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

Mom

This is my beautiful mom. She died last Sunday. For those who knew her, my heart breaks with you. For those who did not, here's an introduction to the best confidante, role model and mother a girl could hope for in life. This is the obituary I'd planned to submit to the local paper, but have opted instead to publish here. Obituary: Beverly Todd Bev -- my mom -- was a longtime caregiver, advocate, and dear friend to countless elderly in South Salem. Hers was a kind and generous spirit. She devoted much of her life to the welfare of others, giving wholly of herself and doing so always with great affection and humor. She was born Beverly Marie Steinberger in Silverton, July 23, 1938, the first child and only daughter of Art and Marie Steinberger. Her brothers called her Bevvy Buns, a nickname she grew fond of and wore proudly within the family circle as an adult. Bev attended St. Paul’s Elementary School in Silverton, Silverton High School and Marylhurst Co...

Back at it

It's been some time since I've written. My mom died in February, and I haven't had the gumption to write much, other than a couple of feature stories for the paper and the occasional pithy email to a friend. Tonight, sitting in my favorite burger joint with a pile of fries in front of me, I dunk them into a deep pool of ketchup mixed with a hot sauce. That's how Mom liked 'em. My burger? The Spicy Hawaiian, a nod to my 808 connections. It's a brilliant combination of peppers and pineapple, a favorite on the Power Stop menu. I'm sure she'd have loved it, too. There's a bubbly beer with a lime in it. That's not a homage to anything. I just like beer. These past months, I've done little but work, search and apply for jobs. Two rejection letters have landed in my email this week. Search-and-apply has become a futile obsession. It's time for a break, at least until I hear back from all those applications still floating around out there. I am...

Small town observations

Every day at noon, a siren blares from atop the city government building in Gunnison. Each time I hear it, I want to shout, “Yabba dabba doo!” even though it’s nowhere near happy hour. I’ve blurted this once or twice, only to elicit blank stares in response. Am I that old? Doesn’t anyone remember the The Flintstones? I hear that horn and imagine Fred sliding down the long neck of his gravel-quarry dino-dozer (which, thanks to Jurassic Park and the miracle of Google we all recognize now as riojasaurus). Quitting time! Fred flees, his fleet feet slapping toward a rack o’ ribs and a night of good times with Wilma, Barney, Betty and Dino. That’s Dino the dino, pronounced Deeno the dyno. Think that’s delusional? Another day, walking downtown near the source of the noontime wale, it struck me, a revelation it was, that the ramp up to full blast sounds just like the introduction to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, only this is a mega-air-raid, civil-defense siren solo rather than a clarinet, whic...