Author Archives: Diana

Need Some Fairy Dust Here

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Lost an old friend today. Too soon. I knew it would happen this week, but still you are never prepared. We’ve been together for 57 years – ever since I was 12. It happened quickly, but the aftermath is painful. That empty space left behind is hard to see, but easy to feel. Our relationship erupted just as I was perched between childhood and adolescence. Yes, number 18 molar is gone.

The new dentist in town, who is a gem, said that due to significant bone loss, it had to go. Apparently it was upsetting the rest of my lower left row of teeth and had been a problem for a long time. Other than those long ago baby teeth that we pull out with the help of strings and constant wiggling, the only other time I experienced an “extraction” was when my four wisdom teeth were wrestled free from the corners of my jaw. That, too, was a long time ago, but unlike today’s pull, that experience was expected and part of young adulthood.

Today, however, the words “bone loss” was another reminder that young adulthood is long past. Baby teeth are barely a glimmer. I’ve already lost my brown hair pigment, one hip, part of my colon and my ability to recall where I put my car keys. I’m also short on patience, interest in doing housework and the desire for exercise. What’s next?

Growing up, our tooth fairy was likely part of the second string team in tooth fairy land. Unable to coordinate reaching under our pillows to replace the small bit of enameled bone, she (or he)had a diferent system. This required that we deposit our tooth in a glass of water in the bathroom, whereupon she (or he) would zap it with the magic tooth wand and change it into a dime. And back in the 1950s, a dime was big money. That routine worked very well until one night when older sister Laura left her tooth for its transformation and went off to bed, dreaming of her soon to be financial windfall. Unfortunately, other older sister Judy got up in the night to get a drink of water. You guessed it.

I’m not certain what a 57 year old tooth would bring in today’s market. It’s had its share of fillings and was sporting a relatively redone crown of porcelain when it was plucked from its socket. The good dentist and I discussed the financial worth of such teeth and he had no answer. Apparently this was not part of his training. Instead, I paid him.

I now have a vigorous dental hygiene routine that will take me but an hour and a half, twice a day. It’s complete with some mouth wash that could probably do double duty as a floor cleaner along with various brushes and pastes. This was arranged by the cheery, but serious hygenist who “deep cleaned” my gums with a set of tools similar to the ones used in the Showtime series “Dexter.” I don’t think she believes in the tooth fairy.

In any event, I still plan to set out a glass of water when I go to bed tonight. You never know.

It’s Raining Ice

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A good friend of mine recently moved to the Atlanta area and is experiencing a rare ice storm. She tells me that it’s raining ice and she’s amazed. She’s also trying to move her family to a new house. Something tells me she’s not happy.  The South has been hit with some really terrible weather – something we hardy Northerners endure and discuss over coffee year after year. I haven’t worn regular shoes for nearly three months now and suspect they are gathering cobwebs under my bed. Instead, I don my huge heavy boots every day and have given up any hopes of being fashionable – not that I ever have been.

As a kid, weather like we’ve had lately seemed to be a common occurrence.  Gathering snow drifts gave us all hope that school would be closed. We eagerly listened to the local radio station for such good news – and once we knew we were free for the day, our plans were set. It was a time without video games, computers and reality TV. Rather, it was a world full of the great outdoors. Snow castles, snow men, snow tunnels and glorious sledding!  Some of us had mothers who didn’t work outside the house, but for those that did, there were grandmothers, aunts and willing neighbors to keep kids in line when Mother Nature set us free.  Bundled up, often in our older siblings hand me downs, we’d set out for our winter adventures with the zeal and expectations of the hardiest polar explorer.  It was if some great force knew we needed a break, and we embraced it with abandon.  It was an unexpected holiday – designed just for children.

I still watch for school closings, and carefully watch the names that crawl across the bottom of the TV screen.  Seeing my town on the list still gives me a lift – and gives me a reason to linger a little longer over the newspaper.  A little bit of holiday perhaps?

Retired, I don’t have to brave the effects of what’s been called the Polar Vortex.  My hat and gloves off to the postal service, police department, city, county and state workers and our brave and hardy business owners. But special thanks to the bus drivers, teachers and school personnel who keep our schools open.  A snow day is tough for many families. The list of available grandparents, aunts and neighbors is small these days. Kids can’t stay home alone any longer. Many don’t have warm coats and boots, or a parent to take them sledding.  It’s a new world.  I fear that winter is no longer designed for children.

Attached is another of my gesso, messo canvas creations. I call it “Celebrate You”  Celebrate You

Valentine duo

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20140129_211446I wanted some kind of Valentine decoration to replace my worn out Christmas wreath. I found the wreath and flowers at Michaels’s and with a little luck and some fishing line, I had some fun. Hope it stays together. The card is one I made the othe day. I love the craft cardstock.

Moses, I can explain…

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Today I broke number ten of the BIG ten –  Ten Commandments, that is.  The one that says “Do Not Covet.”  With any luck, I can use the excuse that the original intent would make such behavior specific to my neighbor’s house, his wife, his servants, his ox or his donkey.  Now anyone who knows me will agree that I really like my neighbors, but not to the point of wanting to kidnap them, and have yet to worry about their livestock, which consists mostly of dogs and a few squirrels.  But I did covet today.

I was watching one of those inane afternoon talk shows where everyone is so darn cute and happy.  You know what I’m talking about – where the audience is full of nicely dressed women with shoulder length hair, who, at regular intervals, applaud madly, hoping that they will each go home with a car, a Kelly Clarkson CD or a freezer full of gluten free squid.  I was cycling away at one of my infrequent attempts at healthier living, just beginning to feel a tinge of cute and happy and there they were.  Martha Stewart’s legs.  I hardly noticed her hair, which has improved some since her bangs have moved to the right of her forehead or the lovely silken tunic with the soft neckline pleats (well, maybe a bit more than hardly) that graced her thinner looking frame.  But her legs!  I would kill for those legs (and there goes another commandment).  Long and lovely, ending in a pair of those fifty-five inch heels, they carried her so gracefully across the stage.

Martha’s okay.  Well, probably more than okay.  I suppose a net worth of $638 million puts you right up there in the big piggy bank league.  But she’s earned it and proved she can make a comeback.  I like a lot of her stuff and used to follow her television shows and read her magazines faithfully.  However, she lost a lot of appeal for me when she spent one entire TV segment demonstrating how to make chocolate cabbage leaves – using real cabbage and a giant vat of melted chocolate.  I simply could not get my head wrapped around that.  It was frightening.  Her jail term didn’t bother me (I think she got crosswise with the false witnessing thing back then), but I can’t look at a head of cabbage anymore without feeling some sort of perverted shiver down my spine.

And I can explain about the-covet-the-legs-thing.  I’m what you’d call “good peasant stock” – not really short, but not tall.  Wide based and sturdy, I’m more like a small Ford, or an older model Samsonite carry on.  My mother and sisters, all tall, sinewy creatures resembled those wafer thin drawings you see on dress patterns.  They could wear belts, shirtwaist dresses and anything pleated or shirred (I, on the other hand, was relegated to dark Bermudas and vertical stripes only).  And they had legs.  Real legs.  The kind that inspired Capri pants and lace up sandals.  The kind Martha has.   And today I wanted them.  Badly.  Moses would not be happy.

For the time being, I’ll have to deal with my coveting.  If I promise not to taunt anything lacking a four chambered stomach in the neighbor’s yard or torment their cleaning lady I hope the big guy/girl upstairs will let me off the hook.  Or at least give Martha some bunions…