Friday, November 9, 2018

One Down. . . .

So as of this Thursday, I’m down one more notch on the wisdom scale. I was at the dental surgeon’s having a back tooth removed. Give me some nice major surgery any day. At least then they supply you with a cute johnny, great drugs, and then you wake up lighter by one more body part.

          With a tooth extraction you’re right there, conscious through the whole thing, and then you’re bustled out the door 10 minutes later with a mouthful of gauze.

          To begin with, when I saw who would be doing the work, I almost turned into one of those cranky old ladies. Dr. Whoever bounced into the room, looking for all the world like he was taking a break before he had to rush off to algebra class. I came perilously close to asking him his age, but at the last minute figured that wouldn’t do anyone any good. After all, this young man who had obviously only recently received his driving permit was very soon going to be yanking a tooth out of my head by brute force.

          After the three shots of Novocain, which I was sure would be woefully inadequate, I asked why he had only injected me on one side of the tooth. I mean, I didn’t want all those neglected nerve endings on the other side waking up and announcing their presence. He launched into a dissertation on the location of nerves in the jaw that convinced me he must have at least stayed awake in his dentistry anatomy and physiology class, so I decided maybe he knew his stuff even if he was barely older than my 16 year-old grandson.

          Then we entered a world reminiscent of something out of Gunsmoke. Suddenly two more people materialized, one for suctioning all the blood that would likely be pouring from my head, and the other who stood behind me with an iron grip on my jaw.

          When you think about it, it’s a pretty archaic procedure.

          You just get a grip on a tooth and pull.

        I half-expected him to plant his foot in my chest for traction, but it finally came out. Apparently I have the distinction of having unusually long wisdom teeth.

          Still, we had Chinese take-out that night – nice soft lo mein for me – so it wasn’t a total loss.  


Monday, November 5, 2018

Going Home

We’re home and still shaking off the effects of two delightful 12 hour days in the car, preceded by the treat of being on the road by 4:30 the first day and 3:30 the second. (Insert emoji of Edvard Munch’s The Scream here.)

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Update From Paradise

      Our time here is winding down. We’ll be heading back up north for the next couple of months. And why wouldn’t we?

Monday, October 29, 2018

Marathon Men - an Ode to the Umps

Our team won, in no small part thanks to our efforts, and the Red Sox are now the World Series champs.

Saturday, October 27, 2018


      Yesterday we drove over to St. Armand’s Circle, which sits between Sarasota Bay and the Gulf of Mexico.

Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Condo People

          So I ran into Linda last night while taking Mamie for her evening spin around the complex. She was walking her dog Ginger, and pushing (yes, pushing) her other dog, whose name I’ve forgotten. Ginger is a black and white terrier mix, and no-name dog is also black and white, a geriatric – and fat – Chihuahua who rides in her own red doggie carriage. They’re all usually color coordinated, Linda with her black hair and black and white outfits, and the girls with their black and white markings, but often sporting red accents – a leash here (dog), a hat there (human).

          Then there’s the gentleman who I see night and day walking alone, around and around the complex, always with his cell phone on speaker. I wonder if he’s talking to a distant wife who’s checking in to see if he’s getting his exercise.

          Fran is a sweet, slim lady who may be dealing with the after-effects of a stroke with her somewhat halted and hesitant speech. Her husband is a big friendly brash ex-cop, but it’s their dog I can’t stand. It’s a miniature Schnauzer who barks and snarls like an animal from the gates of hell every time it sees you.

          There’s one couple only seen on weekends, since they drive up to their condo here at the end of the work week.
          From Fort Myers.     Only an hour away.

          Lauren and Bill toodle by at least once a day on their tandem bike, in my opinion a true test of marital harmony. (There’s a reason why, years ago, we ditched the canoe and got ourselves each a kayak.)

          Bob is a wiry widower with a George Hamilton tan, game for any fun that may crop up, particularly if it involves a bar stool.

          And I just spotted the skinny, skinny guy from the next building on my ride back from the YMCA this morning, almost 4 miles from our complex. He was out walking in the 88 degree sun and was about a block from the Y, which meant he had another 4 miles to get back. I haven’t seen his wife yet this year, but let’s just say they truly are a Jack Sprat couple.

Monday, October 22, 2018

Word of advice - carry cash

        Life here in Florida for the month of October has been pretty idyllic.