‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the mouth, I chomped into chicken and a molar went south. This violent and unexpected collision with a thigh bone cracked said tooth all the way down to the root. (Actually, this occurred on the afternoon of October 19, but just trying to keep with some Christmas spirit here.) Days later, I had a merry little extraction, gaily festooned with gaudy gauze soaked in gum blood, and now my dentist and oral surgeon wonder if I might like to spend $2,500 on an implant and crown. I doubt I will. First, the new hole in my mouth makes a terrific storage place for spit wads. Second, I don’t have $2,500.
In a case such as this, what would Jesus do? I’m sure He was never confronted with a quandary such as this. I have a theory about Jesus’s teeth: I believe He dazzled with heavenly pearly whites, and may have even sported a striking pair of buck teeth. Let’s face it: those biblical throngs were a huddling mass of gummers. Ever see a toothy grin in a portrait of Madonna or Her saintly peers? Gummers, all. No wonder the average life span of your average adult was about 28 years. It’s tough to chew your standard mutton chop with dried out gums. No, I think Jesus not only dazzled with his markers for eternal life, but the huddled masses also came to adore His Pepsodent smile, the envy of Jew and gentile alike.
I am proud to announce that both my children have selected partners with excellent teeth. I’m sure that Brendan (28) will get a professional cleaning in the next year because HE’S ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED TO HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART JODI GRIFFIN. Not only that, Brendan and Jodi have just purchased a house in Ada, Michigan, that has lots of ROOM FOR CHILDREN. Their words, not mine. Brendan works for Chase Bank, plays tuba with the Holland Symphony Orchestra, and gives tuba lessons at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids. Jodi is project coordinator at Michigan Public Health Institute. Together they could almost afford an implant and crown. They have a terrier named Daphne.
Elizabeth (26) brushes every day, mainly in Milledgeville, Georgia, where she is a graduate student in poetry at Georgia College and State University. As part of her duties, Elizabeth teaches freshman composition to students who are predominately Atlanta suburbanites and text-messaging addicts. She shares life with boyfriend Roger, a fine writer in his own right, and together, I might point out, are NOT engaged to be married. They have a dog named Wendy and a new socialist puppy named Omar, whose long and upright ears lean decidedly to the left.
Dog has a softball-sized goiter on her chest that bounces when she runs. She could use a merry little extraction or a custom-made bra. The goiter doesn’t slow her down as she’s remained consistent in her lifelong quest to destroy squirrels who invade our bird feeders. This year’s score: Squirrels - 816, Dog - 0. And getting together with family, of course, means Dog, Daphne, Wendy, and now that little communist Omar, romp and grovel together as one, swarming from one room to the next, sliding and growling en masse across slippery hardwood floors, slobbering, shedding, and kicking up dander. Humans remain safe by keeping their feet propped up on ottomans. A lively household, this.
And Sue Bohnhorst? What on earth can be said about Sue? Oh, I could tell you that in order to counteract the side effects of chemotherapy, her doctor offered a prescription for medical marijuana, and Sue took him up on it, but soon one drug led to another, and the next thing you know, she’s gone for days at a time, until finally I get a collect call from a phone booth in Butte, Montana, she begging for money, for a bus ticket back to Traverse City, and she would change her ways. But that wouldn’t be right to say. Actually, it was Spokane. No, no, no… we shall not joke about that which is off limits to joking about.
This is brutal business, this ovarian cancer, this chemotherapy, this exhaustion, this diminishment of form. After the shock and gut ache from The News, a stranger intrudes and enters your lives, and while at first the stranger intimidates, you begin to step around, learn to step over, and finally, to step through the fears that once ruled the day. Sue is doing great. After five months of “phase one” of her clinical trial chemo, she is now working through “phase two” which is more of a maintenance regimen, and not nearly as debilitating. Her strength is returning and her hair has come back silky soft and gray as granite. All markers say positive things, but while we are never out of the woods, this is a pleasant forest we live in. The foundation of Sue’s recovery was built by the tremendous love and support of family and friends. And I could resound with a chorus of Sue superlatives, describing her heroic fight and so on. But she reads this too, and she wouldn’t like it. So I will say this: her hair is very cute.
This Christmas, there will be an empty chair at the dinner table. Sue’s dad, Les Klauer, died in May after complications from a fall in April. He loved Christmas, and we will miss him, especially on this day. Les was 91.
Now, like a miracle, I am newly 60 with a fresh hole in my mouth. The Detroit Lions, like a miracle, are in contention for a playoff spot. Newt Gingrich, by a miracle, is the Republican frontrunner. And up in the air, miraculous winter pigs fly in a perfect V oer this northern land… Hey, these could be lyrics to a new Christmas carol, “Will Wonders Never Cease?”
I think Jesus would pass on the implant and crown, and use the hole for convenient spit wad storage. And I think He would give $2,500 to a poor family who needs food and shelter.
Enough already. Merry Christmas.
Comments are welcome at tombohn2@yahoo.com
In a case such as this, what would Jesus do? I’m sure He was never confronted with a quandary such as this. I have a theory about Jesus’s teeth: I believe He dazzled with heavenly pearly whites, and may have even sported a striking pair of buck teeth. Let’s face it: those biblical throngs were a huddling mass of gummers. Ever see a toothy grin in a portrait of Madonna or Her saintly peers? Gummers, all. No wonder the average life span of your average adult was about 28 years. It’s tough to chew your standard mutton chop with dried out gums. No, I think Jesus not only dazzled with his markers for eternal life, but the huddled masses also came to adore His Pepsodent smile, the envy of Jew and gentile alike.
I am proud to announce that both my children have selected partners with excellent teeth. I’m sure that Brendan (28) will get a professional cleaning in the next year because HE’S ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED TO HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART JODI GRIFFIN. Not only that, Brendan and Jodi have just purchased a house in Ada, Michigan, that has lots of ROOM FOR CHILDREN. Their words, not mine. Brendan works for Chase Bank, plays tuba with the Holland Symphony Orchestra, and gives tuba lessons at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids. Jodi is project coordinator at Michigan Public Health Institute. Together they could almost afford an implant and crown. They have a terrier named Daphne.
Elizabeth (26) brushes every day, mainly in Milledgeville, Georgia, where she is a graduate student in poetry at Georgia College and State University. As part of her duties, Elizabeth teaches freshman composition to students who are predominately Atlanta suburbanites and text-messaging addicts. She shares life with boyfriend Roger, a fine writer in his own right, and together, I might point out, are NOT engaged to be married. They have a dog named Wendy and a new socialist puppy named Omar, whose long and upright ears lean decidedly to the left.
Dog has a softball-sized goiter on her chest that bounces when she runs. She could use a merry little extraction or a custom-made bra. The goiter doesn’t slow her down as she’s remained consistent in her lifelong quest to destroy squirrels who invade our bird feeders. This year’s score: Squirrels - 816, Dog - 0. And getting together with family, of course, means Dog, Daphne, Wendy, and now that little communist Omar, romp and grovel together as one, swarming from one room to the next, sliding and growling en masse across slippery hardwood floors, slobbering, shedding, and kicking up dander. Humans remain safe by keeping their feet propped up on ottomans. A lively household, this.
And Sue Bohnhorst? What on earth can be said about Sue? Oh, I could tell you that in order to counteract the side effects of chemotherapy, her doctor offered a prescription for medical marijuana, and Sue took him up on it, but soon one drug led to another, and the next thing you know, she’s gone for days at a time, until finally I get a collect call from a phone booth in Butte, Montana, she begging for money, for a bus ticket back to Traverse City, and she would change her ways. But that wouldn’t be right to say. Actually, it was Spokane. No, no, no… we shall not joke about that which is off limits to joking about.
This is brutal business, this ovarian cancer, this chemotherapy, this exhaustion, this diminishment of form. After the shock and gut ache from The News, a stranger intrudes and enters your lives, and while at first the stranger intimidates, you begin to step around, learn to step over, and finally, to step through the fears that once ruled the day. Sue is doing great. After five months of “phase one” of her clinical trial chemo, she is now working through “phase two” which is more of a maintenance regimen, and not nearly as debilitating. Her strength is returning and her hair has come back silky soft and gray as granite. All markers say positive things, but while we are never out of the woods, this is a pleasant forest we live in. The foundation of Sue’s recovery was built by the tremendous love and support of family and friends. And I could resound with a chorus of Sue superlatives, describing her heroic fight and so on. But she reads this too, and she wouldn’t like it. So I will say this: her hair is very cute.
This Christmas, there will be an empty chair at the dinner table. Sue’s dad, Les Klauer, died in May after complications from a fall in April. He loved Christmas, and we will miss him, especially on this day. Les was 91.
Now, like a miracle, I am newly 60 with a fresh hole in my mouth. The Detroit Lions, like a miracle, are in contention for a playoff spot. Newt Gingrich, by a miracle, is the Republican frontrunner. And up in the air, miraculous winter pigs fly in a perfect V oer this northern land… Hey, these could be lyrics to a new Christmas carol, “Will Wonders Never Cease?”
I think Jesus would pass on the implant and crown, and use the hole for convenient spit wad storage. And I think He would give $2,500 to a poor family who needs food and shelter.
Enough already. Merry Christmas.
Comments are welcome at tombohn2@yahoo.com
