Thursday May 7, 2015
Yesterday I discovered that I can’t whistle anymore. I was a pretty good whistler, loud, clear and musical. Now my best attempts sound like those folks who try with a mouth full of soda crackers. Is this an aging thing? What the hell happened? I still have my own teeth.
While we were on the boat whistling was curtailed. It is well known that whistling on a boat will ‘whistle up a storm’. It puts chills up my spine to see Mickey Mouse on ‘steamboat willy’ whistling and wheeling his way up or down the river. So, I never tried to whistle. Ozy was thousands of miles away and I had no reason to whistle for her.
Then it dawned on me. When they removed the demon cancer from the side of my mouth they also removed my whistler. I have to go to whistling re-hab. I can only imagine the horrors involved in that process. In the interim I have set aside 10 minutes a day to re-learn how to whistle…Tabernac