In the spring, I volunteered to organize a dinner for people living in my neighborhood. I belong to a Naturally Occurring Retirement Community (NORC) on the Upper West Side, which, among its many programs, encourages people in the neighborhood to dine together. It’s a lovely idea and many people are eager to participate.

We had 9 people who met in May, but I picked a popular restaurant in the neighborhood which turned out to be extremely noisy, making conversation incredibly difficult. The plan was to meet again in the fall, and, hopefully, after as well, and on a regular basis, but to find another quieter restaurant. Another smaller and quieter one was suggested. But brick walls and tin ceilings, which this otherwise good Italian one had, are still difficult surfaces that make it hard to conduct conversations without having to substantially raise your voice.

I invited the same initial group but only five of us met around a circular table. Unfortunately, one in the group had great difficulty hearing. She likely had similar problems in May but it was much more pronounced now. She asked repeatedly for whoever was speaking to repeat what was just said. Everyone in our group did that, whenever asked, but I could tell almost at the outset of dinner that it was challenging for all concerned–the woman who had hearing problems and everyone else who was trying to accommodate her.

It was an exhausting experience for everyone and I’m not sure we’ll be continuing. I walked back with the person who had the hearing problem and gently suggested she look into getting hearing aids. She looked at me and said, “I have them.” I don’t know if she was wearing them or, if she was, if they could be improved upon. But I know none of us, including her, had the best time at dinner.