December 7, 2012 – Friday

Pearl Harbor Day

25 degrees

Pentoga Road

I was talking with a youngster several years ago and mentioned something about it being Pearl Harbor Day. Screwing up his face, he asked what a Pearl Harbor was.

I told the boy about the sneak attack that sank so much of our Pacific fleet, how the Japanese even invaded Alaska and occupied one of the islands in the Aleutian chain.

He looked intrigued and interested. I felt good, sharing a bit of patriotism and history until he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Who cares?”

I watched him walk away in disgust.

Wouldn’t today’s modern teachers be horrified if they could see a typical elementary classroom back in the early 1960’s? I remember in fourth grade, being part of an all-school assembly, where we gathered in the gym and had a memorial service for those who lost their lives at Pearl Harbor. Led by our principal, Mrs. Holmes, we actually bowed our heads and prayed for those who died, for their families, and for our country, that such an atrocity should never happen again.

So for those who are old enough or actually care that Pearl Harbor Day has a major  significance in our nation’s history, be sure to remember those who died, their families, and of course, our country. For the rest of you… I could care less.   

I was happily chomping away on leftover popcorn late Wednesday afternoon when I bit into a kernel. I felt one of my bottom teeth give way, a molar on the left hand side.

It didn’t hurt, but when explored by my tongue, felt as though the entire Grand Canyon had moved from Arizona into my mouth.

Sargie was adamant about getting the tooth fixed as soon as possible. I pleaded with her to wait until after the first of the year, but her excuse was that she didn’t want me to bite into something this coming weekend and discover an exposed nerve. She had a point.

I’ve battled grizzly bears, almost met my end by a charging bull moose, been trapped in blizzards, and spent time in hospitals due to frost bite. Those things alarmed me, but I wasn’t horrified. But make me go to the dentist? I’ll take a grizzly/moose combo any ol’ day.

Sargie called yesterday morning while on her way to work saying her dentist had agreed to see me. Could I be in Iron Mountain by 11:30?

While driving to the office, I pondered where dentists actually get their training, the Boris Karloff School of Torture? Sargie had assured me Dr. Bob was gentle and a nice guy. But did he have a velvet touch?

I hated to leave my Doogie Houser-like dentist in Sitka, Dr. Dave. At least twelve, possibly fifteen years of age, he has all the latest gadgets, plus, he’s a heck of a nice guy. (Dave’s actually older, he just looks twelve. In fact, Dave’s marrying my good friend, Baby Tiffany, from UAS, this coming spring.)

I soon met Dentist Bob (not to be confused with Barber Bob) and his Tinker Bell-sized assistant, Chrissy.

Remembering Sargie’s assurance that Dr. Bob is very nice and more importantly, gentle, I settled into the chair and let him stick his hands elbow-deep into my mouth.

Looking past his hands, I discovered Dr. Bob still has an old-fashioned spit bowl; you know, the kind that swings around and when one gets a mouth full of gunk, the doctor says, “OK, you can spit now.”

But us old timers, we all know it should really be called a drool bowl. Who can spit when the upper half of one’s body is numb?

Dr. Bob’s spit bowl must only be for looks because Chrissy was on hand with a major suck wand and he never offered to let me spit into the round porcelain bowl. Maybe next time I have dental work done, I’ll ask if I can… just one more good old-fashioned drool-into-the-bowl for old time’s sake.

There’s a bright side to the spit bowl story. Chrissy presented me with my very own minor suck wand to assist in de-gunking my mouth. I’ve never been given my own suck wand before. I really wanted one the size of Chrissy’s, but I understand I’m a novice suckee; baby steps first. Unqualified and wielding too big a sucker, well, I might have vacuumed my tongue, lips, and cheeks into that place where all gunk flows. Who knows?

Still, minor suck wands can be wonderful and fun devices. I discovered if I covered half the tip with my tongue, it produces a noise that sounds as if one is scratching a blackboard with his fingernails. And when a minor suck wand is inserted all the way into one’s mouth and the lips are closed, it sounds as though someone just sat on a whoopee cushion. Another time, I stuck it to the inside of my lip, and left it hang there, no hands needed. I haven’t had so much fun in a long time.

I was going to ask Dr. Bob if I could have the disposable minor suck wand when we were finished, but I forgot. Oh well, maybe next time.

Arriving back home, I cleaned the little house on Pentoga from top to bottom readying it for a visit from my friend, John, today. A retired superintendent of schools from Sitka, he and his brother are driving up from Chilton, Wisconsin, for a visit. I can hardly wait to see him.

Sargie cleaned my clock last night in Rummy, beating me by 200 points. I’m glad we’re not playing for money or clothing, it would be a mighty cold proposition.

Sargie and I are excited about going to Green Bay this next week to do our Christmas shopping. Her birthday is on Thursday and by taking a vacation day on Friday, she’ll be off four days in a row. We’re spending the gift Mom gave us for Christmas on a hotel room and we’ll be in Title Town for two days.

The sun’s up, Sargie’s readying for work, and it’s time to greet the day. I need to check the traps first thing this morning then continue to grade final projects. A man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…