I hear voices . . .

"Tommy, can ya hear me?"

We often take for granted the simple gift of speaking and hearing each other's voices.

Right now, I am firmly planted in the living room so that I can sit and work while listening to the dulcet tones of Vin Scully call tonight's Los Angeles Dodgers game.

I grew up in L.A. listening to this wonderful announcer and did not realize at the time that he was etching into my aural record a deep and lasting imprint of what is good, right and true. Yes, I love baseball and listening to a game is as vital as watching the game. Whenever I went to Dodger Stadium for a game, I often took my transistor radio (yes, I risk dating myself here) so that I could listen to Mr. Scully call the game while enjoying the surrounding sounds of the live game.

I no longer live in Los Angeles so I don't get to hear Vin on television (or radio) very often. So tonight as my husband was channel surfing to see what games were on, I was in another room and yet I heard "that voice" and came out to confirm. Yay!  So despite the fact that I have actual writing work to do tonight and that I cannot indulge in the luxury of watching the game, I can sit hear and type and let the Vin-ster soothe my soul.

The voice can be of such comfort.
Gene Kelly singing in the rain.
Garrison Keillor telling tales of Lake Wobegone.
A mother's gentle voice soothing us when we are hurt or scared; or reading to us as we fall asleep.

I don't know when it happened or how it happened but I have forgotten the sound of my grandmother's voice.  It seems all but impossible that I could forget the voice of the woman who raised me. I took it upon myself to think of her often enough to have it be on the audio memory channel in my brain as I would allow myself to recollect fond memories.

Many years have gone by and newer memories may have edged out older ones. Nanny died in 1989 so there was not the preponderance of electronic options by which to have easily captured her voice for posterity. As I mature, I now find myself dealing with a different form of 'hard of hearing' in that I often have to strain to hear the voices of people I loved who are no longer in my life.

This makes me even more determined to mentally record audio tapes in my head of important people in my life--past and current-- so that I do not lose their voice in my life.

I'm listening. . .

“Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches The innermost recesses of my spirit!” 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow










Comments

I feel the same way about your voice Duchess Dale.

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