Can You Hear Me Now?
Seems I am finally getting my voice back to normal after almost 4 weeks. Sunday marked the first day without any real throat pain. Still feels as if I tied my tie too tight, but the main soreness has dissipated. Seemed to take a lot longer than they said it would. Needless to say, once you find yourself with an altered voice box, you tend to put off verbal communication as much as possible. The less I spoke the better. A week or so ago, I went into Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee and it took three takes to get my order right. Not terribly enjoyable, but I would be lying if I didn't say it bothered me more that I repeatedly caught the clerk's eyes alternating her glances between my eyes and the bandage on my neck. In this period my main communication has been with my family , and aside from writing, not so much the rest of the world. Time to start getting back to "normal".
I realized I was regaining my voice during Donovan's birthday party, which we hosted this past Sunday. I was able to, for the most part, hold a tune when we sang "Happy Birthday" to the lad. Having some strength in the vocal chords also came in handy earlier in the afternoon, while I was simultaneously grilling and keeping his cousins from burning themselves on the deck-side inferno, aka our Smokey Joe Weber grill. While I grilled , there were gusts of wind that kept the flames a good 8 to 12 inches high throughout most of the cooking process. Good for the burgers and 'dogs. Not so good for children.
I spent most of my "fire safety" time on one cousin, who stared wide-eyed with pyro-maniacal desire at the billowing flames and smoke. I was tipped off to his infatuation earlier in the day, when he repeatedly peppered with me "Uncle Roger , let me try " while lighting the old newspaper we use to start the lump charcoal. The other children at the party could care less about the guy at the grill. Not this one. Had I left the grill for a moment, I am sure anything flammable nearby would have been thrust into the flames, and carried about devolving a late-summer birthday bbq into a suburban variation of "lord of the flies".
I realized I was regaining my voice during Donovan's birthday party, which we hosted this past Sunday. I was able to, for the most part, hold a tune when we sang "Happy Birthday" to the lad. Having some strength in the vocal chords also came in handy earlier in the afternoon, while I was simultaneously grilling and keeping his cousins from burning themselves on the deck-side inferno, aka our Smokey Joe Weber grill. While I grilled , there were gusts of wind that kept the flames a good 8 to 12 inches high throughout most of the cooking process. Good for the burgers and 'dogs. Not so good for children.
I spent most of my "fire safety" time on one cousin, who stared wide-eyed with pyro-maniacal desire at the billowing flames and smoke. I was tipped off to his infatuation earlier in the day, when he repeatedly peppered with me "Uncle Roger , let me try " while lighting the old newspaper we use to start the lump charcoal. The other children at the party could care less about the guy at the grill. Not this one. Had I left the grill for a moment, I am sure anything flammable nearby would have been thrust into the flames, and carried about devolving a late-summer birthday bbq into a suburban variation of "lord of the flies".
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