Disposition

I'm laying in the dentist's chair, my mouth wide open. The hygienist is cleaning my teeth. "My daughter is 39, she had in vitro and is expecting but the baby is coming early and so I need to get down there and be with her. My other daughter is also trying to get pregnant, she may have multiples and she will go crazy, she's difficult anyway, more than one will drive her over the wall. She's a depressive. Lots of problems. I'd like to live closer to them, I want to spend time with my grandchildren before they get too old, I tell my husband they won't want to have anything to do with us in a few years. Lots of people who come in here only see their kids once or twice a year. I don't understand that, I love being with family. I miss them," and on she went scraping and cleaning while I uhhuhed and nodded slightly at what seemed the appropriate times. "My husband loves it here, he doesn't want to leave, I want to go to Cincinnati where my daughter is, she's a little crazy, I think she could use our support but I don't like the cold. Maybe just in the summer. I hope my daughter in Charlotte doesn't deliver too early, the baby is only 33 weeks, she needs to be at least 37. It's not going to be a good Christmas if that baby shows up early. I hate Christmas shopping, we just send money, I only buy for the little ones. Well I buy for my dentist too because I've been with him forever and he cleans my teeth for free." The gritty toothpaste had come out and she was polishing each tooth with fervor. I continued to uhhuh and nod. When she finished she stood looking out the door of the room, "I don't know where he went he saw me standing here," she sighed and left the room.

The dentist entered, said hello, looked at my teeth, said looks good and walked out. "Do you want a toothbrush and toothpaste?" she asked. Pulling a bag from the drawer she handed it to me, made my next appointment and walked me to the desk.

I got into my car thinking about the 20 minute synopsis of her life I had just listened to. What an enviable thing to have someone's presence but inability to talk, respond, or divert you from your stream of consciousness. I wondered if she did this with every patient, at 20 minutes per patient she had 20 patients per day to express herself to, a totally captive 20 people at most probably. Wow, I might get a job as a dental hygienist. Was I too judgmental? Did I express empathy and compassion nonverbally or did she sense my indifference? In a court of law would I be found innocent or guilty of the crime of just not giving a shit? Or was my higher self in control, eliciting more information through the tonal quality of my uhhuhs? Did she do this to all her patients or only the ones who she sensed cared? Or did she sense I didn't care and decided to dump it on me as a punishment because she could?

Was I making too much of this brief encounter? Perhaps the chatter eased her stress at looking in mouths all day, who knew. I thought about what it must be like to have someone laying in front of you with their mouth wide open and to not have any idea what might be in that mouth. Pearly whites in a perfect row; jagged, crooked teeth with stains; malodorous breath that could knock one over; or teeth not cleaned daily. Gross! So who am I to judge the commentary of this employee. She can talk all day about her woes and deserves to since she has to look in those mouths, right?

What would I do in her position? Sitting in front of someone whose mouth is awful and filled with blood from my work would I sing, would I chat, would I groan? Perhaps I would fill the minutes with chatter about my life, my kids, my husband. Perhaps I would hum and grimace. I never wanted to be a dental hygienist but my mother was one. I wish now that I could ask her what that was like. I'd be interested in hearing what she thought about each day as she encountered patients. I cannot imagine her chattering idly as she worked but maybe. Too bad I'll never get the chance to ask. I'm starting the car and thinking I need to be sure to floss and brush every day twice so that I never give a hygienist a scare when I open my mouth. It seems another compelling reason to take care of my mouth if my own hygiene isn't enough. I'm laughing as I go down the road, laughing at the sheer ludicrousness of life, of dental hygiene, of these random thoughts floating in my head. Perhaps I'll write them down so someone can read them and think, "why does she think I give a shit?"

Huck Finn

 From the time she could walk her grandfather took her on his fishing trips. At three she could hold her own pole, jumping up and down when a fish would strike. She stood on the banks of many rivers with her grandfather, watching him cast his line over and over again into the water. Watching the wriggling fish as he took them off the hook and put them in his creel. He opened the basket and dropped them in and she remembered how slimy they felt and how beautiful the rainbow colors were on their skin. They fished the Arkansas, the Frying Pan, the South Fork, the Colorado rivers. She stood patiently until her legs tired and then sat patiently until her grandfather signaled time to go. They took the fish home to her grandmother who dredged them in cornmeal and flour and dropped them into hot oil. Grandmother made white, fluffy biscuits hot from the oven to eat with the fish. The girl drenched the biscuits in honey and the sweet biscuity crunch mixed with the salty, lemony fish in a jarring collision on her tongue. She never felt sorry for the fish or repulsed at the idea of eating them; considered her patient waiting on the banks of the river as sufficient penance for killing them. It seemed a fair exchange to her.

Each year at the end of the summer her grandparents took them to the Huck Finn day picnic. Her grandmother dressed her in a Becky Thatcher style with a long, cotton dress yellow with white flowers, and yellow crepe paper braids over her own brown ones. A bonnet of matching material would be the crowning touch. Her brother looked bedraggled and dirty in his Tom Sawyer costume no more so than usual in her opinion. He resisted the encouragement of her grandmother to hold still while adding touches of realism to his costume, a dirty bandage on his toe, a straw hat, a cane pole to carry over his shoulder. They stood with the other children for the judges, each child skittery and nervous, uneasy under the gaze of the adults. Finally, the contest would be over, prizes awarded, and lunch served. Every year she won a brand new fishing pole, her Becky Thatcher always won!

After the judging they stuffed themselves with hot dogs, potato salad, and soda pop and then ran along the river's edge in their costumes, sticking their feet in the water and splashing at each other until the sun lowered in the sky and the calls went out for the children to gather their belongings and head home. Her Grandmother pleased with the outcome of the judging that once again verified her talents as a seamstress and costumer.

Years later her grandfather died and her grandmother moved into an assisted living facility. There she participated with the other residents in plays, once acting the wicked witch in "The Wizard of Oz." She lent her seamstress ability for the creation of all the costumes for the plays and her fellow residents applauded her creativity and ingenuity. Her mother shared pictures of her grandmother in her witchly costume, her hair green and teeth black. The very idea unseemly but she smiled at the thought of the beautiful Becky Thatcher costumes of her own childhood. Her grandmother seemed happy not appearing to mind the loss of stature and dignity the photograph embodied to her granddaughter.  She could not cross the chasm of time that separated them, could not relate to this old witch of the pictures. She consoled herself with memories of her grandmother in the old days. She saw her standing at the water's edge, high waders covering her jeans, an old flannel shirt over a white cotton undershirt, a belt cinched tightly around her narrow waist. A cigarette hung from her mouth and the intensity of her gaze on the water warned those around her to hush. She flicked the fishing line across the water casually and slowly reeled it in,  patient and methodical in her method, waiting for a strike.  This jean clad, fisherwoman and the witch both notable for their deviation from any "Grandmother" norm.

No Strange Gods before Me

"I am the Lord your God, do not have any other gods before me"

One of the steps in the 12 step programs is "came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity." This is the second step of the program right after the admission of powerlessness and unmanageable life. The powerlessnes is over whatever your particular addiction happens to be. Perhaps alcohol, drugs, food, etc. And so immediately after admitting to loss of control of your life you turn your life over "to the care of God as we understand him."

So who is this God to whom we finally turn when all other solutions fail us, when we have lost control of life and self? How do I understand this God and how do I know that this God is the God and not some other god of lesser or stranger stature than the God of creation? And how do we know that this God will indeed care for us, provide the sustenance we need, be able to handle what we cannot?

The Decalogue, more popularly known as the 10 commandments was the law of the Hebrew Bible, passed down to Moses after the Israelites fled Egypt through the Red Sea by the grace of God and were then sent towards the promised land, a journey that was trying enough to make many of them yearn for the days of slavery in the land of Egypt. These commandments are considered the moral foundation in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.

This God describes "himself" as a jealous God wanting the people to turn to him alone and to abandon the other gods common to the people of the time. Perhaps, sun gods, moon gods, fertility gods and so on. Gods who represented parts of life but not full life, gods who were called upon for certain favors but not for others. But this God, this audacious one, said you shall have no others. I am enough. Whatever you need I will provide.

Imagine the surprise of these people, slaves released from slavery, who had forgotten there was a God of their people, who had to be reminded of their tie to this God when he passed over the homes of this people and saved their sons, to be forever remembered from that time on in the passover ritual of the Jewish people. Certainly, a God like this was a god to be reckoned with, a god to turn to, to be worshipped. This God said I am yours and you are mine.