And So It Goes...

Can't theeme to keep my thungue in my mouff anymore

The Critter and I have just arrived home, and he cried the entire way, with heartbreaking whimpers of pain and confusion.   Despite the fact that my temporary crown popped off during lunch today and had to be hurriedly re-cemented, I still think this forlorn little dude wins the Who Suffered The Most This Week trophy.  Count 'em:  Eight extractions, almost 2 hours of general anesthesia, dental prophy and cleaning, antibiotics, IV lines and mouth nerve blocks.  The only people smiling today are the ones working at Mastercard, but I think we may have just garnered enough Air Miles for a Greek Island Cruise. 

A Toothsome Week

  People!  This is what happens when I get left alone in a dental chair with my IPhone.   There was nothing else to do while I waited for my cement to cure, or for the wheelbarrow load of hot, dripping plasticine to form a mold around the stubs of my now mown-down teeth.  Thanks to the wonder of technology, my nearest and dearest were treated to a real-time slideshow of my minute by minute adventures.  Besides, the pressure was on - I had to trump my sister's cell phone picture of her hair all sticking up in foils at the hair salon that she sent me last month.  I'm pretty sure this does it, and if she even thinks she can get me back, I hasten to add that I have a date with the colonoscopy wizard in just a few short months.  Ha!

Laughing gas was not offered, nor needed.   I did, however need to visit the loo three times during the 4 hour procedure, and every time I looked in the mirror and saw the wild-eyed woman with electric hair complete with blue rubber dam and snaggle teeth prominently displayed, I felt like a bonefide member of the Sesame Street cast.  The nitrous would have been a complete waste, given I was already having such a hilarious time enjoying the character in the mirror and firing off texts, emails and pictures.  Honestly?  Best time I've had in a month.

It's Chance's turn tomorrow, 8 a.m.   I'm betting he'll insist on the nitrous, the little wimp.



Summer Arrives!

Ah, summer.  When it finally arrives in the Comox Valley, it is simply intoxicating.  Last weekend, Bee and I took the little dogs up to Mt. Washington to parade along the boardwalk, and we were surprised to see banks of snow abutting the pathway, despite the 18C July heat.   Piper Mahalo Hewlett is a born bon vivant.  With his bright button eyes, laughing face and wagging tail,  this dog could be a poster child for planentary goodwill.

In grim contrast we have my Chance, who, despite his myopic vision, can sense a fellow canine within one thousand kilometers.   Whereupon he reacts with derisive snorts, bullish raking of the turf, and sometimes, out and out apoplectic seizures.  All six pounds of him.   The profanity that comes out of that dog's mouth is legendary, and his rage is so consuming that a whole new litany of sound effects emerges, some of which sound like the end stages of respiratory arrest.  It was all I could do to maintain my own dignity as I hauled this livid creature past a benevolent golden retriever and then a bemused beagle.  "I am NOT a small dog person!", I wanted to scream as I dragged the hydrophobic hound behind me, his nails locked and skittering while foam dripped from his miniscule muzzle.  And while I hurriedly rushed down the trail, cheeks blazing, Piper stopped to sign a few autographs and reward his adoring fan club with a free belly rub. 

It was off to the vet's for the annual check up this week.  Chance, who has never, ever forgotten the medieval torture he endured in that building, shuffled into the clinic with the air of an inmate on death row, complete with profuse shaking, heavy panting, and dripping angst.    In the waiting room there was an elderly German Shepherd, a massive Great Dane, and, surprisingly, a fellow Papillon.   And  what did Chance do?  With his tail dragging and his ears lowered to his ankles, he skulked around on his belly, slitty-eyed and sucking up to every dog there.  I'm pretty sure he was trying to convince them to take his turn, or maybe hitch a ride on the back of the Dane on a jailbreak to freedom.

Instead, he flunked his dental exam and is now signed up for a general anesthetic, cleaning and extractions next Friday.  Don't feel sorry for the little freak.  Because I, Mother of the little Freak, get to undergo a four hour double crown procedure on Tuesday morning, and that totally trumps him.

Outpourings of sympathy will be gratefully received.  Kindly don't hold back, Internet.

Snazzy Mazzy and the Blond Nazi

Sorry for the delay in posting, everyone.  The past three weeks have been a whirlwind of activity, projects and events.  One of which was wrapped up today with a quick trip to Nanaimo to pick up this cool little car.  As I am downsizing, Bee is upsizing, and tomorrow she will take possession of my faithful Honda, Coco.   I'll sport around town looking like a lascivious, sweaty cougar and she will take on the comfortable, utilitarian lifestyle of the CRV.

The dealings leading up to the Mazda purchase were interesting and involved meeting with a bank officer to arrange a small loan.  It began when I swaggered in and confidently requested a minor extension on my line of credit on a temporary basis.  It ended when I pulled out my derringer and shot the skinny bitch - oh! excuse me! - it ended after I had disclosed my income, investments, marital status, frequency of dental appointments, and favorite color of nail polish, then finally handed over most of my dignity in a bucket that I had previously hurled in.  When did the world become so suspicious?  Her demands became so exacting and (I thought), outrageous, and the more she wanted, the angrier I got.  It went right down to the wire on Friday the 13th, when I at last managed to satisfy her demands.  I even had my poor sweetheart rooting through the landmine of my personal files at home, looking for an invisible piece of paper that never existed (sorry, honey), sweating profusely in 30 degree Celsius heat, while I remained chained to my desk running a double clinic (cue the violins).  I fired several caustic,  profusely profane texts his way - not directed at him, of course, but about the bank officer, explaining in no small detail how I would bribe karma to roll back over her and leave tire tracks all over her delicate, furrowed brow.   I pretty much worked myself into a lethal fury, earning frightened respect and wide-eyed tip-toeing from all those who stepped near the firing range.  And then.... just when I was about to boil over like molten lava - a tentative, hopeful text arrived from my hubby.   "So!  Angry sex tonight?".  He managed to hit exactly the right tone at exactly the right time and, just like on those episodes of Mission Impossible, the bomb was diffused with less than one second to spare.  And nevermind, all you inquiring minds out there - my responding text remains classified.

Last weekend was spent in Calgary, for the hugely-anticipated launch of The Origin, the family history book that sister Jan and I co-authored.  We celebrated with very special champagne and the intoxicating joy of having almost our entire family together, on a beautiful summer's day, at Jan and Frank's welcoming home.  Babies!  We had babies!  I cannot resist sharing them with you now.   Everybody?  Meet the kids:

And may I say, it was certainly a pleasure to spend time photographing these beautiful children without being arrested for pedophilia?

On a more serious note, that effing fickle finger of fate has recently pointed in this direction, with one of my most cherished friends being recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  She walks the same path I took just a few short months ago, and is facing her challenges with graceful courage and patience.  This damned disease is so indiscriminate and unpredictable.  Hey, all you ladies out there over 40!  Have you had your mammogram lately?