In Out of Africa, Karen Blixen (pen name Isak Dinesen) wrote:
“In the Reserve, I have sometimes come upon the Iguana, the big lizards, as they were sunning themselves upon a flat stone in a riverbed. They are not pretty in shape, but nothing can be imagined more than their coloring. They shine like a heap of precious stones or like a pane cut out of an old church window. When, as you approach, they swish away and there is a flash of azure, green and purple over the stones. The color seems to be standing behind them in the air, like a comet’s luminous tail”.
“Once I shot an Iguana. I thought that I should be able to make some pretty things from his skin. A strange thing happened then, that I have never afterwards forgotten. As I went up to him, where he was lying dead upon his stone, and actually while I was walking the few steps, he faded and grew pale. All color died out of him as in one long sigh, and by the time that I touched him, he was gray and dull like a lump of concrete. It was the live impetuous blood pulsating within the animal, which had radiated out all that glow and splendor. Now that the flame was put out, and the soul had flown, the Iguana was as dead as a sandbag”.
“Up at Meru I saw a young Native girl with a bracelet on, a leather strap two inches wide and embroidered all over with very small turquoise-colored beads which varied a little in color and played in green, light blue and ultra-marine. It was an extraordinary live thing; it seemed to draw breath on her arm, so that I wanted it for myself, and made Farah buy it from her. No sooner had it come upon my own arm than it gave up the ghost. It was nothing now, just a small, cheap, purchased article of finery. It had been the play of color, the duet between the turquoise and the ‘ne’gre’, — that quick, sweet, brownish black, like peat and black pottery, of the Native’s skin,— that had created the life of the bracelet”.
To me, the author is trying to convey that we shouldn’t covet what is not ours and attempt to obtain it by whatever means available to us at the time. We have an expensive pickup truck sitting in our driveway that we bought three years ago thinking it would give us a lot of satisfaction. Now, our big lizard (Nissan Titan) sits there in the driveway beside the small lizard (Prius), getting much less respect because it ambles down the road getting 13 miles per gallon (3.8 liters) while the innocuous little green lizard gets 50. The lesson is easily understood: what we perceive to be beautiful now will not necessarily remain so as time passes. We eventually find flaws in the things that fascinate us as we continue to look for more beautiful objects that we hope will add value to our lives. Oddly, I can remember the very first shiny thing I was given as a young lad at about four years old. It was Christmas, 1945, and I was living with my maternal grandparents. World War II was approaching its end and most of the people in the small community where I lived in didn’t have very much. But under the Christmas tree that year was a fairly good-sized package, about the size of a shoe box, with my name on it. As I excitedly ripped away the paper and opened the box, there before my very eyes was this brilliantly red firetruck with silver for the ladder, wheels, and grille. Isak’s iguana had nothing on my firetruck, and you know that without me telling you because 75 years later I can describe it in detail. Probably the reason that big iguana is sitting out in the driveway right now is because of that silly little firetruck that I fell in love with all those many years ago. 😊 Kathleen Norris said, “To children, childhood holds no particular advantage.” I beg to differ.
⚽ The late John Prine included the following verse in his song, “When I Get to Heaven”: “I’m gonna get a cocktail, vodka, and ginger ale, yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s 9 miles long.” He was asked about that line in an interview, and the reporter wanted to know if he thought people could smoke in Heaven. “Why not, why have a Heaven if you can’t smoke? You’re not gonna die from it. I wanna cigarette that’s 9 miles long.”
I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about what I would be doing when I’m accepted into Heaven. I just always assumed it would be the perfect place to be. I seriously doubt the residents of that magnificent place smoke, drink, or carouse. In my opinion, you only do those things here on earth in a vain attempt to make life more enjoyable. Sometimes they do, but a lot of times it has just the opposite effect. My belief about Heaven is that you cannot make it any better, or any worse, because it is perfection.
I think most of us have our own conception of what Heaven will be, and our Christian Bible does little to explain exactly what it will be like when we get there. We do know the rules we must follow to get in, but we haven’t been told too much about the details of what exists there. I have read several books about people who died and went there but had to come back to earth for various reasons. The most memorable one was written by Don Piper: 90 Minutes in Heaven, which you can get on Amazon in the paperback edition for $7.
We have been told that we need not take anything with us from this realm to the one up there (Heaven is always referred to as being “up there”) because we will have everything we need provided to us by our Lord and Savior.
So, in my opinion, if old John Prine made it “up there,” he’s not gonna ask the angels if he can “smoke a cigarette 9 miles long.” 😊 But I do know that if I get there, I’m gonna ask the first angel I see, “can you tell me where the Hales & McCoys hang out?” After that visit, I’ll start looking for everyone else I loved and enjoyed on this wonderful planet.
Agnes Replier wrote, “There were no marriages in Heaven because women were there no doubt in plenty; but not a man whom any woman would have.” Hmm, I gotta think about that for a while. 😊
⚽I got out of bed on a Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago and went through my normal routine of getting ready for my day’s journey: down the hall to power up my old pal Einstein (my PC), then off to get my daily cup of “Morning Joe.” My wife came by my desk a little later on her way to the garage and we spoke briefly before I turned back to the task at hand. A few moments later she came back and, with dread in her voice, said, “Tommy, the water heater in the garage is leaking.” As most of you know, your heart immediately sinks when you hear these words because you know it can’t be good.
So out I head to our attached garage with a flashlight in my hand. I looked in the closet where the hot water tank is that supplies our kitchen, laundry room, and guest bathroom, and sure enough, there was water on the floor. We then surmised, without a doubt, that it needed replacing. I turned off the water valve and walked over to the electric panel to throw the breaker that sends over electricity so it can perform its magic, then I walked around to the back of the house for a water hose, which I attached to the faucet at the bottom of the tank to begin draining it out into the yard.
I did some research and found a highly rated plumber, called him on the phone, and he informed me that he would come over immediately and give me an estimate on how much it would cost. A few hours later he arrived, looked things over, and said it would cost $1,200. That seemed a little high, but I reluctantly said okay. He informed me that it cannot be done the following day because it’s a holiday (Memorial Day) but said he can do it the next day (Tuesday). Fortunately, we have another hot water unit at the other end of the house so we can still shower when needed. On the appointed day, he arrived and busily sets about working his magic. Within a few hours the task was completed, I pay him, and he leaves. As he drove away, I calmly reached into the jar I keep by the door, rummaged around, and pull out my happy face. Within a couple of hours, our faucets were filled with hot water and life got back to normal. With that I am reminded of an old Bulgarian proverb, “Two happy days are seldom brothers”.
The pastor of our church asked us during his Sunday sermon if we remembered our very first job interview (my wife and I were watching his sermon online). Pastor Jeff is exceptionally good at engaging his congregation with thought-provoking questions. As I pondered the question, my mind went back to when I was 15 and a job came open at a Chrysler dealership about 10 miles away from our home. It was in the small village of Royal City and the owner needed someone to do odd jobs around his repair shop. I walked up to him and asked if I could have Elwood’s job, whom he had fired just a few days earlier. “How do you know Elwood?” he asked, and I responded, “He’s my cousin.” He said, “If you’re anything like him, I don’t need you!” That caused panic to race through my heart because I needed this job! I immediately answered him by saying, “Let me work for you for one week and if you don’t like what I’ve done, then you don’t owe me a dime.” That was a deal he couldn’t turn down and he promptly told me to start work on the following Monday. I worked the entire summer at that dealership, repairing flat tires, washing cars, sweeping garage floors, and helping the mechanics. When the summer was over and my last day on the job was ending, the staff gave me a little farewell party and wished me well. As I left the shop and walked across the road, I stuck out my thumb to hitch a ride home. I felt good about myself. I was paid 50¢ an hour, worked ten hours each day, six days a week, and gave half of my money to Mom. She was grateful and put it to good use. Dad controlled the purse strings in our home, and she had little discretionary income. Back then, purchases were put on your tab and were paid by the husband on payday.
I haven’t had a lot of job interviews in my lifetime because I served four years in the US Air Force and then 43 at our local shipyard. I am aware that the big “Interview” is yet to come, which will happen when I transition over to the other side and Saint Peter kindly asks me, “Why should we let you pass through the Gates of Heaven?” I’m thinking about responding, “Let me in for a week and…” Somehow, I kind of think that’s not how it works. 😊
Martin E.P Seligman said so eloquently in his book, Flourish that “very little of what is positive is solitary. Laugh uproariously, have indescribable joy, and it will always take place around other people.” He goes on to say that people are part of the solution to the ups and downs of life, and the single most reliable up. His theory is that doing kindness produces the most dependable increase in the sense of well-being.
Upon reflection, I agree with him. I have a hard time thinking of anything positive that I did alone. There was always someone in my life to share it with. When my first wife and I divorced, I immersed myself in doing things for others but, because I had no one to share those experiences with, the feeling of self-worth dissipated quickly. Am I trying to say that it’s necessary to be in a relationship in order to have a meaningful life? Absolutely not! But in my opinion, to encourage that feeling to hang around longer you need someone to share it with. Why write a book if no one reads it, why play a musical instrument if nobody wants to listen to your music?
We all need people in our lives to help us handle the curve balls that come our way, to cover our backs when needed, and to give advice when wanted. As a young boy growing slowly into adulthood, my go-to person was my Mom. Being a father of two children, I know I played an important part in my children’s lives, but I also know their mother played a greater and more important part. She was the first person they went to with their problems, and it only came my way if money was part of the solution. With my Mom, it wasn’t the money thing, because I knew she didn’t have any, but rather it was the “what do I need to do to solve this dilemma?” type of problem. True, she was the gateway to Dad if money was involved, or if I was going to be away from home overnight. He was always very insistent on my younger brother (Jerry) and I being home at bedtime every night. I can remember my Mom having to plead with him to allow us to spend the night with our friends. I could never figure out why he was like that. I tried not to be that way with my kids, but I would never allow them to stay with a family we didn’t know, or if the parents weren’t going to be home.
My son told me shortly before he passed away, in the summer of 2018 with pancreatic cancer, that I was the best dad he could have ever wanted. I was glad he told me. You should never assume that a person feels that way about themselves. I was unaware that he felt that way about me. I always knew that he loved me, but I thought it was in spite of my warts. To my surprise, he didn’t think I had any warts! As much as I loved my dad, I would never have said that to him. He wasn’t mean to us, he just caused us a lot of unnecessary worry. But I should have said it to my mother and I didn’t. I will always regret that.
Henry Ward Beecher said, “The mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom.” Personally, I couldn’t agree more.
⚽ I spent 43 years of my life working at the local shipyard. I have been retired for 14 years and, as such things go, I have forgotten a lot about those years, but I haven’t forgotten how important Fridays & Sundays were during those times.
Each Friday I would get out of bed around 6 a.m., head for the bathroom to wash my face and to shave, and then get ready for work. Friday always put an extra hop in each step because Friday nights were always fun, and Saturdays allowed me to do anything I wanted. Most of us know that the anticipation of a vacation to some far-off place is almost as good as the actual trip itself. That’s why planning is so important: it allows you to experience the joy of anticipation and lets you double down on how enjoyable that vacation is going to be. The same applies to anticipating the weekend on Friday mornings.
Now, as a retired person, you would think I would have difficulty telling the difference between weekdays and workdays, and I admit it’s not the same, but back then it was a big thing. I had two small children (a son and a daughter) and weekends let me spend more time with them. Their mother worked at Sears on Saturdays, so I got to spend a lot of alone time with them during the winter months. They felt free to ask any question. Some were frivolous, some serious, and some difficult. I recall my daughter asking me when she was twelve how many times a week did men want sex? I always tried to be truthful with my children, but that question caught me off guard. After some thought, I looked her in the eye and said, “Sweetheart, men want sex often.” That wasn’t good enough for her, so she rephrased her question and asked how many times a week I wanted sex. I read a study once that said men think about sex in some way at least once during every waking hour. I didn’t realize it was that much, but I guess they were kinda right. I have no idea how much women think of it. Of course, those thoughts wane as we men age.
Anyway, back to my daughter’s question. After a few moments, I responded, “Sweetheart, it’s not important how many times I have sex with your mother, what’s important is how much we love each other.” The look on her face waffled back and forth like the bubble on a carpenter’s level. I explained to her that sex is an important part of love but that other things were equally as important, such as holding her mother’s hand as we walked, or putting my arms around her waist as we talked with friends, or showing her every day that I loved her by being attentive. To this day, I do not know whether that information helped her in any way, but I hope it did.
Ok, back to the weekend thang (hillbilly term 😊). As much joy as Friday & Saturday brought me, Sunday evenings were totally different. As each hour went by, the dread of having to get up the next morning and go to work haunted me. The fun was over; it was time to go back to work and “bring home the bacon” (that term originated in 1906 and pertained mostly to boxers who were expected to win and take money home). Sure ‘nuff, Monday morning would arrive, and I would shake off the sadness and head out the door to welcome another week filled with nothing but problems. Fulton J. Sheen famously said that “one becomes more interested in a job of work after the first impulse to drop it has been overcome.” As a teenager, I watched Bishop Sheen on TV (Life is Worth Living). He was often referred to as the first televangelist and won two Emmy Awards for Most Outstanding TV Personality. He died in 1979. I was always impressed by his knowledge and his piercing eyes. I always felt as if he were talking directly to me. Ah, the things we remember! 😊
⚽ I once read that what we say about others gets applied to us. I’m not so sure that I believe those words. It implies that if I say good things about you, then those good comments get applied to me as well. Hmm, I don’t think so. I think the intent was that if you say bad things about someone else, then they get applied to you. The person who came up with that idea didn’t think it all the way through. Of course, I’m guilty of doing the same thing, so I shouldn’t complain.
⚽ My Grandma McCoy had a sister (Naomi) who had 13 children, all named after someone in the King James version of the Bible. They lived just across the Virginia border in Kentucky (45 minutes away), so as a young boy of 4 or 5, my grandparents took me with them to visit her. I was amazed at how well behaved the kids were, and it was easy to tell who was in charge (Aunt Naomi 😊). Those visits were utterly confusing to me, because with so many kids around I felt insignificant and believed the other kids felt the same way, except for the older ones. As I got older and moved away, I forgot about that big, wonderful family that lived down by the river in the middle of nowhere. I have heard of larger families with 15 or more children, but the most prolific mother of all time, and the one that holds the record for childbirths, is Valentina Vassilyev (Russia 1707–82). She gave birth to 69 children, including 16 pairs of twins, 7 sets of triplets, and 4 sets of quadruplets. She was pregnant 27 times and 67 of her 69 children survived infancy. Now you would think this was the end of the story, but as it turns out, her husband, Russian farmer Feodor, fathered 6 sets of twins and 2 sets of triplets by a second woman, giving him a total of 87 children. Of course, we all know that mothering takes a lot more strength than fathering, so I’m not so much in awe of old Feodor as I am of Valentina.
I knew a family in our little coal camp whose mother, upon giving birth to her 5th child on a chilly winter morning, got out of bed in the afternoon and washed a load of clothes, and put them out on the clothesline to dry. I was amazed at that feat then, and still am to this day. I can only wonder what the neighbors thought about Valentina. I imagine there was fear on her face whenever Feodor looked at her with the gleam of passion in his eyes. Undoubtedly, tubal ligation (tying the fallopian tubes) wasn’t available in the 1700s, so the poor woman was doomed to be pregnant almost all of her adult life. I assume Feodor had more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than anyone else as well. Heck, he may be responsible for a large portion of the Russian population. I have a good friend in Russia (Irina), and I’m thinking that I should ask her if she knows about old Feodor’s reputation 😊.
Having raised two children, I’m at a loss on how you raise 87 of them. It was hard being a good parent for my two, I don’t know how that happens when the number goes that high. It’s a good thing that he was a farmer, because if he had to buy all the food for his family, the Devil would always be dancing in his back pocket 😊. I see it now: the school principal calls Mr. Vassilyev and says, “sir, we’re having a lot of trouble with Vladimir, could you come down to my office for a visit?” He scratches his head, pauses for a moment, and kindly says, “who?”
John Andrew Holmes said that “a child enters your home and makes so much noise for twenty years that you can hardly stand it. Then he departs, leaving the house so silent that you think you will go mad.”
⚽ The English dictionary doesn’t give a particularly good distinction between joy and happiness, but I think it should. I believe joy is related to a particular event in your life. For me, it would be throwing a “Ringer” in horseshoes or having the power generator fire up every three months without me having to work on it. In other words, for me, it is normally a singular event.
Happiness is a totally different animal. That is something that covers you like a warm blanket in the dead of winter and allows you to sleep the entire night without waking up. It is something that stays with you until something happens that brings you back into the constant ups and downs of normal life. Mostly, I think terrible things stop the “happiness train” and that can be many things; health problems for yourself or someone you care about, deaths, financial problems, or family problems like drugs and alcohol.
I have been on that “happiness train” for almost 28 years and there have been a few times that it screeched to a halt. But sooner or later, it came back to life and continued on its journey with my wife and I onboard. A friend (Reese) told me recently that life for him has been like a bus ride with people getting on, riding for a while, and then getting off as new riders got on. What we all know is that as we get older people get off and fewer and fewer get on. Finally we get to the end of the ride and only a few people are still on the bus and only a few of those were on it from the start.
My “happiness train” is still chugging along, some getting off and some getting on and all of us bringing happiness, or joy, to each other in some way. Yup! I prefer happiness to joy because it lasts much longer.
An old German Proverb goes, “When a man is happy, he does not hear the clock strike”. Now, that dog will hunt! 😊
⚽ By the time we die, most of us will have spent a quarter of a century asleep, of which six years or more will have been spent dreaming—and almost all of those dreams are forgotten upon waking. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, head for the bathroom, and upon returning to bed, pick up the same dream again even though I purposefully try to avoid it. Most of them are nonsensical and I ignore them but occasionally they are meaningful and leave an impression. Last night I had a dream about my dearly departed sister-in-law (Mary Ann) and that will stay with me all day.
So, I don’t think all dreams are a waste of time, although I do think most are. From everything I have read about them, they are believed to serve a purpose in rebooting our brain to re-energize our cells. I do know that when I fail to get enough sleep I tend to make poor decisions, at least that’s what I’m blaming it on 😊. I have also discovered that I can sometimes determine what I’ll dream about by thinking of whatever is on my mind as I drop off to sleep. It doesn’t always work, but often it does. I was once asked if my dreams were in color or black & white? Honestly, I don’t know. If they are in color, they’re not very bright, because that never seemed relevant to whatever the dream was about. I believe the only time I don’t have dreams is when I go to bed dead tired.
Truth be known, I probably don’t get enough sleep each night, hovering somewhere around 6.5 to 7 hours. Doctors want all of us to get from 7 to 8 hours, but I only get the maximum about once a month. I like to think that I’m an “Early Riser”, but deep down I know that I’m not. I go to bed at midnight and get up at 7am. My daughter gets out of bed at 4:30am to get ready for work. She needs to look exactly right before she gets in her car to make the daily commute. She’s a true “Early Riser”. Walter Dwight said, “Early risers, as a rule, are a notably arrogant set.” My daughter isn’t arrogant, she just wants to look her best before going out her front door 😊.
⚽ I have had 20 homes in my life, my wife only seven. Of those 20 homes, I spent 17 years in one and 28 at my current residence. Most of my moving was during my 20s and we were always renters, not homeowners. It often gives me pleasure to trace the course of my life thru the places I have lived. I remember the very first time I moved in my life. I was nine years old and living in “Page” coal camp. A house about 50 feet away was being vacated and it was much bigger and better than the one we occupied, so we were told we could move into it. I believe the rent was about $20 each month. Well, the big day arrived for the move and we began transferring everything in our old home to the new home. It took all day and what seemed like a thousand trips to get everything moved. I remember being surprised that we had that much stuff. My family and I certainly enjoyed living in that “upgraded” home. Compared to homes today it wouldn’t have been such a great upgrade, but life is all about what you’re used to having, especially when you’re nine years old 😊. I remember Mom being so excited and that transferred to my brother (Jerry) and I. It had a finished basement for Mom’s washing machine and rinsing tubs and a shower for Dad to use when he came home each day from the coal mines.
I had a lot of fond memories while living in that house. I wanted to be on the high school football team in the 9th grade and P.L. Williams, the coach, came to our home to convince Mom & Dad to let me come out for the team (our school was small and he needed players). Dad bought a new 1955 Ford Fairlane while we lived there. My Great-Uncle came to visit one Sunday and didn’t know how to use the bathroom. He had an “Outhouse” with no running water. I was outside playing in the yard and he slyly came out and asked me where the outhouse was, and I told him we didn’t have one, that he needed to use the bathroom. He embarrassedly asked me to show him how to use it. We went inside thru the back door to avoid everyone inside, and I dutifully showed him how it worked. His eyes opened wide in amazement as he observed this “newfangled way” of using the toilet. I had my first date while living in that house, played a thousand hands of “Knuckles” poker there during the winter months.
“Yeah, I had a lot of good memories in that old house, and in almost every place I have lived during my long life. In some of those homes, I experienced a lot of success and in others failure. Michael Jordan said, “I missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games and 26 times I’ve been trusted to take the game-winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over again in my life, and that is why I succeed.” I can surely relate to that 😊.
⚽ As some of you may know, I am an avid walker. I started running when I was 51, and twenty years later my right knee started giving me problems and I was reduced to being a walker. I convinced myself that I should thank the Lord that I was still able to walk and not be so dejected. It sorta felt like your family coming to you and saying, “You can no longer drive, you’re a threat to yourself and others”. I’m confident that day comes to all of us if we live long enough.
For me, 2000 steps equal one mile, and I average 50,000 steps each week, so I’m walking about 25 miles. Last week (5/3) I challenged the members in my Fitbit walking group (my 3 granddaughters, my wife, and a friend in Russia) to walk 100,000 steps the following week (50 miles). I promised to pay anyone that did so $200 and an extra $100 to the one that had the most over that goal. I calculated that I needed to walk 14,300 steps on each of those seven days to get to that magic number, and I wasn’t sure my cranky old bones were up to the task.
Sure enough, by the end of the 2nd day I had a small blister on the side of my right foot and I became worried that my quest was going to come to an end. I gave it some thought, looked closely at my walking shoes, and determined that I was probably tying my shoelaces too tight. In a short walk I wouldn’t notice anything, but a much longer walk would be a different matter. So, the next day I walked with my shoelaces much looser and to my delight the blister didn’t hurt. Also, I noticed as the week progressed how much better I was feeling, my stride became fluid, and I could tell that my waist was shrinking. Now, let me tell ya, that’s a good combination!
The competition ended Sunday night at midnight and the battle was between a 79-year-old Great Grandpa (me) and his 27-year-old granddaughter (Chelsea). I had 110,701 steps (55 miles), and she had 103,787 (52 miles). Earlier in the week she was 10,000 steps in front, but I believe she gave it some thought and decided it was more important for me to win than for her to beat “old Grandpa”, whom she loves dearly. I wonder if I could have been that magnanimous if I were in a competition with my grandfather when I was her age? I have an idea for a new competition in the near future, but I have to let my old aching body heal before announcing it.
I recently had a friend tell me they weren’t into walking as a means of exercising. What I wanted to say, and failed to because I feared offending them, was that not only do you get the health benefits but if you’re walking with someone you get the benefit of good conversation. My wife and I talk more on our walks than at any other time. The only exception may be when we travel. I have learned more about her than otherwise possible thru our thrice weekly one-hour walks. Although retired, we both keep an active schedule during the day and by nightfall we are exhausted, setting in front of the TV eating dinner and, perhaps, snoozing at times like old folks often do 😊.
This “Walking & Talking” thing applies to almost anyone. I love walking with my granddaughters, including the greats, and talking as we stroll along. If I were a police detective and I wanted to get information out of a suspect, the first thing I would say to him is, “let’s go for a walk”. If I were a doctor, I would tell my patients, if capable, to walk for 30 minutes at least three times each week and preferably with someone. I would want them to show me that they were willing to do something to promote their health. I know there would be exceptions, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable. True, we pay our doctors very well to look after our health, but I believe they can rightly expect us to help them get us to the place we want to be health wise. I do have friends that expect their doctors to slow, or stop, their declining health, without lifting a finger to help in that quest.
Yup, I know that having a healthy lifestyle is not a guarantee of a long and healthy life, but I strongly suspect not having one is indicative of a much shorter one with many health problems. An old Spanish proverb goes, “A person too busy to take care of their health is like a mechanic that’s too busy to take care of his tools”. None of us want to be that person 😊.
⚽ Back in March, I had an appointment with my new dentist (my old one retired)), and his task was to bring back my smile. Well, COVID-19 made its grand entrance into our lives and the appointment was canceled. Last week the Governor of our fair state (Virginia) let some business sectors reopen with restrictions. Dental offices were part of that group, so his office called last week (5/6), rescheduled me, and a week later I’m setting in front of his office in our truck. I called the office and his receptionist asked me 15 questions about my health and, after answering “No” to all of them, she invited me to come inside. When I arrived at the door she calmly asked, “Where is your face mask”? I was confused, why would I wear a facemask to the dental office? How are you gonna work on my mouth if I’m lying there with a facemask on?
I had been told beforehand there was no waiting in the waiting room and that I would be ushered directly to “The Chair”. I didn’t have a face mask, so she went inside and returned with one for me to use. In a few minutes my dentist walked into the room I now occupied, and after the customary greeting, revealed a needle that looked to all the world like one you would use on a full-grown horse. All of a sudden, he had my full attention. I thought he was a dentist, not a veterinarian. As I laid there with fear in my eyes, he casually sat on his stool, gave me a pat on the shoulder, and told me that I would only feel a slight sting.
He was definitely wrong about the “slight sting” thing because it was still there when I went to bed that night. The good news is that it worked. I was in his chair for quite a while and I never felt any pain, so the tradeoff was worth it. His job was to replace two caps and 1 filling, and he did an excellent job.
My experience with my dentist reminds me there are things in life that need to be done even though the experience may be less than desirable. A few come to mind: going to the tax accountant, getting a yearly physical, taking the car to the shop for its yearly safety inspection, an annual visit to the optometrist, and of course, the twice-yearly dental visits.
These are things we need to do as we navigate our way thru life, and deep inside we know that any of them can turn into a disaster. I have taken my car to the shop for inspection and watched patiently as the mechanic ambled slowly in my direction and informed me that the necessary repairs to make it roadworthy would cost about a thousand bucks. I have had my family doctor tell me that my blood platelets were too low and send me to hematologists. I still remember the fear in my heart as I walked into his office. Fortunately, the platelets have since increased but the concern is always there.
We all know that our stroll through life will be filled with times of joy and distress. The joy part is easily handled, it’s the part that causes distress that is worrisome. And to me, my friend, this is the part we have to concentrate on the most. How we handle stress plays a large role in how comfortable life is for us. I have developed a plan that works for me and it requires that I ask myself this question, “In one year will this problem still be here?” That has worked quite well for me because not very many of my stressful situations lingered for that long. Sigmund Freud said, “One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful”. Sorry, Sig, that doesn’t work for me 😊.