A Dopey Day at the Dentist (29)

July 13th
Dopey, dopey day. Is it because it is a Friday the 13th? Baboo, who was a pretty superstitious Grandmother, always said 13 was a lucky number, not a cursed one. Meanwhile, she was buried on the 13th of a winter month. I can’t remember the month, but I do remember the day very clearly. We drove through an awful blizzard to get to Beth Israel Cemetery in Woodbridge. Baboo riding in her hearse, leading us and Uncle Arnold next to another hearse with their family were the only cars on the New Jersey Turnpike. It made us laugh when the two hearses were playfully weaving on the snowy road. Only Baboo would take us on a hearse race! I just hope it was the right hearse we followed to the cemetery and it is in fact Baboo resting peacefully in the grave we go to visit.

So today is the 13th and Norman was due for surgery to have dental implants. We are now sitting on the deck after a bungled surgery. He is fine but will be angry with himself later on. He does not do well with anesthesia. The tooth was extracted and surgery had to stop because he became “unruly” whatever that means. Now he will have even fewer teeth in his mouth than before and no implant in place to add more teeth. Not a lucky day, Baboo.

I truly do not know what to write about today. We woke early to get to our surgery appointment and I had to skip my morning ritual. I love starting my day with a meaningless ramble on a new page of Penzu, the therapeutic words always leading to a great analysis of retired life. Now it is too late to call on the early writing Gods. I not only feel very uninspired about this day, but yesterday was a lazy day of going to the beach with nothing dramatic to remember and record. I sit next to Norman while he sleeps off the anesthesia and I stare blindly at my small iPad screen. This week was an accomplished week. A painting was finished, signed and delivered. Two of my Penzu essays were turned into blog posts I am proud of and was happy to share with people. I even went to a few art shows for inspiration. All is good with my kids, and until yesterday, with my husband. I guess a full and vibrant week means I get to enjoy a down day with no thoughts. That is a good thing since my mind is as numb as the man next to me who was drugged up for no reason. I’ll just sit here on the deck and keep Norman company. How do you get a sleeping man to bite down on his bloody wad of gauze?