Jingle Bells Root Canal

I recently had a root canal. Like the phrase "broken hip," the words "root canal" don't really mean anything. Until my mom fractured her pelvis, I never thought about what a "broken hip" actually was: The ball on top of the femur cracks or breaks off. That's a serious injury for anybody, but especially for senior citizens, many of whom are light enough to blow over in a stiff breeze. Take your calcium, dear readers, and avoid gravity whenever possible.

A root canal, on the other hand, means the endo-dentist uses a wee tiny drill to go splunking in your tooth. The human "root canal" is the tunnel carrying blood vessels and nerves, or in my case, lint. That particular molar was dead, dead, dead, but somehow still felt the urge to ring up $1500 worth of lidocaine and gauze during the annual holiday shopping frenzy. You see, the "roots" and "canals" in my tooth were fine, minding their own business, but the infection below them was seriously miffed. What caused the infection? Who knows. Perhaps it was my unconscious desire to listen to TWO AND A HALF HOURS of "lite" "holiday" "dentist music."

It was an unholy collision of lidocaine and "Little Drummer Boy," of drilling and "Jingle Bells" (five versions), and finally, listening to the dental assistant trill "Spit, please!" while she sang along to "Santa Baby." Why did it take 2-1/2 hours? As my doctor said, "Wow, this is unusual! You have not just one canal in each root--you have a total of four canals in one tooth." Four canals means four posts, and three of the most painful shots I've ever had. Two wads of cotton, and a partridge in a pear tree. They gave me some 600 mg. ibuprofen and sent me home.

I'm not sure I'll listen to "Frosty the Snowman" ever again without hearing the faint buzz of the drill or tasting the tang of silver amalgam. "Silver Bells" indeed.

Start Screaming

I’m delighted to live in an era of technological innovation and cultural change that makes a green future possible. However, if I read one more inane article about saving the planet with fluorescent light bulbs, I may just set fire to some polystyrene. Enough with the pious marketing efforts of General Electric and Chevron. It’s time to dig a little deeper if we Americans are going to break free from our post-WWII advertising-induced coma.

Christmas Newsletter 2007!!!!!

Welcome to planet Earth, Santa and Baby Jesus! Did Rudolph and the Three Wise Men guide your sleigh tonight? Ho ho!!

Our children Olga, Melvin, and Wheeler are all doing fabulously well in spite of a shared IQ of 5-1/2. Each of them achieved personal milestones in 2007. Just last month, Olga ate 31 pieces of individually wrapped, sugar-free hard candies. We now know that no living creature should eat that much sugar-free anything. Ever. We briefly wondered if Olga could overdose on Splenda, but after the incident with the bag of organic lawn fertilizer (and the vacuum-cleaner cord, the AA batteries, and the pink feather duster), we knew she could tough it out. I got a special chuckle out of the candy “shrapnel” stuck to my shoes for the next two days.

Olga recently informed us that she’s voting for Dennis Kucinich in 2008. Our girl is such an idealist!! She was recently voted “most likely to run into a burning building just for the fun of it.”

In October, Mel was on Neighborhood Terrorist Patrol and alerted us to a major threat across the street: an Islamic extremist masquerading as a plastic scarecrow. Mel growled at that evil-doer scarecrow every day for two weeks—when he wasn’t busy protecting our home from those hippy-liberal, acorn-smoking squirrels trying to molest our bird feeder. Mel was recently voted “most likely to bite you when startled.” We sleep better knowing that Mel is on the job—although we always leave on a night-light.

Wheeler continues to eat, sleep, and complain. She reminds us of a cactus with fur. We’ve enrolled her in snowboarding lessons beginning in January—won’t she be surprised? Kitty-bunga!

The year 2007 has been a tremendously prosperous one for Casa de Kendall-Watts, if by “prosperous” we mean “dodging foreclosure.” Otherwise, not so much: If manuscript rejections were diamonds, Tisa would be a wealthy woman. Of course, without the rejections, I’d make some money so either way—it’s a confusing metaphor. Lori’s job is imploding but in a good way. Stay tuned for some abrupt career changes in 2008!

In other news, Lori and Tisa are both entering menopause! At the same time! Together, we’re laughing, crying, screaming at clueless pedestrians and salesclerks—what a whacky time we’re having. Each day we give thanks for modern chemistry and our deluxe heating blanket with dual controls. Anyway, all I really want for Christmas is a few more exclamation points, since I seem to be running low!!! Here’s wishing YOU a happy, healthy, and prosperous New Year!!!

Lori, Mel, Olga, Wheeler & Tisa

Recycled Birdhouses

Here is my latest obsession: building birdhouses. Made from salvaged wood and hardware dug out of the donation bins at the builder's junkyard. OK, so the wood is just really old fence boards headed for the dump, but it got me to thinking--why are we cutting down trees for new wood to build birdhouses? Wouldn't the birds be happier if we used old crappy wood and left the trees alone?