It was my turn. That all-time, proverbially dreaded trip to … The
Dentist. That always calls to my mind some old war era interrogator who uses “dental tools” to torture - er - extract information.
But actually I really like my dentist. She is a very sweet, cute young thing, who really knows her stuff. I did good this time, too. There are a few places that she wants me to cram super-fluoride toothpaste into, then not rinse. Interesting new evening brushing routines ahead …
We went straight from there to Chris’ physical therapy appointment. She discovered which exercise is her nemesis. She has to hold a ball against the wall and roll it around in a circle. Mark that one. Oh, and it seems her therapist is more excited about our trip than we are. She can’t wait to see pictures.
In the meantime, I got in my two and a quarter mile walk. And I had a unique greeting from a fellow Baby Boomer. A lady about my age grinned as she passed me, held up two fingers and said, “Hey.” Now that wasn’t the V for victory sign. Oh, no. That was a peace sign all the way. Us hippies have to stick together.
Oh! Almost forgot. As we were coming out of the dentist office, my phone rang. It was Brandi, the manager of our bank. She had just heard from her higher-ups that our stolen money was due to be replaced later in the day. Gotta admit, I was pretty skeptical. But sure enough, when I checked around noon, there it was. Restored! That’s a load off of our mind.
P.S. Walmart - bananas
Psalms 19:14 says, May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, LORD, my rock and my Redeemer.
Father, thank you for our dentist. And for the hygienist. They are top notch. Bless them. Amen.