The earphones are tight and the chair is tall, so tall my feet dangled in space.
I am in a booth, a plain one, tan, four walls and one window, that’s it. They could have at least hung a poster.
I hear a noise in the earphone, he is speaking, the doctor that my parents found. He has a funny mustache, all curly on the ends. I don’t know what he is trying to tell me so I sit still. They will tell me again if it is necessary.
The words make sense this time; he wants me to repeat anything he says from now on.
I nod.
I can see him in the window now with a microphone.
He waves.
I wave.
I hear something.
Is it a word? I try to figure out what he is saying. It is like a puzzle sometimes. I listen carefully, I am close to it, but another word comes. I try to form this one and lose the first one, my head hurts.
I am going to sound stupid if I don’t speak soon. He repeats it, this time I hear it. “Hotdog,” I say aloud. I am happy, but no time to rejoice as another word comes. I try to form it on my tongue, I can’t.
I begin chewing my lips. I do this when I fear failure. My fingers tuck a loose strand of my hair from my ponytail behind my ear.
“Superman,” I repeat. The funny tingle runs through me again. Then a few more words come, they are clearer. I can say them now.
My eight-year-old mind scrambles to keep up again as parts of the word fades. Parts no longer coming through again.
Why do they go away sometimes?
My blue sneakers bang against the stool legs as metalic sounds vibrate out and tease me.
I know some sounds are words, but they hide from me, just giving me little bits to let me know something is there.
The man opens the door and I look to him, he doesn’t speak now, the adults always stop talking after awhile.
He waves his hand for me to come out.
I am relieved to be done and yet scared that I failed something, someone.
He hands me a lollipop. I am embarrassed but take it. I’ll give it to my little brother later.
My parents come in and I can leave now.
The door closes and I walk over and sit in a chair.
I look around; the walls are bare, except for a window. I look beside me and an older lady is there, she is talking to me I think, I nod as I chew my lips and my feet bang against the chair legs.

*******************************************************************
Reflecting on this memory I remember how things were small and confined in my world. I was between the hearing and deaf world, and without technology I would have been lost to it, but the results came back and the doctors found that with some minor operations I would be able to hear normally, with the exception of a few tones.
In school I was cooperative, kind and labeled a daydreamer. One of the teachers moved me to the front of the class and took note that I wasn't hearing many things. This was how my loss was discovered.
My dad felt bad, he is hearing impaired, his one ear has always been deaf from childhood and his right is no where perfect so we learned to talk in louder voices at home, thus my deafness was not discovered.
I can recall that after the operations the world was filled with all these missing sounds. Bees did buzz, refridgerators made a hum, fans a whirr and jets high up were actually not soundless. I spent many of my waking hours finding the source for new noises, right down to someone chewing gum nearby.
I still struggle some as I have some hearing loss to this day, minor infractions really. I have 75% of my hearing after years of operations. I had a relapse in my late 20's where I lost my hammer in one ear and half of my tubes closed in the other, I lost the ability to talk on the telephone for 6 months, but corrective surgery brought most of it back. I can only be grateful.
I think I get my attitude from my dad, he never made his hearing loss an issue in his life.
I will put on caption with my television, my father won't. He insists on just turning it up louder.
Once when he visited he had the volume at an extreme rate, I came in and said "dad, can you hear it?"
He says, "I like this movie but I can't understand it." I then informed him that he had it on a spanish channel.
He says, "Well that's okay, I seen it before," and continued to finish the movie at the same rate.

I could always imagine.
I could always draw and it wasn't hard or a fight to get what I thought onto paper. I loved that outlet, I loved the energy it brought me and the satisfaction of seeing or reading it over again.
One thing that was confusing to me was where I got this urge and talent to draw.
Writing was easy enough, that spawned from my father, He read books often and I was curious what would make him read so much. I read his reader digests and the books the reader digests put out. I read dad's Louie Lamore westerns. I brought home books from the school library and I brought home books from the church library, that wasn't enough. I wanted to OWN books, I wanted them to be mine. I wasn't aware of book stores, having lived way out in the country, but people had yard sales and estate sales and I frequented them for the books.
From there I thought and planned, characters came to mind and became real. They had homes and ideals and desires.
But my drawings, where did that emerge?
My mom and dad cannot draw at all.
They would laugh at their attempts but held pride in mine. Art was delightful for me and I found another outlet to enjoy.
My mom, dad and brothers are athletes and sing very well. As my dad would say, I cannot carry a note if it were in a bucket, and I am barely coordinated to push a shopping cart.
I started watching relatives, cousins, aunts and uncles and others to see if the talent came from them. I found no one.
My mother's mom and dad were very poor and had a large family. Grand pa was illiterate and barely made a living, but he gardened and his garden was large and plentiful.
My Grand pa was a very large and tall man and not very affectionate. He fascinated me because he didn't seem to fit in any category of anyone I knew, and he was rough in his talk and actions.
Looking back, I wonder what he thought of me, a very tiny long haired girl that followed him around, yet never saying much of anything.
It wasn't until I was in my early teens and I had gone to Grand mom and Grand dads that I learned something new.
It was summer and very hot. Their house was very tiny and everyone was inside, no sitting room,and I was looking for a cool place to read a book and be left alone.
Grandpa's small metal shed was open and I peeked inside to find a chair to put in the shade. I was amazed. I stood stock still and took in the walls. With simple crayons Grandpa had drawn everything inside on the walls. His dog Buddy, horses, a farmer on his tractor, houses, on and on it traveled. No one was allowed in his shed, and I had stumbled on the reason. Grandpa came up and at first he was angry to find me in the doorway until he saw my face and then his face became sheepish and he looked down. I said quietly and in awe, "Grandpa, you're good." He placed his hand on my shoulder just briefly, grabbed his hoe off a hook and left.
I watched him and I felt something new, something warm, a connection to a man I never understood.

I went to Whit’s Blog post today and saw the quite beautiful Tina Humphrey and her dog Chanti. They interact delightfully. Whit also mentioned that one his friend has “such a thorough knowledge of dog psychology that all of her dogs didn’t know that they were dogs; they thought they were humans. They appeared to understand dozens of commands.”

This brought me back to our home and Lacey, our beautiful Lab. A delightful thoroughbred that we paid a mortgage payment to recieve.



I brought her to our home when she was just a few weeks old.
She was freshly weaned from her mother and we took her into our home and we became her pack. Since there are more humans than dogs, she being the only one, Lacey adapted more to our behaviors and we notice she acts more human than canine.

For instance,Lacey has never spun in tight little circles before lying down, she just walks to where she will be comfortable and plops. Her legs sprawled and her head rolled back.
She will often turn completely on her back and look at us from her vantage point, completely upside down and her tongue awkwardly lolling to the side.
I cannot get a picture of this for you because much like my children, Lacey recognizes the camera as a piece of equipment designed for her to showoff her antics. My ‘shots’ of Lacey are blurred or anything worth keeping is always after she tires and can do nothing further, thus her tongue is large and she is wearing her “I wore mommy out” grin.

I also notice that when I take Lacey for a walk, she is very confused of the dogs barking as we pass by their homes. She always looks quizzically at me and I have to explain that ‘they are fine, and you are fine too,’ so we can continue with our trip.
Recently one of the dogs, a friendly black Lab, was left in his yard with no supervision so he took it upon himself to make some introductions. He walked out onto the sidewalk to sniff Lacey’s bottom to which she took high offense, tucked her tail and butt in and ran circles around me. I tried to explain but she was having none of it and was thoroughly disgusted, the neighbor dog thought perhaps she needed to ‘recognize’ him first and tried backing up and making introductions. Lacey jumped back and ran to the other side of me, her lips curled back, not in a growl but one of utter disdain and pleaded for us to leave. We did. I looked back to see the ole boy watch, his head tipped slightly to one side in confusion. I said, “I am so sorry.” Oh not Lacey, her head was straight forward and her nose was up in the air. She was offended with me, with him, and the whole concept of butt smelling.

But yesterday, she proved her self worth.
Matthew prepared to assemble a bookcase that we purchased. I had filled one and needed another, so to even things out we purchased the exact mate to one I had to balance the room.
Matthew got out the parts and instructions and was setting out the boards when he looked up and asked where Lacey had gone. I was working and had seen Lacey run by, head out to the kitchen and make a mad dash to the backdoor and outside, so I told him. He jumped up yelling her name so I followed. I watched as Matthew chased Lacey who had shredded the instructions and now was running around our back yard with the bag of hardware for the unit. She realized that his voice had turned from frantic to now ‘madder than a hornet’, dropped the bag and dashed by me, back into the house.
I played CSI the next half hour taping the instructions back together so Matthew can finish the job.
Lacey plopped down nearby, head lolling, eyes wide and her mouth in a huge, “That was so much fun” grin.

Yep.
She is not a dog.
She is one of our household.

I opened my comments and found this:

Hey Whispered ... You have to do this or else! LOL

It had a list of Rules to follow:
RULES:
1. Title of the TAGGED blog must be, TAGGED #1: 5 Random Facts.
Yep, Did that

2. Must answer the questions sent to you and tell who tagged you in your blog.
Okay

3. Cannot tag someone who already tagged you or tag someone twice.
Oh. got it, no double tags.

4. Must send the SAME questions the people who tagged you to the person you are tagging. (CANNOT CHANGE THE QUESTIONS!!!).
Dag Gone, I had some good ones too.

5. Please restate the questions before answering.
Yep, check below.

6. Please notify tagger if you don't want to participate.
I had a choice? I think not, read and you will learn.

7. Can only tag one person
Oh and I had a long list, the rest of you are lucky I say.

8. Please copy and paste the rules and questions to whoever your tagging
Got them Heather?

9. Have fun!
Fun! This is blackmail!

10. You must state who you are tagging next in your blog.

Next? Okay, then this would be next: HeatherScott! You are now IT.

Now to restate and answer the questions.

QUESTIONS:
1. Why do you blog?

Well, Why do I blog? I blog because I enjoy writing and reading, in that order of things, although I can say there are some days I enjoy reading and writing. Really, writing has always been my outlet.

2. Scariest moment in your life?

This afternoon when I opened this blog and found out I was going to wake up tomorrow horribly disfigured with a green hunchback, and I thought, "I don't want to be a chia pet!" So I hurridly filled this out.

3. Top 5 songs on your iPod? (if you don't have an iPod, just give your 5 favorite songs)
Sade, Lover's Rock
Enya, Wild Child
Casting Crowns, Lift My Friends to You
John Mayer, Dreaming with a Broken Heart
Rascal Flats, My Wish

4. What are your interests/hobbies?
My family - Hubby and Girls
My Gal Pals
Writing
Painting
Poetry
Reading
Pc and PS3 Gaming

5. What do you hope to accomplish in the next 5 years?
To finally stop traveling every two weeks.
Make some major renovating decisions.
Do some international traveling.

Lets try and get 20+ Blogstreamers playing! For an example of what your "TAGGED" blog post should look like, go to Bella's page.
That's a good idea, because I think mine prolly is not ideal.

This started with the new dude, Tyler who sent it to PolarB who sent it to Sherry who sent it to Bella who sent it to Taylor who sent it to me.

They say to do it ... or else you wake up tomorrow horribly disfigured with a green hunchback, but I never put much stock in green hunchbacks ...




Oh!...Hunch Back.
Never mind.

I am writing poetry again, I have my whole life.
It has been how I have dealt with many situations.
Before I give you some new poems, I thought I would dig two of my favorites out of archives since they were posted here 'pre-many-of-you'.

Enjoy.

***

Widow's Peak

She walks a winding stair to the edge of the sea,
a foolish heart despises her begging pleas.
The roar of the wind and the crashing waves
Greets her soul with a power it once gave.

O emotions from the swollen tides
mysteries and life within it hides.
A salty spray moisten her eyes
mingling with the tears she cries.

Light reflects off ocean swells
searching the spirit within her that dwells;
O great and mighty the depth it contains,
some for display, while others remain.

Shading her eye, she watches the laughing gull
mocking her pain, scorched heart and emotions dull.
She turns with the wind, who wraps her dress up tight
His ship will not return to it’s port tonight.

She pulls in air, clean, free and pure,
Wondering how much longer she will endure.
She tucks a loose hair behind her ear,
And wipes away her final tear
Returning to her life once more,
While waves suck dry the ocean shore.



***
Within the Shelter of Our Heart


~dedicated to the love of my life Matthew

Time has its way,
It is free from control
It steals youth and whisks away memories
Trying to pull us asunder
But our vows are timeless, we are safe here,
Within the shelter of our heart

People have a way of dehydrating
Of trying to drain us of all recourse
To release us to the desert
Their dust withering the throat
But they can’t get to us, we are safe here
Within the shelter of our heart

Stolen thoughts may occur
Evil trying to stealth its way
To compose a sinful dance
To mock and scorn our love
Yet the music here are ballads, we are safe here
Within the shelter of our heart

Long lonely nights slit through the blinds
Trying to saturate our restlessness
Wrapping us within the cocoon of despair
creating false shadows upon our faces
But we meet in our dreams, we are safe here
Within the shelter of our hearts

Slithering fornicators forced intentions
Slipping their venom in open wounds
Yet our devotion exposes their desires
Their eyes reflect their unfaithful lust
Love exposes all evil, we are safe here
Within the shelter of our hearts

Eternity could not be enough
To harm or create a gap
We are as one, melded and bonded
Our joy, love, peace and harmony
Contained in one vow, we are safe here
Within the shelter of our heart