Some of the recent posts on A Feather Adrift have caused me to feel real sympathy for Sarah Palin. To be unfairly smeared by an obviously left leaning blogger is not pleasant. I ask that Sherry honor our men and women in uniform and “quit making things up.” In the mean time I think it important to set the record straight.
First I will address the issue of sock sorting. Sherry’s idea of sorting socks is to just separate them from the rest of our clothing. I am a morning person and like to hit the day running, but first I must find a proper pair of socks. To secure a match I must dig through a wicker basket large enough for a pony to nap in. I have socks in there that are full and fluffy and only washed once or twice. I also have socks that are just waiting to be put on so my big toe can poke through. This is what I describe as the dilemma of ‘thick and thin’. Everyone who has seen the movie “Flight of the Phoenix” (the original; the one with Jimmy Stewart) knows that most humans have a dominate leg as well as a dominate arm. Without the aid of a compass a man would wander in circles in the desert. I think it dangerous to compound this natural frailty by throwing a thick and thin sock into the mix. Even worse, recently Sherry has purchased some socks very similar to mine. So now I must delay the start of my busy day by sorting boy socks and girl socks as well as the thick and thins. I won’t horrify the readers by telling them how many times I have been forced to delay the start of my busy day by resocking.
My second area of discussion will be about the Surgery. I know Sherry told the story as if it were just about a sore tooth. The paper work I got from the dentist did not distinguish between oral surgery and tooth extraction. Therefore I must assume they are equal in severity. Henceforth I will just use the former while discussing the saga of the tooth. Modesty makes it difficult for me to admit that I am an extremely stoic person. Sherry shortens the suffering I endured, because I spared her from the majority. Rather than two or three days of my tooth bothering me, I remember two or three weeks of blinding pain.
Before I go on I would ask the younger readers to get their parent’s permission to read further. There is no way to tell this story accurately without rating it R for violence and adult language (sadly no nudity or sexual content is needed).
Sherry called, and an appointment to see a dentist was made. When we arrived the usual stupid paper work had to be filled out. All the while this was being done Sherry was complaining how uncomfortable the chairs were. I patted her of the head and tried to reassure her that everything would be fine. Then she noticed that the dentists had a collection of animal skulls on the wall. She is sensitive and of course this upset her. I would have reminded her of the real reason we were there, but the blood from biting my tongue made it too difficult to speak. After the required hour my name was finally called.
First there was the X-ray, which wasn’t too bad. I was in a small room by myself and it didn’t take all that long. Then I was led into the main dental area. It is one huge room with scores of chairs separated only by small bath-towels suspended from the ceiling by wires. The room was filled with the unholy sound of the high speed dental drills, the anguished moans of the patients, the smell of burning bone and calcium, and the laughter of the staff. One can’t fault Dante for his failure to perfectly describe hell. Modern dentistry had not been developed while he lived. Through all of this I am being led by a twenty three year old chatter box, who just got a new puppy. Normally I’m very good at nonverbal communication. I have been told that I have the ability to yell without speaking. My pain and the swelling of my face must have disabled this ability. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get through to this gal that I was really not interested in the story of her eight-week-old Great Dane getting sick and throwing up on her pillow.
The next usual hour passed and the dentist finally made his appearance. He glanced at the X-ray and said the tooth would have to be pulled and walked away. Chatter box told me how much everything would cost for the examination, and as an after thought asked; “Did you want to have the tooth pulled today, or do you want to make another appointment?” “Today”, I gurgled with my bloody tongue. Another half-hour wait and even more stories about that rascally Great Dane, before the dentist made his way back.
He jabbed around in my mouth with some kind of hypodermic harpoon, and then left again saying; “We have to let that soak in for a while.” I have to be honest and tell you readers, after the Novocaine began to work I didn’t mind the chatter boxes stories about the future Marmaduke. The dentist’s idea of “letting it soak” was to chat with the office staff for forty minutes until the Novocaine had nearly worn off. He then came back jabbed around with the harpoon again and without a word of warning ripped out a part of my body.
I feebly make my way to the waiting room and we pay the bill, all the while Sherry continues to complain how uncomfortable the chairs have been and how unsettling all the skulls were. Sherry then decides we must fight traffic and go to WalMart for my pain medication. Even thought there were at least three drugstores that could have been hit by a strong man throwing a rock from the parking lot of the dentist. A half-hour later when we get to WalMart Sherry says quite sternly “You wait here, I’ll fill the prescriptions.” After forty minutes the Novocaine wore off, I was in real pain, and I was suspicious Sherry was shopping for more than drugs. My normally patient persona had evaporated. I’m not sure if the young man parked near us thought I suffered from Tourette’s syndrome or I was Glenn Beck contemplating how much I loved this country. I’m sure he thought something because of all my twitching, cursing and the tears running down my swollen face. Of course Sherry was innocently standing at the Pharmacy counter when I went in to check on her. Although she did have a large box of peanut- brittle for me.
Even though the pain medication was merely medium strength, I have been able to compartmentalize the pain. I still suffer, but do so once again in silence. I am happy to report dear readers, that the surgery was successful. I have taken myself off the critical list and am happy to report my condition as ‘stable, but guarded’. I still think I need to continue to avoid ‘excessive activity’ as the paperwork from the dentist required.
One might wonder how Sherry and I get along when our view of reality is so different. Let me tell you this; Sherry has brought many wonderful things into my life. The joy of hearing her laughter. The taste of the wonderful meals she prepares. Companionship, etc. etc. Yet the most important thing about Sherry and my relationship is not the many things she has given me, it is something she has taken away. My loneliness. A couple of autumns before I met Sherry I wrote the following piece.
Depression
With each pass of the moon/
Dark deepens and the night grows longer.
I would cry foul!
But I know not the Referee,
Or the Maker of the rule.
Tempest tossed and tried,
Mettle tested and strengths bested,
Wants wanting and voids left void.
Little doubt life’s not just dreary;
But most times cruel.
Sweet bats of memories/
Hang inverted in the cavern of my life.
Cold — dim-Fall;
Contrast of seasons of happiness;
That were but are not
The Hollow-days are upon me,
Merchants quarter-hour reminders/
Of parts of me beyond my sphere.
People gathering to laugh and love,
Lonely —- I sit and rot.
Moving, talking, doing;
Any of these can shorten the sentence.
Fear, anxiety and desperation/
Are some of the many things/
That rob me of my choice.
Even these bleak words/
Are from the struggle of my way out.
From the bottom of the abyss,
I am only able —
To scream without a voice.
Sherry has so effectively removed the loneliness of my life that while I have the intellectual memory of writing that, I have no emotional connection to the pain that prompted it. I don’t say that all my memories are wonderful, or even good. I simply say that Sherry has made them all better. Simply said; A clown can make you happy, but your soul mate will make your life happy.
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In 1970 my friends and I were getting grossly drunk on Christmas Eve. I make no apology for that. I was in Vietnam and there was to be a Christmas Truce. Since we would have no “work” the next day, we were giving ourselves the gift of a few hours of oblivion from the tedium and trials of a never ending year. At midnight the sounds of “Silent Night” started to come over the airfield speakers, sung by the congregation of the post chapel.
Existential Ennui 
