My grandparents were married for sixty-five years. They loved and respected each other and I don’t think I ever heard them argue to any extent. The two would have, what I would call “spirited discussions” about situations, from which almost all decisions made were mutually agreed upon.
My grandpa loved to sing. He was a natural tenor and looked forward to any chance to harmonize. He was a self-taught violinist, a writer of poetry, a numismatist, a painter, and a great storyteller. I still have one of his paintings, Land of the Midnight Sun, hanging in my home. My grandma played the piano and also enjoyed singing. She had what could be likened to a screech owl voice, but sang out loud and long.
They lived a lifetime of hard work, had beautiful gardens, and a loving home.
Late in life Grandpa’s hearing started to fail. Perhaps that malady was a blessing in disguise. You see, my grandma was a non-stop talker. She loved to gossip, brought home stories from the Ladies Aid meetings, and spent many hours watching through the front room window at the traffic and the neighbors. It was obvious my Grandpa couldn’t, or chose not to, hear what was being said. The louder she talked the louder the volume on the television. Grandpa loved his television shows.
The decision was made, probably by Grandma, that a hearing aid was necessary and should be purchased. I saw them shortly thereafter, and the television wasn’t blaring, but Grandma was. Grandpa really didn’t participate in the one-sided conversation but was listening, I think. Three weeks later as I was picking up Grandma for her church choir practice, I heard a loud commotion in the house. Grandpa had the Friday Night Fights going, a sport he loved to watch, and the sound was at a very high level. He was on the edge of his rocker, swinging a left or a right, to help his fighter on.
Grandma explained he had lost his hearing aids. They looked high and low but to no avail. A new set had to be ordered, and for now she had to battle that infernal television noise to be heard. I smiled.
It couldn’t have been more than six months later that I got a call from Grandma asking me to come to the house to help search for a lost second set of aids. I did, but to no avail. My grandparents decided they had put enough money toward that project, and would just make the best of the situation.
Several months went by before I was able to get over to their house. I was in need of a caliper for a project I was working on. My grandpa, who had a meticulously neat shop in the garage, told me exactly which drawer, and which side of the drawer it would be. I found the tool, started to close the drawer, when I noted, far in the back corner, a little cardboard box with two neatly placed sets of hearing aids. I never breathed a word of my discovery. Their married life continued for ten more years. Happily, at least, for one of them.
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