanting ideologically segregated dining, far from it. Yet, in a communal setting with total strangers all trying to consume and digest their food, I think there is something to be said for trying to keep things on a superficial level until or unless all the parties involved seem comfortable with the line of questioning.

Thankfully, Tom and I were able to spend the time in between dinner service and the start of the show on the outdoor deck. We took snapshots of the lovely Nashville nighttime skyline and gave one another a chance to vent about our dining experience.

In our perfect world, we would just say “we are married,” and move on with wherever the conversation headed. Yet, in this particular situation, we didn’t muster the confidence to lay things on the table with that level of directness. That sounds cowardly, I realize, but then again, events later in the evening re-enforced our hesitation.

After parting the table with minimal discussion beyond the most generic of goodbye well wishes, we made it to the stage, where we caught up with our musician friend and chatted for a few minutes about how much we enjoyed the show. We then made our way to disembark the boat.

There were multiple corridors leading to the exit, and it was rather dark, so as we walked from one direction, we heard the couples from out table talking with one another, but I don’t think they saw or heard us. California wife was asking the Montana couple about whether they had been able to take in the honky tonks and other attractions in the Downtown tourist area. Montana husband replied that they had tried but that, “the queers were all over the place.”

My initial reaction was seething rage, but I didn’t engage. I just gave myself permission to mentally process my anger for a moment. (I won’t say what I was thinking at that exact moment, but it wasn’t pretty.) I realize that Montana husband was probably referring to visitors from the recent Nashville Pride Festival. I didn’t have a chance to hear any context or explanation from the overheard conversation, but I guess Montana husband thinks that we gays don’t need to flaunt our sexuality.

My response to such a complaint would be that we gay people have had to contend with straight people holding hands and displaying the nature of their relationship for a long time. We aren’t asking for anything different than the things that straight people already take for granted. Do Tom and I attend the Nashville Pride Festival every year at this stage in our lives? Not exactly, but I fully appreciate the affirming purpose these events serve for so many.

So, even though we might have seemed timid at the table, Tom and I aren’t going anywhere. We will continue to live our lives and not apologize to anyone. We are fulfilling our dreams and doing our best to be stand-up members of the community and decent humans. If anyone objects to that, well, it’s their loss, because I think we are worth getting to know. I can honestly say that, initial reactions aside, I don’t hold ill will toward our dining companions from that night. Tom and I are way too blessed in our lives to fixate on the haters.

The Hot Dog Lady Who Tried to Ruin Dollywood Christmas

“It’s sad when some people make up their minds about me before they can get to know me.” This is a quote from my beloved husband, Tom; we were married in 2015, one week after the United States Supreme Court said we could. We’ve actually been a couple since 2010 though.

I pretty recently passed the half-century mark, and Tom is not too far behind. So, we got together in mid-life, and it’s been a really blessed life together. We have a pleasant home, good jobs, supportive friends and family, and we manage to find plenty of interesting adventures to share together, some big and others small.,

We are Nashvillians and huge fans of Dolly Parton. In fact, she lives a few miles away from us, and we have seen her in a relatively rare concert appearance at the Ryman Auditorium here in Music City. We had been to the Smokies on several occasions in the past but had never visited Dollywood, so on the first weekend in December we headed to the theme park’s Smoky Mountain Christmas celebration.

Despite bursts of rain here and there, the experience was absolutely magical from start to finish. There were festive shows tailored to the holiday season.  The decorations and lights were beautiful, especially after sunset. We did have one negative experience pretty early in our day.  Tom and I didn’t let it spoil our fun, but its one of those little things that neither one of us could quite shake.

We planned our time around the many shows the park has to offer; we had one full day from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. to get in all our fun. So, Tom and I hit the ground running finding one of the outdoor amphitheaters (Thankfully it wasn’t too cold.) where a Christmas bluegrass show was slated. We had a few minutes to spare, so we figured we would grab an early lunch, something that we could eat at the performance.

We saw a sign for a stand named “Dogs and Taters”. We got in line and noticed that the 70ish woman (I avoid labels related to age, as I have learned that they can be relative depending on where one lands on the chronological spectrum.) taking the orders was engaged in friendly banter with the four or five folks in line.

When it was our turn, we offered our usual pleasantries and inquired about the nature of the “taters” in question; were they home fries or homemade potato chips? The cashier seemed gruff and put upon in her response, and we noticed that she did not treat us with the same warmth that she had displayed to the others just mere seconds earlier.

The group in front of us consisted of male-female couples, probably retirees traveling together. The crowd overall seemed skewed either toward younger families with children or senior citizens.  Yes, we saw a few non-traditional families and/or same-sex couples in the park, so it’s not like we felt out-of-place in the grand scheme of things, but we were getting the impression that maybe this particular employee was not especially thrilled to be serving Tom and me.

We agreed that I would claim a bench in the amphitheater while Tom waited on our order. Tom ordered a hot dog and taters, while my carb-addict side made me opt for the corn dog and taters. Tom stood waiting, and then the cashier let him know that his food was ready. She handed him the hot dog and taters, and so he asked her about the rest of the order and provided our receipt. He was his usual unimposing and cheerful self; he just wanted the full order that we had paid for.

Ms. Congeniality managed to retrieve my corn dog and taters. She handed it to Tom with no thank you, no apology, no acknowledgement at all. She also didn’t seem concerned about whether he might need a tray, bag, etc to hold the ample-sized orders. It was as if any social interaction with Tom put her at the risk of bubonic plague.

I have done my time in the hospitality and retail industry. I know how difficult working with the public can be. We all have our bad-hair days, but it seemed telling that her problem was us in particular. Neither one of us is known for being a high-maintenance customer. We make it a point to be gracious and polite unless provoked for some strange reason.

As I have posted previously, my father was a school administrator during the arrival of school integration in rural Western Kentucky. He would recall the sad realities of the sports teams he traveled with being turned away at restaurants because there were African-American students in the group. By no stretch of the imagination am I deeming the little microaggression at Dollywood anywhere like the indignity of someone being flat-out denied service.

I am also well aware that Tom and I experience privilege in many facets of our lives. We enjoy positive interactions pretty much everywhere we choose to go. So, not a pity party at all. Yet, when Tom showed up with our food and reported on part two of the Dog and Taters saga, something still managed to sting a bit. We didn’t let it break our stride though. And the sit-down meal we had in the park that evening featured stellar service, perhaps because there was the matter of tipping or at least expected tipping.

On a purely transactional level, I figure that our money is as good as anyone else’s, so shouldn’t we be entitled to the basics of Customer Service 101? Yet, on a broader level, isn’t it sad that folks seem to have a way of assuming that different means less-than or something to be avoided?

I do stop and ask myself, are there situations when I make snap judgments based on external criteria? I must confess that I probably do; I think there is some degree of inevitable human nature involved. I make my assumptions, and they can be limiting in my thinking and attitude. Yet, I try not to let my expectations interfere with the task at hand in my daily life. That’s especially true of the workplace, but I think it also extends to other settings too.

I am resolved to try to light candles when I can rather than curse the darkness. In filling out an online guest survey, I reported the incident but stated that we still had an overwhelmingly positive experience overall.

In hindsight, I wish that I were the kind of person who would have gone back to the scene of the crime so-to-speak and found the perfect way to model congeniality and “kill her with kindness” through some sort of overt expression that would prove to Grouchy Lady that my beloved and I deserved her respect but that we were also respectful of her as well. Yet, I know that sometimes when I make moves like that, it comes across as being passive-aggressive, or worse, my long fuse manages to become lit in a not-so-healthy way.

At any rate, my hope is that I can be my best self and enjoy life so much that it’s contagious. There will be bumps along the way; I won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, and I will probably not always handle it with perfect ease. I wish that I could magically change the hearts and minds of those who think that Tom and I are the “other,” but maybe the answer is to keep an eye out for the hot dog ladies that do care and not miss out on the positive that’s out there.

Dollywood Nativity Scene

A Fun Little Getaway to the Site of the Scopes Monkey Trial

Front Page News
As part of the annual Scopes Festival, the play Front Page News is performed in the same Tennessee courtroom where the Scopes trial took place.

Sometimes, the places that are relatively close to where we live are the destinations that we say we want to visit when we “get around to it.” As shared in previous blog entries, my other half and I reside in Nashville. There are a wide array of day trips and weekend getaways in our neck of the woods. One of these–about a two and a half hours away from us–is Dayton, TN. A  couple of months ago, we made it there for the first time.

In the hot and sticky July of 1925, Dayton became the center of the media universe as site of the Scopes Monkey Trial. The proceedings happened to coincide with the earliest incarnations of national live news broadcasts by the rapidly growing medium of radio. Print journalists from major outlets across the country also made their way to the small mountain community roughly forty miles from Chattanooga.

The trial came about through a curious mixture of small-town tourist promotion with a desire on the part of both supporters and foes to test the heretofore unenforced Tennessee state law known as the Butler Act, which forbade the teaching of any scientific theory denying the biblical account of creation  (For a pretty decent timeline and synopsis of these events, check out a 2005 NPR item done in conjunction with the trial’s 80th anniversary. While much has been published about the proceedings and their aftermath, for a thorough book-length examination, I can personally vouch for Edward J. Larson’s Summer for the Gods.)

I have always maintained a deep fascination with the Scopes trial for a host of reasons. First, it marked a major turning point in the national dialogue concerning faith and science and the compatibility between the two. Also, the conflict established fault lines between the power of national religious identity and the rise of secularism. In a related twist, among Christian believers themselves, the split between evangelical/fundamentalist perspectives and more theologically liberal voices became more pronounced.

On a broader level, I think the “Roaring Twenties” holds a fair number of parallels with today.  America was grappling with changing social mores and the rise of modernity in national life. Also, immigration and urbanization had left wide swaths of the South and Heartland shaken by the changing face of America. Both then and now, trends can sow the seeds for countertrends.

Like many other folks, part of my interest in the Scopes case was fueled by watching the 1960 film Inherit the Wind, a fictional story based on the real-life events of the Scopes trial. Spencer Tracy is one of  my all-time favorite actors, and he shines in the character inspired by high-powered defense attorney Clarence Darrow. Likewise, Gene Kelly delivers an excellent portrayal of the equivalent to acerbic newspaper columnist H.L. Menken. And, I can’t leave out Fredric March for his turn as the figure modeled after fiery populist national political leader and religious crusader William Jennings Bryan.

Yet, as much as I adore the experience of watching the movie and appreciate the light it sheds on the debate about faith and science, some fine points bug me a bit. The film features Dick York–future Darrin #1 on Bewitched–in the role of the young teacher on trial for teaching evolution; he sits in a jail cell during the trial, an object of scorn and ridicule. In actuality, Scopes was never jailed, and punishment for violating the law was a 100 dollar fine. While the national political and cultural implications were indeed serious, the local origins of the case were more along the lines of a publicity stunt than a vendetta against Scopes.

At any rate, the trial came and went, and Scopes was found guilty as charged, though the conviction was later overturned on a technicality, and the Butler Act was repealed in 1967. In terms of the over-arching conflict, secularism and modernity carried the day in much of the wider culture and the media. Fundamentalism retreated to begin building up its own self-contained institutions, including a prominent college built in Dayton and named after  Bryan, who died suddenly while still in the town a mere five days after the trial’s conclusion. Decades later, similar conflicts would again play out on the national political stage and reshape the partisan political landscape.

Rhea County Courthouse
The Rhea County Courthouse in Dayton, Tennessee serves as the site for the annual Scopes Festival each July.

Scopes Museum
The Scopes Trial Museum in the basement of the Rhea County Courthouse houses artifacts and memorabilia related to the major 1925 media event.

Strangely enough, the tourism angle of the Scopes Monkey Trial took several decades to come to fruition. In the 1970s, a major renovation project restored the Rhea County Courthouse to its original glory, and a  museum devoted to the trial (remodeled in 2018) was added to the basement. In the 1980s, the annual Scopes Festival began as an opportunity for the community to commemorate the event that put it on the map.

The timing of the festival coincides with the anniversary of the trial itself. In addition to such staples as food and bluegrass music, the festival now includes the highly entertaining play Front Page News,  a re-enactment of the events surrounding the trial. As an added bonus, the drama plays out in the very courtroom where the actual trial happened.

Downtown Dayton
Here is some of the charming vibe of Downtown Dayton.

Monkey Town Brewery
In recent years, Dayton has undertaken a sometimes whimsical approach to its history.

The museum takes about an hour to tour, and it would be important to double-check on the open time and dates if making the trip to Dayton. We had a nice lunch at the Monkey Town Brewery and then sampled some of the excellent music on the courthouse lawn before and after the matinée of the play. It could have easily been a day trip for us, but we stretched things out by spending the night.

No, it wasn’t necessarily one of those action-packed getaways, but it was so enjoyable and enlightening to connect with a unique bit of history in the state where we live. If you are visiting  Chattanooga and have a bit of time to spare to make it over to Dayton, I think the museum is worth checking out in its own right. And, if you can make it to the Scopes Festival and the play when July comes around, even better.