This morning at 7:20 I had oral surgery to remove a tooth infected below the gum line. Scary, right? I didn’t feel a thing. Except, to be more accurate what the doctor told me is that I would essentially be awake for the procedure but when it was over I wouldn’t remember anything about it.
She was right. I really don’t remember anything at all between signing a credit card and what seemed like two seconds later being told I could go home. No time passed for me at all. That’s freaky.
I wonder if I kept them cracking up with witty dentist jokes while they were excavating my mouth? Probably not.
When I got home I continued reading a very interesting book called Mark Twain’s Other Woman. It’s about Sam Clemens’ relationships with his wife, daughters, and in particular, his personal assistant/secretary, Isabel Van Kleek Lyon. She was something of a writer, too. Happily, she made detailed notes about each day she spent with the Clemens family, and though she never expected anyone except herself to read them she unwittingly treated us to some wonderful historical insights and this gem of an observation:
As the days of life increase in value, the wit to write of them decreases – Their significance is too profound.
– Isabel Van Kleek Lyon
That was an epiphany. It validates the ways I’ve changed over the years. I don’t write as often as I used to for several reasons but chief among them is that I just can’t stop appreciating my ordinary days long enough to write about their mundane glories.
The oral surgeon said I must keep a patch of gauzelike material plugging the new hole in my gum for at least six hours and I was not to lie down. The antibiotics make me sleepy but the lovely-and-feisty Carolann Conley-Williams forbade me from napping today except upright in my chair. So, I flipped on YouTube and was sucked in by a series of videos, recent concert footage of members of the bands of my youth. I’m not usually nostalgic but sometimes I really enjoy an occasional visit to the past. Today was one of those.
So, that was my day, unremarkable except for its beginning. I have total faith in modern dentistry but the thought did lurk in the back of my head that people still occasionally die under general anesthesia with implements of destruction in their mouths. That didn’t happen so I came home and read a book and then watched some YouTube videos.
Nothing to write home about, really.
The days of our lives really do increase in value, even those that are unremarkable except for the everyday joys to be found in them that aren’t even worthy of comment.
Tomorrow you might actually enjoy the smell of coffee just as you do nearly every day. You could have a good hair day and like the new shirt you’re wearing. That will put a smile on your face.
When you leave home in the morning don’t just tell your dog goodbye, take a moment to really love him/her.
Take note of the first person or experience that makes you laugh tomorrow. It happens every day and it’s precious.
For me, Isabel was right, the wit to write about our days decreases. Their significance is too profound.
e writing and recording commercials for a news and talk station in Sacramento, I was drafted to fill in for the real news anchor, who was sick. The station was desperate for somebody to just sit in the chair, read the stories and play the commercials.