Scarlet Stone

It’s 1:44 a.m. Tuesday morning, and I’m staring at the computer screen after waking up thinking about life, boundary issues, our greedy pedophilic president, and my health. I splashed creamer into my Black Cat Coffee House mug from Ashland, Wis., and “shorted the pot” of percolating coffee. Some people nearly stroke out seeing this happen because, apparently, we are supposed to wait until it’s done brewing. Go ahead and wait … but I am NOT waiting for this morning’s coffee, or for anything. If you can’t live your life with beverage passion and spontaneous writer’s surge in your final chapters, then why call them the golden years? Some elderly friends just blasted off on a road trip like they are in their sporty forties. I thought they were nuts for going … but now I’m glad they went despite aches and pains. They aren’t waiting either … so just do it, live it, go see it ... go see them ... the people you love before you can’t anymore. The key to “just doing it,” however, is to preserve your body so your arms and legs still work to some degree.
These recent months of my usually jovial life have introduced some concerns that come with age, despite how young my mind still is. Some threats to longevity became evident, and I have had to deal with them one by one just like all of us do, or we simply ignore them and end up in a dire state ... prematurely packaged in an urn or arranged in a casket. Last spring, I finally had that bone density test that I added to my “to do” list, as recommended two years ago. I remember thinking I need to deal with that “already?” I recalled, “Mom started having those tests when she was old!” The test result revealed I have osteopenia (low bone mass or density) and was at a higher risk for developing osteoporosis. In other words, the Swiss-cheese kind of holes that honeycomb your bones. That’s a grim thought, I admit, but it’s best to deal with it now so I don’t take a fall and end up at the bottom of the stairs hollering that now gone-viral phrase, “Help. I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.” You can now add my name to the list of aging goddesses who take those jumbo calcium supplements every day as part of their process of perpetual preservation.
Is there no end to these tales of woe? Not yet. Somewhere after Christmas, I also decided to address my “turkey neck or wattle.” I searched Amazon for a fix and found a great old book by Carole Maggio called “Facercise.” Her 2002 photo is on the cover along with sample pics of fingers going here and there on her face to tone sagging neck skin. Carole has got no wattle, so the exercises must work unless Photoshop or AI got to her … and being a graphic artist, I remain somewhat of a skeptic. Keep in mind, however, this has been a national bestseller and adding some of these manipulations to my schedule between the resistance bands, toothbrush, and water pick could be a good thing. Consider that the exercises can be performed while driving through wooded sections on the highway during low traffic periods where nobody will see the mouth distortions and grimaces taking place as you drive. What else would you be doing anyhow?  
Let me ramble on. Last September, I had completed my 30-something year of screen printing T-shirts and suddenly knew I wanted to retire, and so I did. There was no two-week notice, I just set the squeegee down, called my retailer and said, “This is the last batch, I’m done.” The spurts of intense exercise to my upper arms and shoulders brought much discomfort, and it was to the point that even holding my cellphone in my left hand and navigating selections with my right hand caused aching. I thought it was a real serious issue, so I went to see our local physical therapist, who after doing testing, told me, “Scarlet, there’s nothing physically wrong with your shoulders other than you are weak.”
Well, I was really surprised that I, who used to carry buckets of water and wood 45 years prior, was being called weak. So, the doc set me up with resistance bands that had amazing results in a very short time. Because I come from a long line of paranoid ancestors, and we are convinced everybody is looking at us, I elected to do my exercises in privacy, at home. My grandmother had a pocket door and glass block windows built into her kitchen so she could cook without anyone looking in at her from the back alley or the street out front. I am much the same way and always pull my shades at dusk and don’t rationally know why I think that anyone would waste their time watching me.
“This is a big one,” admitted the goddess. As of last fall, I have been doing my best to avoid having to get dentures in my future. I was already warned of impending gum disease years ago and did buy an electric toothbrush, but the vibrating-tickling sensation resulted in me shutting it off after about five seconds.
A few months ago, I ordered a Philips Sonicare on the rather frank urging of “Power-Peg,” the best hygienist a gal could ask for. There was no going back this time, so when the package arrived by mail, I stood at that sink vibrating the hell outta my gums (within reason) until I mastered the task.
I discovered it helps to just quickly pass over the entire length of the gum at the start to get ahead of the tickle and desensitize. At my recent dental visit, I thought Peg was going to put grade-school-shiny-stars on my forehead to reward me for my progress, then she said, “Just think what another four months will do when you add a Waterpik to your routine!” So, combined with flossing, followed by mouthwash, I hope I can spend my thousands of dollars on fun stuff and not dentures.
Continuing on the topic of dental problems, you will agree, there are few more gnawing issues to endure than tooth pain. Late November arrived, and it was around the time I was recovering from my third cold ... coupled with a sinus infection, that I started developing a sore tooth on my upper left quadrant in the back ... thankfully out of view. A trip to my dentist, Dr. “M,” revealed it was a problem with a tooth that already had a root canal, so he gave me a prescription for antibiotics to squelch the pulsing infection, and I was advised to go see an endodontist in Duluth about a procedure called an apicoectomy or root-end surgery.
That visit wasn’t cheap as consultations alone run about $325 and was mandatorily scheduled at 8 a.m. Consequently, I decided to book a hotel room the night before, and I always opt for Canal Park, of course, to indulge myself in the manner that I deserve.
My son accompanied me, so that evening, he wined, we both dined, and the next day’s appointment revealed they were going to do the procedure, so that date was scheduled closer to Christmas. Two days prior to the surgery, one quarter of the tooth cracked off, rendering my tooth unsalvageable. In dismay, I made an appointment with gentle dentist Dr. “M,” and his kind assistant Brielle, to pull my dear tooth.
I willingly admit I was fearful of this ordeal, then on extraction day as I was in the dentist chair after multiple shots of lidocaine, I started getting anxious about the impending grinding, tearing noises.
The moment his hand came whizzing around the side of my head with that pair of glorified garage pliers, I thought, “Oh my God, this is gonna be hell.” I quickly announced that I needed to sing in order to help block out the sound (without forming words of course as his hand would be in my mouth).
The professionals were understanding and chuckled at my unique approach. As he started to go at it … from the depths of my inner being, came the strains of Handel’s Hallelujah chorus. I was on pitch and for no less than eight measures accompanied with the saliva-sucking-wand, I vocalized loudly through the dental office. The entire procedure was a great success, and believe it or not, I didn’t hear any grotesque noises and the weary tooth came out in about three contained pieces. The goddess of perpetual preservation then cheered, hooted, and applauded as Dr. “M” stated it was one of the easiest extractions he has had. I attribute that to setting a jovial mood in the office so we could all enjoy the experience.
I was so relieved that it was over, and it was not painful, nor did it bleed very much. Following the traumatic event, my sis sent me $50 and said it was from the tooth fairy. The last time that happened, it had been five cents, I think. Thank God for inflation.