Joys of the Dentist

I am sitting at my computer, glad my trip to the dentist is done. I hate getting cavities filled. I can sit through a general cleaning, but beyond that I'm not a fan of the dental chair.

 It actually went surprisingly well today, and as I was thinking about this on the way home, I started thinking about all of the trips Vera and I made to her dentist. To be honest, I loved those days. Vera lived by the lake in Burlington, and the dentist is in Waterdown.  So, we had a lovely ride to and from the dentist that would take us about 20 minutes each way. There was a particular strip of road that every time we drove on it, Vera would recall memories of her father taking them for drives in the country. She would reminisce about these days, each time revealing just maybe a tiny bit more about her past to me.

 I will say that the dental visit was part of the road trip I'm sure both of us would like to gloss over - and it was one of the few times Vera's failing memory was a wonderful asset for her. What we did walk away talking about each time we went to the dentist was how important moments with your family are. It is surprising how they lurk in your deepest darkest memory for years to come. It would always remind me how important it is to spend time with my own kids, and try to be less busy, focusing instead on enjoying them as they grow. Fun thoughts I'm sure all stemming from a cavity!

a simple love story

I live on a little street that I have grown to love. We walk the next door neighbours dog. The family around the corner goes to the same church as us. There's a little culdasac off our small street where the annual Canada day party is thrown every year for the block. I can't imagine moving - even though at times our house seems way too tiny for our growning family.

One family routinely opens their house to neighbourhood gatherings, and a couple days ago my husband and I went there to have some very yummy Dutch donuts. (I'd spell it, but i think I'd have a ton of Dutch friends rolling their eyes at my atrocious spelling!!) While I was sitting enjoying the treat, I found myself talking to the oldest resident on our street. Since we've lived here, we've watched his wife pass away, and his general decline. It's very sad. It seems like he needs more help than he is getting, but after talking to him, I realized his decision to stay in his house is somewhat of a love story. He and his wife moved into this house many, many years ago. She loved it - it is higher up on a hill and overlooks the street a bit. He hated it - it has no garage, no fireplace, and not much of a backyard. But, he bought the house for his wife. Now that his wife is gone, he can't imagine moving from the house. It is way too much work for him, and he does need more care than what family and government assisted programs offer. But, to a man with a failing memory, his deepest, strongest memories of life are what he holds onto right now. Of course its sad watching from our perspective, but there's something sweet about the way he talks about it too.