Skip to main content

The tool guy never saw those undies

When I was a young and restless ski bum back in the day, I found myself in a precarious position at a doctor's office. I had had a little accident on the hill. So there I sat, sans shirt, with an excruciatingly stiff neck. I had just been x-rayed. The Doctor had subsequently informed me it was (gulp) broken. Yikes. I think he said something like, "Congratulations. You broke your neck." It was just what my parents said would happen. ("Get down from there! Stop that! You'll break your neck! You'll shoot your eye out!")
"That sounds kinda bad," I said.
"Let's just say you should avoid diving into any shallow pools for awhile," he said. What a guy. So anyway, there I was, sporting my JC Penney special, when the doctor excused himself from the exam, then returned with a guy wearing a tool belt and carrying a wrench and a screwdriver. He was also holding a metal contraption with straps.
"Do you like that bra?" asked the doctor.
"Sort of," I said.
"Good," he returned. "Because you're going to be wearing it for a long time."
Tool guy approached. He put the contraption over my head. It had a chin rest and straps that held my head firmly in place. It also had padded metal shoulder thingies with a bar across both the front of the chest and back. The bar and shoulder bars had to be adjusted to fit, as did the chin rest, which sat on two metal bars that came up from the chest bar. "Oh. I get it," I said.
What does this have to do with anything, you ask? Well, last night, I waited for an hour and 20 minutes for the baggage carousel to empty upon my arrival from Hawaii to L.A. only to learn that my bags had not accompanied me on the trip. It was late; long past closing time for department stores and the laundry room at the hotel. That left me faced with the prospect of wearing the same underwear on Monday that I wore on Tuesday. Disgusting. That's almost as bad as being forced to wear the same bra for two months. Ah, but I figured out how to change the bra under the neck brace and how to shower with the thing on and dry the nooks and crannies with a blow dryer. I was equally creative with the underwear. A squirt of hotel shampoo and the room heater fan washed and dried them beautifully. The moral of this story? A little resourcefulness can always change a bad situation into a better one.
So here I am in San Diego. I spent the morning getting drilled and making impressions for an overlay for two teeth in need of repair. Dentists elsewhere always seem to want to file them down and put on crowns. But mine likes to save teeth and uses state of the art overlays instead of crowns. Cool, huh? "You have beautiful teeth," he says. "Why would someone not want to save them?" Indeed. So I'm fitted with temporary fillings right now and will have them replaced on Thursday. Meanwhile, I'll be hangin' with my pal Gail here in beautiful Encinitas while Ron does his best to hold down the fort back home to stay dry. It's still raining back at the ranch.
A hui hou. Aloha!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

Fruity booty

It was a long drive from Glenwood to the northern tip of the island -- three hours -- so for sustenance, we stopped at Baker Tom's for malasadas on the way. My pal Kathy and I were headed to Kapa'au for a hike, one we'd read about in the local newspaper. The couple who run Baker Tom's (not sure if the husband is actually Tom or not) are delightful, with enduring stamina. They're as old as radio, yet they're always on duty, ready to serve behind the counter, as they have for many years, frying, baking, brewing and smiling, there in Papaikou , gateway to the Hamakua Coast. The malasadas are enormous, cheap and delicious, the coffee OK, the tourists all happy to have discovered this place, buzzing with sugar and caffeine. They make a killer pumpkin cheesecake at Baker Tom's, too. It's always a pleasant stop. Ahapua'a . It's a Hawaiian land division, usually a strip or wedge, stretching from mountain to sea. Hawaiians lived in villages wit

On Tennis and Writing and Being Too Nice

I've recently been recruited to play tennis for a local 4.0 ladies tennis league team, referred to as either "Team Debbie" for the nice woman who manages us, or "Have Fun," which is our pre-match chant. We're still looking for a proper name. But we do have fun, despite getting creamed most outings. Last Saturday, we played in the Edith Kanakaole Tennis Stadium in Hilo. Good thing, too, since outside it was pouring, complete with thunder and lightning. It's a substantial structure, covered, yet open all around, most famous for hosting the annual Merrie Monarch Hula Festival in April. It was about 85 degrees outside and 100 percent humidity, air so thick it took three sucks of my albuterol inhaler just to breath. Several of us arrived early to warm up, but after twenty minutes' steady rallying with my teammate, Keiko, the human backboard, I was drenched. I played doubles with a nice, extremely fit and excellent ground-stroker named Cynthia from Pahoa.