A funny thing happened on the way to Mother’s Day. Well, a couple of funny things, really. A May snowstorm and Nana is speechless.
For the second year in a row, we had a snowstorm on Mother’s Day. Last year a snowstorm prevented Bill and me from attending our annual Mother’s Day brunch with my sister Jen, her son BJ, and his girlfriend Page in Boulder. This year I was determined that NOTHING was going to stop me.
We, in fact, got way more snow than we did last year, but it fell earlier in the day. By time we awoke at 7 o’clock, the snow was finished and the meltoff had begun. Last year the snow was madly falling right about the time we would have been driving to Boulder. This year, all we had to contend with were wet highways and a fallen aspen tree in our back yard. More work for Bill…..
The drive was painless and the brunch was delicious. Nothing says thanks to motherhood like refilling a plate three or five times, and eating four – count ‘em – four creme brulees. They were small. Tiny; really, really tiny.
But the second thing that happened on the way to Mother’s Day actually happened on Saturday. We attended our grandson Cole’s first birthday party. I’m not sure when this became the practice, but parents now give their one-year-old birthday child his/her own cake and let them have at it. Not complaining; I think it’s cute as can be. In fact, the cakes now have a name – smash cakes. It’s hard to keep up. Anyhoo, it can be hit or miss. Some toddlers like the cake; some are totally and completely unimpressed. For his part, Cole apparently thinks smash cakes – or any cakes, really – are a great idea. He had a bit of a time getting started, but as his little hand hovered over his smash cake, his cousin Dagny helpfully smooshed his hand down into the cake, and it didn’t take long before he recognized the delights of chocolate cake…..
So, I mentioned the other day that I was dealing with a cold. As far as colds go, I have had worse. Or so I thought. I was somewhat hoarse at the party, but fully able to talk, and even sang (well, croaked, really) the birthday song to Cole.
However, when we got home, I went upstairs to my office for an hour or so to do some work on my computer. I noticed we got an email from our neighbor, and I went down to show the email to Bill.
“Hey Bill, did you see this email from Bob?” I said. Or, I tried to say. Because nothing came out. I kid you not. I was completely unable to speak. I couldn’t even croak. That has never happened to me in my 61 years on this earth. I have gotten hoarse, but never completely voiceless. It was the strangest feeling ever.
For two days now I have communicated with Bill through notes. I discovered that he is completely unable to lip read. And because he is also unable to read anything without his reading glasses, conversation has been cumbersome to say the least. When we got into bed Saturday night, he said, “I don’t like when you can’t talk.”
I woke up yesterday morning hopeful that I would have a voice, but alas, nothing came out. So Bill found an app for my IPad that allowed me to write notes with my finger and erase the note so that I could write a new note. Sort of the 21st century version of the Magic Slate. Remember the Magic Slate?
We managed to get to Boulder, and managed to have a semblance of conversation with our fellow brunchers. In fact, at one point, I even was able to talk a bit (I credit the champagne). But as the day wore on, my voice wore out once again.
Here’s the good news….it’s a temporary affliction, and I’m able to nag Bill even without a voice. I’m surprised he isn’t relieved as opposed to disappointed.