Like it or not, it’s September and the NFL is back in our lives.  I don’t fight it anymore because I know I’ll get bored and eventually wonder what else is on.  Eunice has learned to live with it too.  After all, it’s not so bad now as it was 34 years ago when we were on our honeymoon and the Jets had 3 points on the spread.  In some ways, there’s comfort in old age.

For a long time, Frank Gifford was the voice of TV football.  I’m sure other folks fondly remember Howard Cosell.  But Frank was the guy, whenever a fight broke out on the field and was squelched that “cooler heads would prevail.”  I was thinking about that the other day when I was hunting in our fridge for some small chunk of protein and I didn’t want an egg.  I found two packets of cheese.  One slice would be perfect.  The packs looked identical so I decided to open one.  Then I thought maybe one is already opened.  I couldn’t tell.  They both had that perforation line down the side.  My head was still stuck in the fridge when I picked one and tore the strip down it.  At that point, Eunice came into the kitchen and said she had opened one.  She took a scissor and cut a ¼ inch off the edge.  Oddly enough, that was the one I opened with the perforation by tearing off the resealable plastic strip.  So now the packet can’t be sealed.  But the manufacturer gives us a really neat way to rip off the seal.  I tried not to blame the packaging but for my own peace of mind, I went with a slice of ham.

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We have a dear friend who is an audiologist.  Audiologists seem to be very popular these days; they’re in all the papers but ours is on speed dial.  In a recent conversation, she warned us about ‘wax build-up.’  I remember worrying about that for kitchen floors but was surprised that it also attacks our ears.  She suggested a diluted peroxide solution to alleviate this condition which I tried and by gosh, it worked.   I was impressed.  I’m now picking up three consonants I haven’t heard in years.  I’m still having trouble with diphthongs—no, wait, I’ve got that wrong.  It’s not diphthongs, it’s digraphs, the ones that make me spit.  Like ‘th’ and ‘ph.’ It’s murder when you’re performing with another actor who’s got a lot of digraphs.  But I digress.

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Hearing aids; that’s another thing to remember before we leave the house, not just the aids but those little bitty batteries they need.  And some of them, like car batteries, are rechargeable.  Only a car battery, you can’t get lodged under a fingernail.  I take pills that are bigger than those batteries.  At least I hope they’re pills I’m taking.  If those young kids knew what was involved with getting elderly, I’m sure a lot of them would go back (if they could).  Or at least treat us with a little more respect.  Or be more receptive to my stupid questions.  Or something.

RICHARD LEPPIG

Striving for Consonants