Observational Twitter 19

Famous Quote:

"To be proud of virtue, is to poison yourself with the Antidote." ~ Benjamin Franklin

Obscure Quote:

"To be proud of virtue is the pseudo-saintliest and most widely self-accepted form of sin. And the infected rarely know they have the disease. I've only known two truly humble people in my life and the other one would rather I didn't mention his name." ~Robynn


Copyright 2009

Tooth Update and a Plea……

After heading south with this infection yesterday and getting really sick, I had a Waterloo moment with my tooth and served it eviction papers. I’m done pledging my troth to one so unfaithful.

I did some research on troublesome root canals and they can continue to infect your body through tiny things called tubules even after retreatment. This is what you come to me for: cutting edge dental lingo. These tubules can allow infection to do what my infection has done – travel around your body, especially nearby structures, and they can be hard to get rid of. I’m on my second round of antibiotics and you know me and medicine. We’re like….

THAT

We stay away from each other if we can. We fight. It tends to win.

So, rather than plunk down hundreds this morning for a mere chance at success, I said good-bye to the first of my errant teeth for a $50 co-pay. With any luck, it’ll be the last. I believe you should hang on to friends and teeth until they absolutely prove rotten. But when you finally accept reality and let go, it’s a relief.

Bo drove me – it’s so nice to let yourself be pampered a little and not have to show up and drive yourself to everything, like heart surgery. Well, okay. It wasn’t heart surgery but I did drive myself home from major breast surgery. I had a duct removed (all men turn away here and throw up……). I was bleeding from a nipple and they had to lay me open, remove the duct, and stitch me up. They said it was a precancerous condition and couldn’t be ignored. Now, if you can imagine this, they shot me up with Versed which is supposed to knock you out and make you remember nothing. It does NOT have that affect on me. I talked like a magpie through the whole surgery. The last thing I remember was the surgeon telling the anesthesiologist, “For the love of all that’s decent! Shut that woman up and give her more!” Some people just CAN’T appreciate a good conversation.

Then they woke me up and made me prove I had a ride home. They made me give them a visual. They told me not to drive for a few weeks (breast movement and all that.) However, I had driven myself there and now there would be a car left and that seemed to be a problem so, I did what we women do. I got in the car and drove home.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, milking my tooth removal (all references to milking and breasts is purely coincidental – no animals were harmed in the making of this sentence.) I told Bo the oral surgeon said I require six weeks of bed rest, excessive milk shakes, and no lifting for at least a year. Bo added that she felt I should even demand complete control over the remote. It brought a tear to my eye. I raised her right…….(sniff……).

So, here’s where you come in. My little follower button? The one over there? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->? It has been stuck. Am I boring? (Don’t answer that.) Does no one new come here? I see names I don’t recognize in my comments so I’m thinkin’ maybe you just haven’t thought about signing up. Now that I’m desperately injured and laid-up, it would bring me great cheer if you would de-lurk, as it were, and sign up to follow. It's inCREDibly easy if you already follow other blogs or have a Google account. If not, you have to sign up for one and create a password. I guess that can be a pain in the posterior but consider me and my pathetic plight. Go ahead, make my day. Or my dinner. Or my massage appointment.

P.S. Sheryl asks: "Was it a front tooth?" That picture would kinda make you think so, huh? No, it was the last one in the back, on the bottom. I'm sure no one will notice but me. This picture is false advertising. I'm bling-less!

Copyright 2009

Paddling Down the Old Root Canal

Today I will lay in a dentist chair and envision the canals of Venice. It’ll take plenty of imagination. Maybe I’ll pretend I’m on a cruise and fording the Panama Canal level-by-level. That would definitely be cheaper than the canal I’ll be exploring.

The ear ache, jaw ache, and infection have all added up to this vacation buster. They THINK (operative word here) that I may have an infection under an old root canal due to a crack in a root. This is when you curse your British roots – literally. We just don’t have the best teeth. Every time the family is watching a program and someone appears with crooked, widely spaced, or browning teeth, Grizzly looks at me, laughs, and says, “Must be British!” Mind you, he isn’t exactly a perfect-toothed Osmond brother himself. I could throw a rock at Ireland from my British shore and hit him squarely between the eyes. I’m quite sure the DNA tests would show that we’re actually related. Too many similarities.

By God’s good grace our children will not have to bear the brunt of our inbreeding. Thousands of dollars and a miracle working orthodontist have spared Bo from bearing the family crest. The Wild Man is fast on her heels. Fortunately, his adult teeth were on a world tour and have shown up VERY late to the party. This has allowed us a small respite between orthodontia mortgages.

But Grizzly and I were born in the era of braces being only for the rich and privileged. In fact, only a few of my friends sport those expensive pearly whites that are as straight and even as piano keys. It just wasn’t done. Unless you could look down your nose and see your two front teeth sticking straight out, you were required to get over yourself and move on. I never went to the dentist until I was 13 and my mother got dental insurance through her job. By then I had eight cavities, not counting the vast one between my ears. I took the bus downtown to the dentist by myself. My mother was working. Eight shots and eight fillings later, I rode the bus home and decided this was one luxury I wanted to live without. Had I known to brush my teeth more than once a week I might have avoided the whole affair. Nutrition could have helped, too, but nutrition was expensive and would have required food knowledge. We lived on canned vegetables, Green Goddess and Thousand Island dressing, iceberg lettuce, Wonder Bread, and Velveeta. Honest-to-goodness I never knew there was any other kind of veggies or cheese until I left home.

I decided to do things differently with my kids. Don’t most new mothers? I nursed them endlessly and started brushing their teeth before they HAD teeth. I was determined to overcome nature with nurture. It has been largely effective as they’ve only had one tiny cavity between them in 18 years. But I was unable to influence tooth placement and jaw structure. Fortunately, our orthodontist is not so constrained. Unfortunately, our budget is horribly constrained. Parents get in line behind children and a root canal for the mother does not factor in. My endodontist says if the root is too badly cracked he will not redo it but will pull it instead at a greatly reduced cost.

Come on British roots, don’t fail me now. Crack wide open and make your cheap escape!

Copyright 2009

Hail, Caesar! Stop The Chariot!

Saw this and had to share. It's from Arthur Black's "Weird Homes" and it's located in Toronto. I've been there but I didn't see this. What style is it exactly? Roman/Greco/Colonial/Patriotic/Americana? In Canada?

I want to meet the people who put it together. Don't you think they might be interesting? Am I the only one or is anyone else seized by the desire to stop and knock on doors of interesting, or beautiful, or cozy houses and just randomly meet the people who live there? Get to know all about them. Stay for the weekend. I'd like to do that with my blogging friends. You've been warned. Lock the door and act like you're not home.

I want to know about the conversation that took place to bring this to life. Did she roll over and look at her husband's balding pate and decide it would look great if he sported a garland and wore a toga? And if so, shouldn't they be surrounded by a setting perfect for him? And was she looking to feature her great arms, set off by a sheet gathered at the shoulder? Do they parade up and down the balcony and hold open-air philosophical discussions with the neighbors? I'm thinking the neighbor on the left doesn't appear all that philosophical, if I may be so bold as to judge a book by it's cover. He probably just cranks up the tv and prays the Empire will be overthrown.

Whatever their story, they've got guts. I like people with guts. Now, I KNOW I don't want to live next door to someone who decides to paint their house chartreuse green with purple trim. But these people? I like 'em. And I wish I knew their story. And I'd love to listen to them. But I'm not wearing the toga. I don't have this lady's arms. Speaking of arms, that would be a great name for this place: "The Venus De Milo Arms."

Copyright 2009

Humane Award For You, For Me

“The Humane Award is to honor certain bloggers who are kindhearted individuals. They regularly take part in my blog and always leave the sweetest comments. If it wasn’t for them, my site would just be an ordinary blog. Their blogs are also amazing and are tastefully done on a daily basis. I thank them and look forward to our growing friendships through the blog world. Recipients of this award should write a post about it, linking to the person gifting the award, along with ten of their own nominees.”

This came in from Jientje, my friend at Heaven Is In Belgium. I thank you most kindly for thinking of me, Jientje. You should check this woman out. I use no hyperbole when I tell you she shoots amazing photos and makes you long to visit that gorgeous country of hers. She speaks English and apologizes for any mistakes to which I say, "Please. I'm lucky to say your NAME in another language." Thanks for all the beauty, Jientje!

Now, you know I can't pick ten of you. I just can't. All you commenters keep me doing this. I'm not nearly as wonderful as you make me sound but I thank you for caring enough to say it anyway. I've been a little absent for various reasons and I'll be absent a little more while I work on a project but I know how you are. You'll forgive me and accept me. So, this is for you. Please pick it up and post it and know I mean it when I say you deserve it.

With Love,

Robynn

I’ve Been Fired (and other news)….

Well first up, I'm still fighting the ear thing. Thought it was a LOT better and then yesterday it flared up again. I think I have a tooth involved and that's where the problem is coming from. Everything that can be done has been done over the years for the tooth and there are no more root canal possibilities. Now they want to do an implant. Have you looked into implants? And I'm not talking the "uplifting" kind. They are about $2500 where I come from and insurance does not typically cover them. So, I'm pretty sure I won't be getting implants - of any kind. As the body falls apart I will just have to be content with tenants moving out or down to lower levels. And that's probably just as well cause the whole place is comin' down eventually anyway. If I can just keep 'em from posting a "Condemned" sign on me I'll be pretty happy.

I do thank you for all your amazing suggestions for the ear. Apparently the problem isn't my outer ear causing problems from the outside in, because it would seem that's now clear as a bell. (Speaking of which.....I wish someone would answer the ringing phone in there.) It's fluid behind my eardrum and frankly, I think my ear and tooth are in collusion against me. My fat stomach may have started the revolt by being revolting. And you know how bad attitudes spread and then soon everyone's on the band wagon. My body's ganging up against me.

Which would definitely go along with the family lately.

They have also decided to revolt and have fired me as the official Blockbuster Online movie selector. You see, here's the deal. I happen to love documentaries for a variety of reasons.

A. I like to learn and expand my base of knowledge.

2. I'm a history buff.

D. I find true stories fascinating.

9. I'm a homeschooling mom - I try to squeeze in education without anyone realizing.

I may have gone overboard. Through Blockbuster we can get three movies at a time. And I guess three documentaries arriving all at once is overkill. Who knew? I was thrilled. But, apparently, the potential for the "Entertainment Factor" is critically low in certain opinions. I insisted they were wrong. I lost and here's why: they were right.

Okay, in my own defense I honestly thought a movie about an avant-garde surfing family from the 60's-70's who homeschooled their nine children, the history of the Celts, and the self-filmed story of the guy who lived with the grizzly bears, would add to our knowledge of the world and enhance the richness thereof. And I like to use phrases like "enhance the richness thereof" because it sounds like I was born under the astrological sign of "Intelligent and Righteous," with "Lawyer" rising. But only to those who don't know me. The three mere mortals I live with are unimpressed. They know this phrase equals Run.For.Your.Life.She's.A.Nutcase.

We opened our viewing afternoon with the surfing family. I never checked the rating. It was a HOMEschool family. Naturally, I was surprised when I saw it was "R." I figured people they encountered may have used some harsh language, etc. We saw approximately twenty minutes of the whole movie and every time we stopped it was a mistake. The father was completely depraved and perverted in his social and family outlook and conversations, and the mother was his identical twin. The now-grown children were all permanently scarred. Only one of them seemed to look back fondly on their Stanford doctor/father abdicating his profession and hauling a family of eleven around the country in a camper on a truck. We tried to listen to what the grown children had to say about the good times they had surfing and competing, or how they survived, but the demented father or mother's face/voice would pop in and we would fast forward while simultaneously retching. Okay. Uh, I can offer no argument against THAT movie call, only prayers for the survivors, including us.

Next came "The History of the Celts” or something like that. Now, I slept through part of this so I found that to be a plus. The re-enactment was less than believable and the costuming was weak but, compared to the story line, those details were worthy of Academy Award nominations. Very disheartening as our homelands were represented and deserved so much more. It seemed excessively short to me since I only saw the fifteen minutes at the beginning and end but, strike two.

Finally, we fast-forwarded our way through "The Grizzly Man - The Historical Documentary of Timothy Treadwell - The Man Eaten By Grizzly Bears." I'm not sure that's the actual title but the man was so insufferably egotistical, narcissistic, and irritating you actually understand the bears' actions at the end of the movie. I felt desperately sorry for his girlfriend who he literally led right into the jaws of death, but we only got to see her once, briefly, in all the years he filmed, because it was his own face and words he prized so highly. He was completely imbecilic around the grizzlies and did far more harm than good for the protection of the species. I do not think the bears were hungry when they attacked him. I think they just couldn't listen to him one more second. I don't think he deserved to die for his foolishness but obviously, the bears disagreed with me.

And that's how I lost my job as the "Creator of the Queue." I don't get to line movies up anymore. Now people are looking over my shoulder and questioning me. I have no credibility. I can't even order any "American Experience" DVD's. And those are GREAT. No, really. Trust me!

© Copyright 2009

Now Ear This!

I know I have given you very little this week. And I want to. I really do. But here's the thing: I have an ear infection that just WON'T clear up. I've been fighting the wretched thing for a week-and-a-half. And it's affecting my ability to do the thinking necessary for writing anything anyone would care to read.

I went back to the doctor yesterday, and after more than a week she said the meds aren't working so changed them all. Add insurance headaches, etc. and well, what a pain in the ear.

I don't do what I'm not supposed to with my ears (no Q-tips, no ear buds, etc.) and I do what I AM supposed to do. So, what gives? I am open to any and all homeopathic, alternative, way-out, only-your-great-Aunt-Matilda-ever-lived-through-this-idea type suggestions as an augmentation to the rot that isn't working. Hit me. Just not in the ear.