If I truly think about it...

Yesterday I found myself complaining, yet again, about a neighbor's dog who is constantly left outside to bark repeatedly for hours at a time. It's a nuisance and, in my opinion, just plain rude for the neighbor not to care who it bothers. I will not go into detail as to the annoyance this causes, nor the attempts that have been made to resolve this issue, because it is not the goal of my thoughts on this matter. Suffice it to say, it was what I considered quite irritating, thus my venting to family and friends about it.

What I realized, beyond my complaints of it earlier in the day, is something I had not thought of until I viewed an elderly man with what appeared to be his granddaughter at the market later that evening. I rounded an isle where they were standing together. The swift, but gracefully movements of her hands and his eyes, diligently mindful of her movements, caught my attention. Sign language. Looking on, I ease dropped, for a lack of a better way to describe it, and "listened" to her words to him.  "There is a cart with a squeaky wheel, a little boy crying, and an announcement paging a manager to the service desk", she explained.  A simple smile creased his wrinkled mouth as his hands came up, rough from the years, and he spoke to her in return, "I remember the squeaky wheel sound. That's something I don't miss.", he stated. And then I watched as they giggled, their silence broken, as they continued down the isle.  I suddenly felt both foolish and selfish. Not more than several hours earlier I was complaining about hearing the noise of the dog, while this man, whom I may never know in person and who obviously has lost his hearing, found simple pleasure in having every little sound now described to him.  How arrogant I had been to think that my hearing was something to take for granted. He may never know the sound of a chirping bird in the morning or hear "I love you, Grandpa", softly uttered by his grand daughter ever again, but I am fussing over hearing too much.  My enlightenment from this experience....cotton balls can ease my problem when I need to sleep, but the dog barking is now my reminder of all the gifts I have been so graciously given and the empathy I need to reserve for those who have lost thiers.