Root Canal

 I’ve been having trouble with my tooth, I told you that the last time we visited. I told you I was going for a root canal on Monday.

I did.

We were up and out of the house by 9:30 Monday morning. I took a few pictures.

I used to think that dogs were too smart to jump from a moving vehicle, but I’ve learned since then that dogs will. I’d never take the chance.

I thought the vultures were sitting in the tree waiting for the traffic to clear so they could clean up the roadkill that was sitting on the road. That’s what I thought. There wasn’t anything on the road this time when we went through so maybe it’s their favorite tree.

Dr. Legg was kind and explained everything to me. He made sure I was numb before he started work.

“I’m going to put this block in so you don’t have to strain so much to keep your mouth open. You can still swallow if you need to, just bite down on it,” he said placing the block. He picked up some type of cloth and stuffed it in. “This will keep you from swallowing anything I don’t want you to swallow. Suction,” he said to his pretty olive-skinned assistant. The sound of hissing air, and Lesandra placed a suction tube behind the cloth guard. Dr Legg went to work. He and Lesandra chatted the whole time, to distract me, no doubt. When he didn’t have any tools in my mouth, I took the opportunity to swallow. I could do it. I did do it. A couple of times even. Then, I don’t know what happened! It felt like my mouth was filling with spit, I needed to swallow and his hands were in my mouth! I tried to stay calm but I had this vision of a swimming pool forming in my mouth and I thought I was going to drown! My heart started pounding and I started to panic! I wanted to pull everything out of my mouth and sit up, but I knew I couldn’t do that. My arms flailed uselessly.

Dr. Legg noticed my distress. “You need to swallow?” he asked pulling his hand and tools from my mouth.

“Mmm hmmm.”

“You can swallow, just bite down.”

I gulped once, twice, three times before I didn’t feel like I was going to drown anymore. Here’s the thing. My mouth filling was partly an illusion, one perpetrated by the cool air from the suction tube. I only thought my mouth was filling with saliva.

Doc prescribed ice packs and pain meds for me and I'll go back to my dentist for the permanent filling.

“If the dentist can do a root canal and a temporary filling, certainly he’s capable of doing a permanent one,” I told Mike on the way home.

“Why couldn’t he do the permanent filling?” I asked my siblings.

“Not their job,” Patti, my oldest sister said. “Everybody has to stay in their own lane.”

I know what she means. Nowadays doctors specialize and don’t, won’t, can’t do everything like they used to in the old days. Remember when I cut my fingers really bad eight or nine years ago? My doctor wouldn’t stitch it.

“If you need stitches, go to the ER,” the receptionist told me.

I did. It was so much more expensive than it had to be.

“That’s stupid,” I told Patti and she doesn’t disagree. “I thought it was about money.” It always is, isn’t it?

Monday was a go-go-go day. After the root canal we went home, picked up the new wheels Mike ordered and went back to Tunkhannock, a town we passed through not an hour before.

“I knew I should’ve put them in the car before we left,” my handsome mountain man said.

“Why don’t we just do it tomorrow?” I questioned.

“It’s going to rain tomorrow,” he said like that should’ve made sense to me.

“So? You’re gonna drive in the rain sometime.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to have to put wet wheels in the back of the car.”

“Okay.”

Mike checked in with the attendant at the front counter of the tire place.

“Are you waiting?” Bill asked.

“Yeah,” Mike said.

“Unless you’re gonna let us borrow your car,” I said. “We could run to Walmart and pick up a prescription.”

He looked at me like I was nuts.

My grin said I was half-serious.

“Sorry, we don’t have a loaner.”

While Mike finalized the details, I went back out and sat in front of the store on the bench, in the sunshine. It felt good on these old bones. I got my phone from my bra pocket and opened the novel I’m currently reading.

“What are you reading?” you wanna know.

I’m so glad you asked! I’m reading The Scent Keeper by Erica Bauermeister. That beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor of mine recommended it and I’m really enjoying it. Thank you, Miss Rosie.

I’d no sooner gotten my book open and read a few lines when a sporty little car pulls in and parks in a space. Out climbs Andy. That’s his name, I found out later.

“Can I take it for a spin?” I asked still thinking about the pain meds waiting for me.

“Sure!” he readily agreed.

The next hour passed in conversation as Andy told me about cheating death, about the rise and fall of his marriage, and many of his exploits.

“Tell me more!” you say.

I know you wanna hear how Andy cheated death. Now I have two stories to write! One about Billy and now one about Andy! Time goes by so fast! It just slips away from me.

The new wheels installed on our new car, old wheels laying on cardboard in the back, we head out to do an express trip through Walmart. I have to be honest with you. I probably didn’t need the pain medication at all — but it didn’t stop me from taking them.

“It’s better to stay ahead of the pain,” Miss Rosie says.

So, that’s what I did. I only had a little swelling and I used an ice pack that first night.

“You know what, Peg?” Mike asks on the way home.

“What?”

“We could run over to Calaman’s and get your new computer. Then we don’t have to do it in the rain tomorrow.”

“Okay, but I didn’t bring the checkbook. We’ll have to stop and pick it up.” We had to go past our road to go to Calaman’s Computer anyway, so it wasn’t far out of our way.

I took pictures.

A duck leaving my pond. 

We had to stop for gas. I never read this sign before. Interesting.

And they have worms. 

It was a long day! We left at 9:30 in the morning and we weren’t in for the night until 6:30. The dogs sure were happy to see us!

Setting up my new computer would be a job! I have to tell you, I am my mother’s daughter. My desk looks like her desk used to look. Stacked with papers and books!

I cleaned everything off, dusted, and re-homed some of the stuff. Some of the stuff I threw away. Who knows why I held on to a single earbud when its companion got chewed up by Bondi. I’ve got new earbuds, for heaven’s sake! I eighty-sixed the old ones. That wasn’t all that found its way into the trash, but I’ll spare you my purge list.

Mike is a good husband and helped me get my new computer system unboxed and set up. I’d cleaned stuff off the stand beside my desk in anticipation of setting the computer tower there. Unfortunately, the power cable’s too short to reach my battery backup and I ended up putting it behind my monitors. For the time being, I’m going to be a two-computer gal. There’s two things wrong with the old one. The screen has been blanking out on me. Jerry thinks it will only be a matter of time until it stops working altogether. And second, it’s a few years old and doesn’t handle high-speed internet, like we have now. Man-oh-man! The web pages load in a blink on my new computer!

Speaking of computers…

I am no longer going to waste more than a minute or two scrolling through Facebook.

Jerry Calaman, the computer wizard, says, “Scrolling through Facebook is perfectly fine. Where you get into trouble is when you click on the links.”

“Recipes are where they get me,” I confessed.

“YouTube! Go there instead. There’s lots of recipes there.”

Nonetheless, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll keep Facebook because I use it for messages and to post my blog link, but other than that, I’m done wasting my time. I’ve got too much to do and once sucked in, I could spend a long time scrolling.

“What about posts from your friends and family?” you ask.

Yeah, that was the reason I joined FB to begin with. The problem is there’s so much other stuff hijacking my news feed that I seldom see anything from friends and family. Maybe they’re like me and don’t post anything very often, I don’t know. But from now on, if they want me to see it, they’ll have to tag me. Then I’ll get a notification and I’ll look.

Speaking of computers — again…

A few months ago I went to the web pages of the local funeral homes and signed up to receive obit notices, since I don’t get a newspaper. I think, with death looming closer than it’s ever been before, and all of us getting older, I’m more interested in who has died. I read their names. I look at their pictures, if there’s one. I read their birth dates. Some are younger than me, some are older, and some are my age. People are dying every single day.

This precious little one died. When I saw his picture it made me so sad. I think this is the first time I’ve seen the obit of one so little. It made me even sadder when I saw he had a twin, who survives. It hit close to home. It reminded me of our lost little twin girl, my two-week-old granddaughter, Sara Lynn.

Speaking of the past…

A couple of my church peeps, older gals who don’t use computers, have been following me.

No! No! No! Not in a creepy stalker kinda way! They follow the foibles and follies of this old woman so I print my letter blogs for them. They almost always have kind things to say. Stories and/or pictures they liked. Places they get to see that they otherwise wouldn’t’ve seen. Things that made them laugh and sometimes, things that made them cry.

I can’t remember exactly what brought to mind The Great RV Adventure, an eight-chapter story I wrote about moving Momma to Arizona. If I did, I’d tell you. One thing I do know for sure is there’re lots of stories and photos in there that these gals might enjoy. I can’t definitively say they would enjoy them, but I highly suspect they will.

I went back to the wreck of a library, dug through the stacks of notebooks, found the years I was looking for, and carried them to the kitchen table. While flipping through the pages I came across this old story of Andrew, squeezing ketchup onto his plate and laughing.

“What’s so funny,” Kandyce, Andrew’s mom, asked.

Andrew was so tickled he could barely speak. “It farted,” he managed to get out in a quiet exhale. He gave the bottle another squeeze, another ketchup fart, and he broke out into peals of laughter! He did it again. And again. It got to the point that Kevin, Andrew’s dad, had to put a stop to it.

“You’ve got enough ketchup now, bud. Let’s put it down.”

Andrew didn’t fuss and did as he was told.

Have you ever seen such a look of pure joy on anyone’s face!?

“I love that picture,” my best old friend in West Virginia said when I shared it with her. “I’d probably be laughing as much as he was.”

Trust me, we were.

There is nothing better than the unabashed laughter of a child.

“Peg, did you make that other oatmeal raisin cookie recipe you talked about last time?” you ask.

I did!

In fact, I made two batches, one the same as last time, Betty Crocker, and one from the lid of the oatmeal container.

“Which one did you like better?” you wanna know.

I think my beautiful friend, Jody is right. I think I like the ones from the lid better. Now, if you were to ask Mike, he likes the first batch I made better.

“How about Miss Rosie and Lamar?” you ask. You know I had to share.

They liked both of them, but Miss Rosie’s recipe, the one she got from the oatmeal container, is still their favorite.

“Isn’t it the same as the one you made from the lid?”

Nope. Miss Rosie got her recipe many years ago and even though it’s from the same company, the recipe is different. Now I’ve got to make them again — but I’m not sad.

Someone got too close to the water’s edge when he was mowing.

“Boy! He sure is giving you the ol’ stinkeye!” you say.

I know, right! At the time, all he wanted was for me to hit the gas on the golf cart and pull him out. It didn’t work. The grass was too wet, the incline too steep, the tires too slick, and all I did was spin my tires.

Someone had to go get the tractor.

While I was out with my camera, I walked around and took pictures for you.

This tiny little flower is Speedwell. There are many varieties and I have the white ones as well. Its name comes from the old English term meaning success and was believed to bring good fortune. In folk medicine it was used to treat respiratory issues, digestive disorders, and skin conditions.

This is Black Mustard. It’s known for its tiny, dark seeds which are the most pungent among the mustard varieties. The Romans used it as a condiment and even placed it in tombs for the afterlife. In Indian cuisine, the whole mustard seeds are fried in hot oil until they pop, releasing a nutty aroma. Plus, its oil is a staple in many Indian households.

Buttercups!

Spittlebugs. These are small insects that make a frothy, spit-like mass that acts as protective shield and prevents dehydration.

As they grow, they change color from orange to yellow to green. Adult spittlebugs, also called froghoppers, have enlarged hind legs for jumping and are typically brown or gray. These guys are some of the best jumpers in the insect world. Despite their tiny size, some species can jump over 100 times their own body length!

Walking around the pond, I see a spot where the beaver had spent time on the bank and slid back into the water. I miss him.

Then I saw this guy!

“What is that?” you ask. “It looks like a mosquito.”

I know, right! Even though it’s about the size of a mosquito, look at the wings. That coloration isn’t a mosquito color. Copilot, my AI buddy, says it’s a Crane Fly. I’ve seen Crane Flies before. They're bigger than this and the wings didn’t look like this.

Surprise!

There’s more than one variety of Crane Fly and that’s exactly what he is. A different kind of Crane Fly. They don’t have any mouths when they reach this stage of their life. Their only purpose is to reproduce.

We’ve had so much rain it’s been hard to get out and mow. I took advantage of a couple hours of sunshine to mow the front half of the dog run. Even then, the grass was wet enough it kept clogging my mulching mower and I’d have to lift the front and let grass clippings fly.

 Despite Mike having gotten stuck once already, he ventured out to mow again. “I’ll stay away from the really wet parts,” he said.

Yeah. He said. And yet my phone rang. It was Mike. Guess what he wanted?

“For you to pull him out again?” you guessed.

I know, right! That’s what I thought, too.

“Grab your camera and come out here,” he said, and added, “Don’t bring the dogs.”

I’m heading out to Mike and as I get closer, he points. I scanned the area ahead of me and didn’t see anything.

“It’s a baby deer,” he said. “I almost hit it when I went past and he didn’t move.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                
Yeah. That’s how come fawns end up in the hay-cutting machine. They don’t move.

I didn’t try to get too close because I didn’t want to make him run. His mom brought him back two days in a row, then she parked him someplace else.

The air is almost sickly sweet with the smells coming from the honeysuckle and autumn olive bushes. I’m looking up into the drooping trumpet-shaped flowers of an autumn olive.

Wild strawberries.

Mike’s new Rhodie is blooming. The other Rhodies have come and gone already.

I want to tell you one more story and then we’ll call this one done.

Last Sunday was Mother’s Day and we had a guest speaker at church. Mark, at one point asked, “How many of you men like your wives to look nice?”

Mike’s hand shot up so fast —

—    He turned and looked at me with a grin on his face, like he was making a point —

—    And it made me feel bad.

“Why?!” I hear you ask.

When it’s just him and me at home, I don’t bother looking nice. I throw on my oversized, paint-speckled shirt, my leggings with sagging knees, and I might not even run a comb through my hair — just a quick finger-comb to pull it back into a ponytail. I know, shocking.

I wear my painting clothes so I can paint.

As for my hair, I used to rip a comb through without a thought, rushing through it, oblivious to the consequences. Combing out knots from the ends up takes too long, and I never had the patience. So now, I’ve made a decision: I won’t comb my hair unless I’m willing to take the time to do it right.

Mark went on to say, “It’s what’s on the inside that’s more important.”

My “AMEN!” might’ve been a little too enthusiastic.

Let’s call this one done!