Grandpa's Teeth

 

My grandfather lived until three weeks shy of his one hundred and second birthday. He died with all his hair, and with all his teeth. The hair was still on his head, but the teeth were in a jar on the dining room buffet. Over the years, as each tooth would fall out of his head, he would put them in that jar. On those occasions where a tooth would come out, I would learn of it first hand from Grandpa. He would proudly pull that jar off of the back shelf of the buffet and point out the latest addition. My grandfather was a bit of a character, but he taught me a good lesson. Brush my teeth and see the dentist on a regular basis.

Friday I went to the dentist for the first time in over five years. I had a dentist in Florida, but after moving to Chicago I kind of let that slide until recently when I developed a persistent pain in my mouth. I had a bad tooth. So I called the insurance company and they sent me a list of dentists in their plan. I picked out Lincoln Dental for four reasons. First reason, excellent reviews. Second reason, very close to my house. In fact, on the same street. Third reason, the building they were in was spotless and modern. Not like some of the other dentists around here who let weeds grow up between the cracks in the sidewalk and have more dirt on their windows than the window Scout smooshes her nose against. Fourth reason, is that the office seems to be totally female. My thinking here is that a female dentist just might be more gentle than a man with giant hands. It turns out I was correct in my decision. Clean, close, and no pain. It didn't even bother me when she went into my mouth with that drill bit that makes your whole head vibrate. The doctor told me that I had to get a root canal, something that I've never experienced before. That scared the hell out of me because of all the horror stories I've heard. No horror here. It was totally painless, until I got the bill. Even with insurance, that hurt.

Yes, it Was Embarrassing

 

When I drive, I constantly come across stupid drivers. To this day I can't figure out how the state allows some of those idiots to have driver's licenses. I see people who blow through stop signs and stop lights. Drivers who turn left from the right lane and right from the left lane. In fifty five years of driving, I've only been in a handful of accidents. All minor and all because of other people's stupidity. One of my biggest pet peeves are people who don't pay attention, especially at stop lights. You've seen them. You've probably been stuck behind them. The light turns green and they just sit there day dreaming or worse, screwing with their phone. I give those people the five second rule. If after five seconds I don't see any attempt at moving on through the intersection, I lean on the horn. That either scares them into action or embarrasses them so much they take off like bullet.

Yesterday I came up to the red light at the six way intersection of Irving Park Road, Damen, and Lincoln Avenue. I was on Lincoln and I was the first car at the light. I watched the first street go on green, Irving Park. Then the light changed and the folks on Damen Avenue had their chance. My usual method at traffic lights is to watch the pedestrian walk signal count down to the don't walk warning. So that's what I did. I looked up at it and it was down to fifteen seconds. Five, four, three, two, one, and I looked back up to my traffic light just in time to see it turn red. Damn, I forgot. Six way intersection. The countdown was for both of the other streets and I missed the green light. I looked up into the rear view mirror. A long line of cars sat behind me, no doubt fuming at the idiot that held things up. But do you know what? Not one of them honked at me to move when the light was green. Assholes, I would have really appreciated somebody letting me know.

Hmmm... What the Hell is That?

 

The thing about growing older is that new surprises await you every day. I get up in the morning and find that a part of my body hurts that I didn't even know had the ability to hurt, like my hair. In old age you suddenly find that those stairs you would bound up a few years ago, are now like climbing a wall to get into your house. One such discovery was about a month ago. I was in the bathroom shaving and a thought came to mind. In a rare moment, I didn't forget that thought. No, this one nagged at me. I kept wondering, what does my back look like? It was the realization that twenty seven years of living in Florida, in a house with a swimming pool, could have had a deleterious effect on my skin. Specifically, the skin on my back because I never used sun screen. So I got out the little hand held mirror, and with my back to the medicine cabinet mirror, held it up so I could see what was going on back there. I was horrified. Giant brown spots spread out across my back along with smaller little pimply things. Cancer! I've got fucking cancer! I called my doctor, who got me an appointment with a dermatologist. I was in a real panic. Would the cancer spread faster than I could get in to see the doctor? So I worried for the last month, waiting for my appointment. Yesterday I saw the doctor. Here is what he told me.

"Hmmm... Are you worried about those two little brown spots? They're nothing to worry about. Just something that happens as you grow older."

"But Doctor, what about those little pimply things?"

"Hmmm... " The doctor held up his magnifying glass close to my shoulders. "Yes, I see those. They're pimples. Nothing to worry about."

Don't judge me too hard. I once thought I had post nasal drip. Turned out I had cancer, non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. So I tend to  panic.

 

The Big Thaw

 

The dogs are still traumatized by the two and a half feet of snow and are leery of going out there. Scout, because the snow was twice as high as she is tall. Poor girl, couldn't figure out how to get up there and do her thing. So she just pooped on the parts that I had cleared, which would be the sidewalk and part of the patio. Chandler was a bit more adventurous. At first he just plowed his way into the chest high snow, moving around until he had packed down a nice area to poop in. That was until last week when it thawed out a little bit, then refroze, creating a solid layer on top of the snow. Chandler could now walk right on top. Scout followed along dropping turds all across the top of the snowpack. The poop would then melt down through, disappearing within minutes. This worked out for a couple of days until more thawing happened and Chandler fell through the snow. There he was, stuck over by the fence struggling to get out, while I stood there in my slippers and bathrobe urging him on. It was two in the morning. Anyway, we now have the full thaw going on. The snow is melting quickly, exposing a month and a half of dog shit. Sloppy, melted, dog shit. Not easy to pick up with the little scoop and rake. However, one of my friends from Cairn Terrier Rescue clued me in last year about this predicament. Use a wet/dry vacuum. That's the answer. Line the bucket of the wet/dry vacuum with a large trash bag and suck that shit right up. I ordered one from Menard's. I'm expecting it to be delivered tomorrow, just in time for the final thaw.

Billions, and Billions....

 

I was watching a television show called Genius, by Stephen Hawking the other day. The episode was titled, "Where Are We?" Meaning, where are we in the Universe. It literally made my head hurt and gave me an upset stomach. That's because I just couldn't comprehend how vast the Universe is and how infinitesimal we are.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about life and death this last year. Five months ago I held Mark's hand while I laid in bed with him all night long until he died. It's hard to understand. He was here and then just like that, he was gone. where did he go? What happened to that life that was in his body? I don't believe in religion or a god that is cognizant of our existence, so I don't look for an answer there. Like I said, all this information about the universe and how we fit in simply blows my mind. So I think I'll stop watching big brainy shows about such things. There has to be a middle ground, somewhere between Stephen Hawking and The Real Housewives. Something that won't give me a headache by making me think too much.