The painkiller I’m taking for the dental implant this morning is making me tired and a bit disoriented. Maria says I need to rest for a while. I’m going to do that. Just in case I don’t get back tonight, I’m posting the color and light photo – a tulip I gave to Maria for Valentine’s Day – and going to lie down by the fire. I’m lucky to have that fire and a partner who reminds me to rest in front of it and maybe meditate back to sleep.
I’ll see you in the morning, if not sooner.
Zip tells one kind of animal story, Fate the other. Both are beautiful to watch. Animals enrich my life, teach me about living, make me smile, and lift my soul.
Zip is always on time for our morning meeting, always sitting on the back porch staring at the glass window, looking for him. We meet at 9 a.m., then break to do our work, and then again at 4 p.m., towards the end of the day.
Fate had a limp; she came inside to spend some time with me, and she was happy to sleep for a while. When she awoke, the limp was gone. Border collies are like that.
Our weather continues to be intense. The sun was beautiful this morning, then vanished as has been its habit. I’ve put off more bird photos for a day while figuring out the new lens.
We’re trying out our new stove tonight; it looks fine. No more rat sightings; we both feel Bud has found the kind of work he lives in – hunting rodents. He’s in his element.
The King on his throne. He naps here during the day when he can keep an eye on things. If it’s cold at night, he heads for the heated cat house in the barn. We are doing well in our campaign to spoil him rotten.
Donkeys In The Morning Light
Fate with her sheep, awaiting instructions.
The morning sky was gorgeous, above and below.
I had implant surgery this morning. It does hurt a bit, and I’m a bit dizzy. I think nothing unusual about that, so I’m back at work until a long-awaited nap and more rest.
I’m not good at resting in the daytime, but the procedure was successful.
As usual, Dr. Killing did a great job; he planted the first post (above), and the final post and crown will come in late Spring. He’s an excellent doctor – skilled and kind and just about the only male doctor I have now.
Of course, I had to photograph the thing. I was excited to see what an implant looks like close up once it’s drilled in. I could only imagine it before. It looks strange sticking out there at the top of my mouth.
It didn’t hurt until I got home, but some Tylenol has settled things down. I got some photos I liked this morning before I left. I’ll put them up after this.
Dr. Killing. He is a pleasure to work with.
This is a big deal for me. I was first acquainted with dentistry after visiting my grandmother in her mom-and-pot grocery and penny candy store once or twice a week for several years. She insisted I eat some penny candy every time I visited, or she would be offended.
I saw my first dentist, Dr. Brown, when I was four.
We became close after that, and I made it into my 70s with all of my teeth, but I lost two because of an infection and gum troubles. With this implant, I’ll have all my teeth back, which will be a joy.
I’m expected to keep them for the rest of my life. I was fascinated by the implant X-ray; Dr. Killing (the nicest male doctor I’ve encountered yet) said it looked great and the implant process was a perfect success.
The dental light shining on my face was especially beautiful. It was almost hypnotic.
This post will come out when I see him again, and another will replace it. I’ve learned to pay attention to the office and nursing staff. If they are cheerful and empathetic, then I know they have an excellent doctor to work for. The crew at Northeast Surgical is great, they reflect their doctor.
This implanted post will be the foundation for the permanent crown.
I’m working hard to keep up with my health, trying to be proactive and optimistic at the same time. My mouth, gum, and remaining teeth are another excellent decision.
And it’s nice to be home. I won’t write as much as usual today, but I will write. And I will sleep.
I’m fortunate that as I get older, several things have come together to give me a deeper view of life.
That’s the best and easiest way to describe it. I’m not a prophet, a seer, or a monk. I am thinking more thoughtfully about life and what I expect from it.
My life, my wife, my work in therapy, my work at meditation, my collapse and divorce, my heart disease and diabetes, my disabled foot, and my embrace of a spiritual direction have all taught me what a deeper view of life means to me.
I’m just beginning.
(Photo, Zip wants me to play with him.)
One of the bigger things I’ve learned is to understand that change, crisis, sickness, death, and impermanence are not harmful, terrifying, or shocking aspects of life.
They are life itself. My dogs and loved ones will die; that’s what they do. I will die; that’s what I do.
Uncertainty and impermanence are the basis of life, a part of everyone’s life at any age and in almost all circumstances.
None of us, not even our many billionaires, can build a fortress around reality that can not be penetrated and deny it for all of our lives. There is no peace or contentment in worrying all the time about things that cannot be foreseen or controlled.
Working as a hospice volunteer, I’m surprised again and again by loving family members who cannot accept the very idea of sickness and death; they see life as something to be lived forever without pain or sickness. Death is an outrage.
No life could continue if we lived without change, surprise, and loss. What happens is how I see it.
In some curious ways, I have been grateful for pain and change; it has made me a better and safer human being. I am no longer surprised by life; I embrace it. I value my days and good fortune.
I read one quote from a philosopher about the corn analogy.
“If a grain of corn were not impermanent,” he wrote, “it could not become a corn plant. She could not grow into an adult if a tiny child were not impermanent.”
Change and trouble don’t mean to me that life is not worth living. It often brings wisdom and strength along with it. We learn that life is almost always worth living; the spiritual challenge is to learn from our suffering.
I value life more profoundly and dearly because of its uncertainty and surprise. My struggles have made me value life, and that is a lesson that is hard to learn but precious. It’s a more profound and calming view of life.
I’ve learned that if I live in the present moment as entirely as possible, I won’t feel envy or regret later.
I don’t worry much about the future; it will do what it wishes. I am slowly but purposefully learning how to care for those I love and who are closest to me. That has made me a better human being.
When I finally accepted that life is fluid, changing, and full of sorrows and joy, I was no longer stunned when things decay and die. Because everything I love, every friend, partner, dog, cat, donkey, will decay and die. So will I.
And I don’t wish to spend my life mourning life; I want to spend life celebrating it. I’m working to remain peaceful and content when things don’t go my way; when awful politicians win elections, some things are sacred, and there is always prosperity, want, growth, decline, success, and failure.
I call it my contract with life. Life does what it has to do, and So do I.
I am closer and closer to living in peace, love, and harmony.
