what did you say?

My mother is a curious woman -- in almost every sense of that word.

As a young girl growing up in Powers, she lived next door to an elderly woman (Mrs. Stallard) who was losing both her sight and her hearing. That dual loss fascinated Mom. She asked Mrs. Stallard which was worse -- being blind or being deaf?

Now that she is also facing age-related loss of sight and hearing, Mom's re-telling of that tale has taken on a patina of poignancy. Frequently, the Tale of Mrs. Stallard is followed by The Moral Lesson of the Superiority of Front-loading Washing Machines and Why Top-loading Machines Should be Relegated to the Closest Land-fill. Did I mention "curious?"

I thought of Mrs. Stallard yesterday as I flew north from Manzanillo. My sight is fine. Sure, I started using readers to decode the ingredients on food containers. Otherwise, my eyes are fine.

And, as a rule, so is my hearing. Except on yesterday's flight.

Four days ago, I woke up with a dry throat. Putting on my white coat, Dr. Cotton concluded I had been sleeping with my mouth open under my ceiling fan because the throat problem went away as soon as I was up and puttering around the patio.

It then recurred the next two mornings. Yesterday my fan-throat turned into a head cold. That was not good news. One of the first lessons we learned in flight school was to never fly with any respiratory problem. Pressure changes are not kind to mucous.

I should have heeded my flight lore. When we started our descent into Los Angeles, the pilot announced something. I only knew it was something because it sounded as if the airplane speakers were muffled. Then I noticed that all of the conversations around me were muffled. And my ears started to hurt in that same way that causes babies on planes to wail.

I knew what it was. The change in pressure had forced mucous into my eustachian tubes -- and all of my val salva attempts simply made matters worse.

The biggest challenge was getting past the U.S. immigration desk without misunderstanding a question and spending the rest of my evening learning the exotic ways of latex. I did not need to worry. The immigration officer had seen it all before.

By the time I boarded my flight to Portland, my ears had cleared through the good graces of gravity. But the moment we started climbing, my canals filled again with the equivalent of super glue. And it has not yet cleared this morning as I wait for my flight to Redmond.

Even science has not come to my aid. I thought a little antihistamine (in the form of two Nyquil tablets) might dry up my membranes. It is working on my nose -- but not my ears. On the other hand, I think I could sleep for a week.

So, I will brave the 30-some minutes on the flight to Redmond and hope that my ear canals drain before Christmas. Otherwise, my mother and I can play the role of Princess Alice in The Crown by responding "what?" to every inquiry.

I do not remember if Mrs Stallard thought the loss of hearing or sight was the greatest loss. I am certain, though, that Mom will tell me.

My testimony is that losing hearing is the pits. There are a lot of seemingly-interesting conversations taking place around me that I should be reporting to you.

You will just have to be happy with recycled family anecdotes.