The Silver (Amalgam) Lining

Six days without a post from me? Unheard of. Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't.

Let's see. Do I have an excuse? Not that I need one; we bloggers blog or we don't, as life commands.

Nobody told us when we were chewing ice cubes and jawbreakers and grinding our teeth all night that those fillings we had done at age 13 were going to fail, fail, fail.  Well, actually I remember my mom begging me not to chew ice cubes. She did it herself and suffered the consequences, sitting for hours in a chair at the Dental School in downtown Richmond, and coming back traumatized and silent. God only knows what was done to her in the 1970's; the students learned on her.  I thought that was something that only happened to old people, that would never happen to me. Now I wish so hard that I could go back and give a long hug to my 50-year-old mom, put a cool cloth on her forehead, and pull the curtains, ask her what she needs. In the solipsism of youth, I never could have grasped that my beautiful big white teeth were going to fracture, too. That, like my mother, I'd learn to drink by sucking warm water delicately over my tongue like a pigeon; that if even tepid water contacted one of those fractured molars, I'd gasp and pirouette around the kitchen with my hands over my face. That my kids would stand, stricken, watching me, but not imagining that could ever happen to them. And maybe it won't. They don't chew ice.  Jawbreakers are unknown to them, as is soda of any kind. Their perfect young teeth were sealed as soon as they came in; they've never had a cavity--never had a cavity!!

Excuse me. May I have a do-over with my teeth?And while I'm at it...

Like my kids, I never divined that  someday I'd hurt so badly and for so long (since December) that when I finally realized that those teeth were cracked all the way to the root, and they weren't going to get better, and found an endodontist who would see me in a timely fashion (all the ones in my area were either on vacation or offering appointments in May) it didn't matter that he was 2 1/2 hours away. I would look forward with joy to climbing in that chair, lying back and trying to relax.

By chance and synchronicity and pure magic I found the most awesome endodontist, and I'm convinced my little voice (and his five-star rating) helped me pick him out of the online directory. I walked into his office to see Plein Air and Audubon on the glass table. There was no television in the waiting room. And that no television was not set on Faux. There was a bird feeder outside the window--in an office park--and he had the right seed mix for downy woodpeckers, Carolina chickadees and house finches! There was a field guide on the windowsill! The music on his system was just exactly right, stuff I knew, could hum along to in a muffled, throaty, forlorn way behind my bright blue rubber dental dam.  And when I met him, he was warm and empathetic and handsome and also--get this-- a badass plein aire oil painter. He's in the office two or three days a week and painting on the other days. It's refreshing to meet someone who has figured out how to do Life. To commit to his art and his work equally. And boy does it show.

You must see his work.  Do go. But come back for the rest of the story.

Here's a teaser: 

"Grandview," a Columbus neighborhood. I'm sure the title's a bit ironic. Holy smokes, he paints. Three days a week, he paints. He paints for keeps. From jimmurrinart.com

Jim Murrin did what he could with my two cracked molars, which is to say he reamed 'em out and filled 'em and now I'm waiting to get them crowned, and I can eat again, and drink cold--Cold!!-- water without shrieking. Grateful doesn't begin to describe how I feel about that. 

The  Little Voice was speaking loudly when, in Whipple on the morning of my first appointment, knowing absolutely nothing about him other than that he was a good endodontist, I packed a copy of Baby Birds in my bag to give to him. I had a feeling he'd appreciate it. I had no idea then how much he'd like it. 

Look at the sky in "Point Cabrillo Light." Look at the light.

Long story short, I feel I've made a friend. And it's odd--I feel I have known him all my life. This is when the past-life stuff kicks in, at least for me. Maybe I've known him all my life, in some other life. There will be times when you feel that you've been guided by instinct to someone's door. But maybe something larger is guiding you. Some higher power is directing your attention in all the right directions. Getting older can suck, for sure. Cracked teeth and crap like that. But finally being inwardly quiet enough that you're able to hear and heed the Little Voice is a beautiful thing. And knowing when to be grateful (always) is everything.

All the while, both pre-and-post root canals, I have been filling orders for Baby Birds, because it is the kind of work one can do while in pain. Writing blogposts, running, taking joy-filled photos,  waxing poetic...not so much. But thanks to Jim I'm pain-free, and coming back.

I am heartened and delighted by your response to the new book. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Lord knows you could get it cheaper elsewhere, but you can't get it signed or Chetpawprinted elsewhere, and you get that; you make the choice to buy your book from me (see right sidebar for order button) and I'm forever in your debt. The orders keep coming in and I am working hard to scratch up the money to buy more books. Thank you! I had thought I would turn around and put the money you're sending me into buying more books, but my old molars had other plans.

I'm determined to make it work. 

I think it was John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." 

"Message from Home" by Jim Murrin jimmurrinart.com

Go see Jim's art. He's got some new stuff coming from a trip to Cuba!!