Bad poetry pickled in pain

From the start - what a day - completely unfunny.
A fog infused morn took away what was sunny.
Off to the dentist for appointment at ten
To fix my poor tooth that was rotten from within
The crown. Then my dentist, to work, she was late
As her dog retrieved cat doo; that little ingrate!
Full grasped was her hand around the small turd,
When epiphany struck: not a leaf! So absurd!
Full showered again - full scrubbed north to south;
Sanitized completely 'fore she reached in my mouth!
Painlessly I weathered two shots in the jaw
And soon became numb; I felt nothing at all
As she cut, pried and pulled that porcelain away
And uncovered a tooth stump ravished by decay.
"It's down to the nerve," was her serious tone;
Continued, did she, and the drill bit did drone
On and on 'til well passed hour one. This is not good
I thought to myself. Root canal. Ah! I understood.
Half done with uprooting when she finally said,
"There was no other choice as the tooth was half dead."
TV I watched whilst nodding at her commentary
Of entire root removal; it was quite bloody,
I heard, way into hour two. Thank God for the fare
Of cable show wonder, TLC's "What Not To Wear."
Finally, three hours from the start to completion.
Off went I to Target to fill my prescriptions.
Penicillin, Ibuprofen - four times the pow'r,
Off-brand painkiller, too - the pill of the hour.
Then to home I drove fast so my husband could leave
To attend "because you work here" weekend retreat.
Now I'm left with bad rhymes and my jaw it doth hurt.
Does a root canal mean I may eat more dessert?

By Request

You have to read this account of yet another APP. I assure you, the story is all true. Though it's difficult to choose, I think my favorite line is, “Get up! Do jumping jack. So you stop crying. I can’t work like this.”

Enjoy!

Anti-dentite

I'm not really an "Anti-dentite." Actually, I'm an anti-pain person(APP)- particularly of the kind that involves shots in the mouth and exposed tooth nerves. Because of that, I'm practically obsessive about my teeth. In fact, I'm probably one of the few people in America that flosses nightly not only her own teeth but also her children's teeth. And let me tell you, that is no small task being that I have four little munchkins to supervise during said nightly teeth-brushing-and-flossing ritual.

So it was no surprise to me that I didn't have any tartar build up when I went in for my annual teeth cleaning (even though I haven't been able to get in an annual teeth cleaning for two years). Clean teeth - check. No gum disease - check. "Bizarrely straight teeth for someone who hasn't had braces" - check. No surprise there. What was a surprise is that I have a cavity - through no fault of my own - or so I'd like to think...

Let me take a moment, first off, to blame my parents for not instituting better teeth cleaning habits, for letting me eat candy, and for...whatever else they did that made me cavity prone. Of course neither of my brothers ever had a cavity when we were kids. Perhaps I am a genetic anomaly? Nevertheless, I was their child. Whether it be via nature or nurture, somehow, my parents are to blame, right?

Anyway, one of my molars had work done on it 30 years ago, and eventually that tooth cracked two years ago. Which meant I had to get that tooth capped. To get the tooth fixed, I went to the same dentist I've had since I was eight years old (he probably fixed that darn tooth in the first place). He used to be a young and competent dentist. Of late, his eyeglasses were getting thicker and thicker. So much so that I couldn't bare to look at him directly in the eyes any more...without laughing. And after the usual minimal pain dulling, he capped the tooth (thank God that Lamaze breathing finally came in handy for something).

But the capped tooth looked kind of strange from the start. For one, there was clear tooth cement hanging over my gum, as if he over-estimated the amount of cement needed (or glue...or whatever they use these days) to adhere the fake tooth to the exposed nervy stump of the existing tooth (did I mention he didn't numb me up for that part of the procedure...that he said it would only "hurt a little bit"...didn't I blog about that before?). And two, the gum never came up snuggly around the tooth as it should have. I went in for a check up a few months later and explained my concern. My elderly dentist explained that he couldn't "see" anything wrong with my new cap.

Fast forward two years, a change of dental insurance, and a visit to the new, young, technologically equipped dentist. Although it didn't take all of the fancy x-ray machines to clue her into the fact that there was a problem with this tooth. She could "see" that there was a problem with this tooth. Because of the geriatric dentist's failure to properly seal off the cap, bacteria got under the cap. Now I have a cavity under the cap. That's right. A cavity.

To make a long and boring story shorter, I have to get this tooth fixed (aka re-capped) on Thursday. Oddly enough, the dentist office called to confirm that appointment while I am writing this post.

I'd really like to deck the geriatric dentist, but he retired last month - lucky for him. Hopefully, this new dentist considers the value of pain killers. Lots and lots of pain killers. And, hopefully, she won't be anything like the Russian mobster dentist of Ch@ndy's past. Power to the APP!

Once again, I ate peas.

But that isn't the subject of this post.

Last night I had a dream that I wrote a play. It was a slap-stick comedy sort of play to be performed at some type of theme park (this is the third dream this week, btw, that a theme park was in my dreams - although this time it seemed to be Knotsberryfarmish rather than Seaworldish). In this play, the type that might be performed by Jr. High students in drama class, I was the main character.

I can't recall what the play was about exactly, but I do remember that in the last scene as I stood alone on the stage that the janitor character was supposed to join me on stage. In my dream, this actor was played by a Grey Panicka, the doofus ex-husband of childhood friend, Glory Panicka. I was worried that Grey might not be able to deliver the lines correctly - and that the scene did not take into account his weakness: reading. Luckily, actor Tom Hanks took a few minutes to help me re-write the scene in order to guarantee loads of laughs even if Gray completely messed up the dialog. Just in case, I wrote out the dialog on a piece of paper, and had Grey read from it on stage.

In any event, the play was a hit, and Grey reading his script right there on stage was hilarious.

And then I woke up.

Let them eat cake.

I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help looking - help *staring* - as I drove by the twisted, gnarly wreckage.

This is how I felt, anyway, as I was flipping channels last night before I went to bed. The teaser - a cute boy saying to another cute boy, "I won't deny that I have feelings for you." "Yeah, but I'm married." WHAT? Wasn't this supposed to be a show about models vying for the "kahuna" of all models spot?

So it was! And not only was this a show about models modeling, it was a show about how models practice to BE models. It was Zoolander, only it was REAL.

Seriously.

Guys strutted back and forth in their room working on their "walk." Girls and guys were chastised for not having the right walk. And, I swear, I think I saw one guy flash "Blue Steel" on the catwalk.

At one point, a model was upset because he "lost his walk." Whoa. Baffling. How does one "loose" a walk? Another girl was taken to task because she "gained inches." (Of course there was the token shot of her eating cake instead of dinner one night.) When the other models were asked about "Kadie's" lack of progress, one boy was quick to suggest that although Kadie thinks she is working hard, she actually is not following through with the model regiment. "One time, I saw her eat bread after a workout."

Oh my Lord. Not *bread*.

I've decided, after watching part of this show, that it is very difficult to be a supermodel. Not only should one know when to eat bread (which is probably *never* if you plan to be a supermodel), one must also know how to walk in different ways (though all walks must look eerily similar) for different types of fashion. And, most importantly, one should *care*.

I'd like to get on my soapbox here and rage on against the shallowness of it all (and how shows like this do nothing to promote health over beauty), but it is Valentines Day. Instead, let me say that you are loved - even if you eat bread and don't know how to walk to save yourself from elimination.

When I feel stressed, my face gets pimply. Right now my face looks like that of a teenager, only I have wrinkles. Pimples + wrinkles. It's a lovely sight.

Shut up. I'm going to go eat some chocolate now.

Messy

Okay, my house is not the cleanest house on the block. For once, though, I would like my daughters to NOT say, "Wow, the house looks great! Who's coming over?"

Crazy

While I am waiting to hear from the school where I applied and for other randomness to be settled in my life, I am completely undone inside.

*Yesterday, I told Poetroad that I no longer want to be a parent. It seems as if I am always frustrated with the kids of late, and I am tired of being the disciplinarian. To be a proactive parent would be the smart way to handle their typical "kid" behavior, but instead, I am a reactive parent.

*Today, Poetroad learned about what our Nicaragua mission team accomplished on their most recent trip. They built a house so that the children who live in the city garbage dump don't have to live in the dump any more. They will go back and work with an organization that is building a place to house daughters that were forced into prostitution by their parents - all for garbage. For the price of one daughter, the garbage men will deliver the trash right to your door step, and then you can sift through the trash so that you can repurpose or resell what was once thrown away.

*Today, I learned that these daughters have AIDS and other countless STDs. They will die young. Many of these girls have already died or are waiting to die right now - most - if not all - are under the age of 15.

*Today, I decided that I still want to be a parent. Yes, my kids are probably ruined, but at least I'm not forcing them into prostitution.

Sweet Ride

Back to the bike ride at Reimers Ranch .

At the gate where we paid the day use park fee, the ranger/park attendant gave us a copy of the trail map and explained the codes for the different trails. Much like ski runs, the trails were color/shape coded. So the "beginner" trail was marked with a green circle, the "intermediate" a blue square, and "advanced" trails were marked with single and triple black diamonds. No problem, we thought. Just stay away from black diamond markers altogether.

Hannah asked how long it would take to ride the less challenging trail, and the ranger said, "About an hour." I asked how difficult the "add on" intermediate loop was that looked like a straight line going around the back side of the hill, and the ranger said, "Well, people tell me that it's one big long coast." A coast? We could do that!

His assurance sealed the deal: we would start out on the beginner trail, take the intermediate trail around the back side of the hill (an "easy coast"), and then finish up on the beginner trail. In all, our ride should cover between 8 and 12 miles of territory. We thought our plan should be easy enough to execute, and since I am a novice mountain biker and it has been a while since Hannah has tackled the trails, we didn't want to over-do it. If it were only that easy.

If you look at the map , you'll notice two blue stars in the middle of the map near the word "Reimers." Those are the entrance and exit points to the trail. Important information. [Incidentally, the ranger map didn't look like this colorful map complete with elevation markings. Having those would have helped.] When the ranger/park attendant showed us a black and white simplified version of the park map, he inadvertently traced his finger in a clockwise pattern beginning with the first star. In actuality, the trail starts at the star on the right and goes counter-clockwise around the hill.

So although we figured out where to start our ride just fine (the trail is a single track that is "one way" clearly marked at the beginning of the trail), we hardly made an informed decision regarding which trail we would tackle. We were thinking that it would be a fairly easy jaunt up hill, and then the majority of the switch-back work would be down-hill. In actuality, we had to navigate through the "intestines" part first. Up hill.

To make a long story short, it turns out that the "intermediate" ride is a combo blue square/black diamond. We did see offshoots to the super duper expert trail, and it was hard to comprehend what else a rider would be required to navigate on that jaunt. Already there we were jumping one to two feet off of rocky slopes, speeding into hairpin turns, and navigating roots, logs, rocks, and larger rocks - mostly wedged between two oak trees that, sometimes, were only a bike width apart. Between five or ten times, we had to heft our bikes up two to three feet ledges. I'm sure there are bikers who could easily jump their bike that high. We couldn't.

All in all, we had to stop quite a bit, but still we had fun. The memorable moments were me almost puking from exhaustion (Hannah was merely exhausted and not puking exhausted; did I mention that Hannah is training to run a marathon in April?), egging Hannah on to take the "sweet jumps" (she never complied), and taking in the spectacular view of the cool blue-green water of the Pedernales River set like a jewel in the bottom of a limestone canyon. We screamed a lot, particularly when going down and back up a hill shaped more like a narrow "U" than a skate board ramp. And we never did find the trail that coasted down the back of the hill. Luckily, we eventually came across a "bail-out" path - which doubles for part of the "race run."

Toward the end of the ride two hours later, I seriously contemplated getting off my bike and walking the last mile. But when I saw the parking lot, I decided to stick it out - especially since I didn't want to humiliate myself in front of fifteen other riders who probably wouldn't be this affected by such an "easy" ride.

My buttocks hurt

Yes, it will be a nice mountain biking ride...a nice little jaunt...I can get out into nature and spend time with my friend...

Wow. I must have been delusional when I thought that. Actually, I did have fun. And it was nice getting out into nature. I just didn't realize how painful that would be.

My much younger and more in shape friend, Hannah, and I conspired to go for a bike ride yesterday morning. We decided we would drive out to Reimers Ranch - located in the beautiful hill country west of Austin. When we arrived at the ranger station and checked out the map , we decided that we could take the beginner trail, ride a section of the intermediate trail, and then finish the last few miles on the beginner trail. I think it was called the "Race Track" loop. That should have been our first clue that we were headed for trouble.

Anyway, this is just a teaser. More about my biking adventures tomorrow...

I'm not gonna lie

[Wow - now you know that I cannot qualify to be a politician...unless of course I am lying, and then I guess I would qualify to be President].

But that's neither here nor there. The main point is that this has been one of the more challenging weeks of my life. Only with less crying. I've had to face some stuff head on, which is good. And (the exciting part), I've applied for an online teaching job. The great thing about this job is that I could live anywhere and still work for this school (unlike when I lived in Oregon, as that school required me to keep regular office hours).

So filling out the application for this school was more difficult than giving birth. At one point, I had to explain what my "Educational Philosophy" is AND why I would be a great fit for this particular school...in 100 words or less. Wow. Don't they know I'm an English teacher, for gosh sakes???!!! My first attempt - which was the "brief" version - came in at 188 words. It took me a half an hour to whittle that baby down to 98 words. I felt like the end product said something to the effect of, "I like to teach kids. I want to teach for your school."

Anyway, I really *want* this job.

Oh, and we might move again. No details yet. Just throwing that out there.

blah, blah, blogging

Man, oh, man (or woman, oh, woman). January is in the dust. February is here. Been here for one, two, three, four days. What have I been doing? Hmmm. Well, the youngest has been sick with some kind of virus that keeps her coughing all night. Luckily, her sleep patterns are lengthening as each day goes by. Thursday night, I slept three hours, Friday night I slept three and a half hours, was awake for three, then I slept for three more hours. A chunk of four and a chunk of three Saturday night, and so on. I'm crossing my fingers that I wont have to be awake at all tonight.

Hmmm. I read a friend's novel - it is in the 2nd or 3rd draft stage. Four days later, and I am still thinking about the setting and the main character and wondering what she is doing. Now that's saying something!

Came to some decisions about my life. It was a difficult week in that respect.

All in all, I feel content.

to the politician

I'd like to say that I like you,
But I don't like you one little bit.
I don't like your promises.
I don't like your accusations.
I don't like you.
And now I will go sit on the toilet
And think about how all you say and do
Is digested by the masses.
Then when all is said and done,
What comes out the other end
Is always the same.
And the stench lingers.

Plans

List of January accomplishments:

*grew out eyebrows. Why I obsessively plucked them in the first place is unknown. Start date of said obsession is also unknown.

*read a book. If I hurry, there is time to finish the other one I am in the middle of reading.

*successfully earned my Florida Teaching Credentials (translation: filled out and filed necessary paperwork so that I can teach in Florida). No, I am not moving there (that I know of for sure), but I wouldn't mind teaching for a prominent online school based in Florida.

*survived a chaotic little girl birthday party

*ran 40 or 50 miles (perhaps I should keep better track of these things)

*worked 0 hours at my un-job

*chatted with my 80 year old grandmother at least once


Immediate goals:

*read another book

*study for Texas teacher certification tests

*get rid of lice on #2 daughter. Just found them on her itching head last night and have isolated problem to this one child.

*pray for...stuff that I don't really want to talk about. Doesn't anyone have any good jokes to tell? Avoidance people - help me out here.

*call grandma again

Magical

The father of JG's friend, "Sarah," volunteers quite a bit in their kindergarten class. Sarah's daddy teaches them Spanish words and phrases for their weekly Spanish lessons. On occasion, he also does cheesy magic tricks - the kind kindergarteners love (finds pennies in kids ears, does miscellaneous card tricks, etc.). But one magic trick in particular really wowed the class.

I remember JG was giddy with excitement when she came home from school that day.

"Mom! You shoula saw the magic trick Sarah's daddy did today!"

"Oh, Sarah's daddy does magic tricks?"

"Yes! Today after Spanish class, he had Sarah go up front because he could only do this trick with Sarah and not anyone else."

"What trick did he do?"

"Well, he had a long bunch of scarves all tied together...a long lot of them! Oh man! It was so funny!"

JG was beside herself and practically rolling on the ground in a fit of laughter.

"C'mon. Spit it out, already! What did he do with the scarves? Pull them out of his sleeve? Eat them?"

"No, no, no! He had Sarah go up there and he put that long lot of scarves all tied together down her shirt! And when he pulled them out...and when he pulled them out..." She could hardly spit out the words.

"Finish the story! Did he pull a rabbit out of her shirt?!"

"No! He pulled out a black bra?"

"What?! Do you mean he pulled out a black scarf?"

"No! A black bra! It was so funny!!!"

"Like Sarah's mom's black bra?"

"Yeah - it was black and it had really big boobs!"

"Really? Uh, where was your teacher when all this was going on?"

"I don't know. I think she was there."

So there you have it. A dad is pulling a big boobed black bra out of his daughter's shirt in order to entertain the kindergarten class. It's boy's-club humor in the classroom. Totally inappropriate on many levels. Or, possibly I was the only parent who thought it a tasteless magic trick to be performing for the kids. Sheesh - a person would have to swallow a few martinis first in order to really appreciate the bawdiness of that joke.

But I doubt anyone will say anything because this guy's wife is in a pretty advanced stage of MS. I think he spends all of his time caring for his wife and volunteering at the school.

God forbid I should deny him from sharing his magic tricks with the kids.

Chilly Entertainment

It is cold here. Okay, I am whining just a bit because I know it is snowing where some of you live. Yesterday, though, it didn't get above 36 degrees where I live. And that is not normal. When I went running yesterday afternoon, it was barely 33 degrees and there was that annoying misty drizzle in the air - the Oregon type of misty drizzle that I've never loved. I bundled up thinking that I would be a running popsicle - long johns, shirt made to keep one warm and yet not sweaty, special waterproof windbreaker, knit cap, Poetroad's winter gloves.

Half-way through my run, I realized a few things:

1. I was way overdressed - even for 33 degree weather. After mile two, I took off my gloves and considered taking off the windbreaker too.

2. Not only was I the only person running that day in my neighborhood, but I was the only person outside. Actually, that's not entirely true. I did cross paths with one other runner - he is a dentist (I know this because this guy is the father of oldest daughter's friend). Anyway, we all know about a dentist's affinity for discomfort (need I remind you of Ch@ndy's little visit to the Russian/mafia dentist in Pecan Creek? "Stop crying like baby!"). So it only seems natural to see a dentist running in near freezing temperatures. Everyone else driving by me, however, looked at me like I was crazy.

3. I run just as fast as my 65 year old father. Who had a hip replaced only three months ago. Pathetic. It took me 60 minutes to cover 5 miles.

Later that night, H@nnah and I went to the movies - we saw a light little musical called Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. We didn't know anything about the movie except that Mr. Depp was the main character. Honestly, that is the bloodiest movie I've ever seen - no joke. H@nnah and I spent half of the movie cowering in our seats and covering our eyes. Still, the bleak and macabre mood of this flick is oddly juxtaposed with the lightness of "musical" and nicely represents Post-Modern Deconstructionism. The movie sort of had a Moulin Rouge feel, except Sweeny Todd was a more gory representation of the theme.

Running

For once, I'm not running away from anything, ha ha. Moving two thousand miles from where I once lived is far enough, I suppose.

Anyway, I enjoy exercising, and lately I've taken to running (again). Which is funny, because I am not a particular fast runner. Currently, I run at a 9 min. mile pace. Also, I have a short and squaty build. My oldest brother inherited all of the leanness and lankiness - the quintessential "runner" look (he has always excelled in distance running too - even when he had a pack-a-day habit).

So I am training for a 5k even though I don't have any plans to race in one. However, should I get the nerve up to run a race, there are plenty to choose from around here. Needless to say, I'm starting off with with a low mile week, which translates into running 15 miles. Training programs for a 5k start a person off with 20 miles per week. Ah, well, I've got to start somewhere.

Warning:

After the frenzy of making lunches for your three school aged children in the morning, do not mistake that blob of cream on the side of your ring finger for cream cheese. It quite possibly - and most likely is - a blob of creamy vanilla scented soap - the "Bath and Stuff" moisturizing kind that sits next to the kitchen faucet. You may not have rinsed off all of the soap after washing your hands in between making those lunches and doling out breakfast this morning. So don't lick off the blob in your haste. It won't taste anything like what you expected. Unless you expected to taste soap - a very wonderful smelling but awful tasting soap.

But should you do so, be sure to have a strong cup of coffee on stand-by. It will help wash the soap down.

Tea Party

Last Saturday, my oldest planned and executed a fantastic "high tea." You know, the kind of tea party that does not require one to dress up in fancy clothes but instead includes the eating of crustless cucumber sandwiches, chocolate covered strawberries, and pound cake. The cake, again, was made from scratch. I didn't have to intervene once. The food, especially the cake, tasted delicious.

Even the dog loved the cake. We made the mistake of leaving the cake (an entire loaf sans only a few slices) on the kitchen counter Sunday evening when we went out for a bit to visit friends. When we returned, all that was left was the shell of the plastic wrap that had once covered the cake.

Naughty dog! I hope he has a belly ache today.

Write Stuff Poetry Contest Entry

And not a moment too soon! Here is my entry for the Write Stuff poetry contest...

Don't forget to vote!


"Modern Immigrant"


Early in the morning as the sun barely crests the horizon,
Weathered brown smiles work unaffected.
Hands saw, pound, lift, push, mix, pour, lay, pull, smooth.
Muscles purpose gilded cathedrals of wood stucco and stone for kings of suburbia.
At lunch, Maria's Taco Truck arrives; thick aching fingers
Gather quarters, dimes, nickels for tamales and albondigas.
When the sun begins to set, tools are gathered and cleaned.
Ten or twelve bodies pile into cabs and beds of weathered work trucks.
At the Shady Hallow Trailer park, a shared five hundred square feet
Affords a stove, a toilet, and a few cozy rooms
Lined with homemade double and triple bunks.
Before the sun rises again, fathers and sons call home, south of the border;
Money is sent to wives, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters
For warm meals, a blanket, a roof of stone or plaster to stave off the cold.
Why so hostile, America?
Why turn away those who will do what you will not do?
If they go, who will fashion your houses, tend your lawns, clean your toilets?
Whose hands will harvest your strawberries, peaches, apples?
Instead of appreciation and compassion, you offer bitter contempt
And a barricade.
Is this a new Cold War? Will we also erect a cruel and brutal wall?