GENEVA – The hoot of an owl, the scratch of a pencil on paper, the shhhh of a conch shell – all are sounds the average person can hear, and take for granted.

But not Marsha Engle.

"I have never heard owls," Engle said. "My daughter imitates it for me. When we're together out on our back porch, I ask, 'What does the rain sound like right now, Gracie?' and she will imitate it for me."

Engle, 53, of Geneva, has otosclerosis, a disorder in which the bones inside the inner ear harden together and don't vibrate, causing progressive hearing loss. She is totally deaf in her right ear and has 15 percent left – and dropping – in her left ear.

"I was diagnosed when I was 27," Engle said. "I was told I would be deaf by the time I was 40."

Depite her progressive deafness, Engle said she has much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, as she plans a feast for 12. Aside from good friends, her husband, Mark Reinecke, and daughter Gracie, 15, Engle is also grateful that her first book, "100 Sounds to See" was published Nov. 1.

In it, Batavia photographer William Huber provided photos to illustrate sounds that Engle cannot hear anymore, or never heard at all. The publishers of the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" books took on their project. A portion of sales will be donated to the American Academy of of Audiology Foundation for pediatric audiology research.

"When I saw the book for the first time, I felt gratitude," Engle said. "I have been offered an amazing opportunity to share my story, and I was so thankful ... I have a new career, and I am so thankful for that. There was a time when it was really was so sad. Now the sadness is gone and replaced with such positive things. This is a huge Thanksgiving for me."

But she does not sugarcoat it. The book also was a grieving process for Engle. Its images still carry the bite of sadness.

"It puts you in touch with what you've lost," Engle said. "But that's what life is. Good and bad, everybody gets their share of it. What makes you deal with it and what gives you resilience is to be grateful for what you've got. ... You know, this [being deaf] is not good, but I have all these other riches and blessings. And I have to find a way to work with what I have."

• • •

Engle was raised in Carol Stream and when she was little, she would say "poon" instead of "spoon" and adults thought she was cute.

"Until I was 5 or 6," Engle said. "I had very cute words, but that was because I wasn't hearing them."

A doctor finally diagnosed a hearing impairment, and her parents moved the family to St. Louis when she was 7 so she could be treated at the Central Institute for the Deaf. Engle credits the early education she received in teaching her how to read lips.

With lip reading and hearing aids, Engle went to Eastern Illinois University and later worked for years in hair product development for Clairol, Alberto-Culver and Helene Curtis. Her formal diagnosis came later as an adult, but by then she was working.

"My career was built on listening," Engle said. "That's why I was so good at what I did. I would see you in the aisle choosing a shampoo, and I would go up to you and I would find out everything about your habits and what you were using."

She married Mark Reinecke, a professor at Northwestern University's Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences Department, 19 years ago. After she had their daughter, Gracie, Engle began consultant work on new products, taking on referrals from all the contacts she had made.

"I would do that at home with my little girl at my feet," she said. "Gracie grew up watching me work."

The decline in her hearing was gradual, but in 2008, it accelerated over a period of three months.

"I thought something was wrong with my hearing aid. And so I got a new one," Engle said. "And then I realized it was over. I had a career built on listening, and I couldn't hear anymore."

Depression followed as her hearing continued its decline. Little by little, nearly all sound gave way to silence.

To compound that loss, Engle was used to being busy all the time with her work, and then everything just stopped.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it," Engle said. "I'd get my family off to school and work, and I'd get on the couch with my dog for hours and I would just stare at the captions on TV. It was hard."

• • •

A woman of faith, Engle would retreat to her screened-in back porch.

"I would pray, 'God, there's got to be a lesson in this. What am I supposed to do? Help me not to be so sad and give me direction so I know what I am supposed to do.'"

God answered by way of Mickey Bones, Engle's golden retriever.

"I looked at my dog at my feet and by staring at him, I could remember what his breathing sounded like," Engle said. "And I looked at the trees. It was spring, and I could remember the sound of the breeze in the leaves. And I thought, 'Maybe if I had some pictures, I could look at them and it would be very comforting to me.'"

Around that time, she met Huber at a meeting of Preservation Partners of the Fox Valley. She broached the idea of him taking photos to illustrate sounds she could not hear.

Huber said he had to think about it.

"How can I do it?" Huber said. "A lot of the photos have motion and blur and feels like something is moving. And with movement, typically, there is a sound. That is the way I kind of went at this project."

The two collaborators worked largely via e-mail and instant messages.

"As the pictures started to come together, I realized this was a mindfulness book," Engle said. "This is a book to tell everybody to listen to those sounds that are a part of your day and maybe a little bit ordinary, but really very, very special. They're soothing, and they're relaxing."

Huber now pays more attention to sounds.

"It has not changed my art at all, but I listen more closely to a lot of things," Huber said. "I'm more aware of my surroundings. Small sounds, everyday small simple sounds – you forget they're there."

Many photos were shot in Kane County: The campfire was in Batavia. The church bells were in Geneva. The carnival rides were from Swedish Days in Geneva. The cedar waxwing was from his yard in Batavia. Bumblebees in the cover photo were at Heritage Prairie Market in LaFox.

But it's one thing to have an idea for a book. It's another to get one published.

Engle relied on her background in marketing to write up a proposal letter to an agent, who found them the publisher.

• • •

Reinecke said when he first met Engle, he thought she had an accent from living in New York. He did not realize it was her hearing impairment. It was the least important thing in their relationship.

Reinecke said Engle really had to work at finding what she would do in the next part of her life – and he is joyous that she has a first book published.

"Her book is marvelous, breathtaking – once you understand about listening to your world, about the things that we miss in our harried existence," Reinecke said. "It's about mindfulness and being thoughtful and grateful for small little wonders around us each day."

Gracie said she was also touched by her mother's book.

"Once you relax, you are able to listen to things more," Gracie said. "The book is something that has really touched a lot of people, whether they have a disability or not."