I took this picture as a way of exploring contrast. There’s the sun rising over Wappoo Creek not far from where Eliza Lucas Pinckney lived from the time she was 15 until she got married at 22. A southern marsh. Warm light. And then there’s a pair of loppers. Pulled out of the garage so that I could take a couple of branches off a big yew out back and have a place to stand that is semi-protected while out with the dog in the backyard. If it’s snowing hard. Or raining.
But now that I have a dentist appt. this afternoon, the loppers have taken on a ghoulish aspect and remind me of my father.
How? you wonder.
My father was a pretty funny guy. Whatever else he was he was still that — funny. A mad punster, quick-witted, he made inventive visual jokes as well. When I was about eight, I had a very loose tooth which we agreed needed to be pulled. He made a series of trips to the garage while I waited nervously in the kitchen. The first time he returned with a huge garden tool — perhaps a pair of loppers like the ones above. With some uttered apology, very serious sounding, he went back out to the garage, returning with a smaller but still horrifying tool — perhaps hand-held hedge trimmers? By then I was on to him, but nevertheless, when he approached my mouth a few return trips later with a small pair of pliers, while still terrified, I was flooded with the idea that the procedure definitely could be worse.
I have to go in to the periodontist shortly and have an implant removed. It failed twice. We are talking about probably a dozen appointments over a period of two and half years and thousands of dollars (even with dental insurance). That’s bad enough, but for each visit, I have had to manage my terror. Some things just don’t get better with time.
On top of that, at the very outset I wanted them to just pull the rotten tooth out and leave it be, but apparently that wasn’t a good idea then but is a perfectly acceptable idea now. I don’t blame anybody, but I sure wish I hadn’t gone through this.
The good news? It was scheduled about an hour ago, so I’ll only have the afternoon to fill with dread. The bad news? I’m out of anxiety meds.
But just think! By the time the dinner dishes are loaded into the dishwasher, this nasty business will be over.
I am wondering if my second Saturn return is starting to show itself.