A pretty picture to prime pretty thoughts;
a rose from my Granny-in-law’s funeral yesterday
Hmmmm . . . bad day at black rock, or Zen lesson in acceptance?
Got so stressed this morning my throat tightened and the watermelon I was eating got stuck in my esophagus and I didn’t realize it and swallowed a couple more bites which got stuck on top of the stuck so it was off to the sink to toss many pre-chewed chunks of mashed red pulp. (Looks and sounds much worse than it is — but I’m a writer and drama’s my beat, although I fare better at humor.)
I was tense before I was tense due to the surprising intensity of Granny’s funeral/funeral lunch/memorial service yesterday with its emotions and hordes of people, but was extra tense today because I was to have nine teeth extracted at Case Dental School. They were to pull my remaining eight upper teeth and a lower wisdom tooth, then my South Korean dental student would slap in a temporary upper denture plate and in six months when the swelling’s down and bone loss finalized replace it with a real denture.
Only there was no temporary plate. And there was no student dentist. They called around to see if he had the denture and found he was in Korea, hopefully on vacation.
They offered to pull my teeth anyway and then next week when the student theoretically returns they’d slap the temporary in; but the thought of walking around for a week or two with no upper teeth which means a lot less food didn’t exactly appeal.
I don’t even know my student’s coming back. I was told there was a different student’s name on my next appointment.
More important, the initial purpose of the temporary plate is to control and shape the swelling as it heals.
But as always there’s a silver lining. At least I’m not sitting here in pain right now wondering if the swelling will be down enough in four weeks for my quarterly poetry hosting gig.
It’s heck being poor . . . your body pays more along the way.
We don’t have much
Not enough for mouth to month
But wife gives of what we have
To others with less
The poor are more gracious than the rich
Who give bigger
From their greater
Yet matter less
There’s pain in giving
There’s pain in not giving
She’s priming the pump
Betting on living
— Smith, 2011
Another rose from Granny’s funeral
on top of Granny’s shawl