WASHED AWAY

Midst all the warspeak from Obama, (plus the U.S. Congress stalling with a budget that will provide services American taxpayers have already paid for (!)), there came a flood of Biblical proportions--at least to the people caught in its rampage.

Colorado is one of those states in America where the sheer geographical beauty makes one believe that we are more than just "meat"...we have souls that sometimes can hear the Universe's song. It is not, simply, the pure mountain air. It is the forests; the wildlife; the plunging rivers; the weather that will always reign. Colorado keeps its citizens in awe--and in humility. If they forget that Nature always wins, in the end, they often forfeit their lives.

I have many friends in that mountain state. Some are wealthy. Some are famous. Some are outdoorspeople who have fled the tediousness of the city. Many are skiers, bicyclists, river rats, backpackers, hunters and fishers. Some prefer climbing the peaks; some prefer scrambling over boulders; some simply hike the bracing paths, counting birds and butterflies. All of them drink coffee; breathe deeply and wouldn't trade their geography for anyplace else on Earth.

The Colorado citizens I know have learned to create community--whether it be in the larger pockets of civilization, such as Denver and Boulder, or the tiny mountain villages past eight thousand feet. They know how to operate generators; how to fill the bathtub with extra water when it storms--in case the power goes out--so they can flush the toilets, etc. They share provisions; watch out for their elders; keep an eye on each other's kids and pets. They get together for local concerts and art shows. They ski cross-country to deliver baked goods and messages. They plow or shovel or simply snow-shoe over the ever-falling white stuff, to stay in communication with each other. No one is left cold or hungry or in darkness in a crisis. Yeah, there is gossip and competition and the human comedy one finds everywhere, but there is also a mountain spirit that supercedes: you must rely on others.

After the terrible wildfires this past year, which ripped through the mountains, finally were contained, Nature, in its powershifting cycle, sent rain. Unfortunately for the humans, there was too much exposed land, now burned and loose, unable to absorb the downpour fast enough. Mudslides, flooding, rivers exploding with debris, loose boulders still charred from the fires, all came running down, knocking apart anything in their path. This included all man-made structures: roads, bridges, homes, schools, cities...

Yes. It was that kind of disaster.

In my friends' village, just a few miles (minutes) from one of the hardest hit towns, they hunkered together. Her husband is a techie and miraculously kept the village connected to the outside world...somehow. Word got out among the survivors. My friends' home became "communications central". They hosted everyone who could hike up to their house--offering what coffee and provisions remained--and power to recharge electronics. They offered sporadic internet service and towels. They offered news from off the mountain and messages sent to panicked loved-ones everywhere. Mostly, without being asked, they offered solace. Community. Brief respite, even as the waters continued to thunder down.

I received some of those messages. I caught first glances of the destruction. (Having been in wildfires in the west, myself, and not a few flashfloods, I was unprepared for the absolute clout of this disaster!) Even as my friends begin to struggle upright, now, getting support from National Guard and FEMA and Red Cross, the destruction is soul-numbing. Whole towns have almost been washed away. Infrastructure which allows human life up and down the mountains won't be replaced for...well, no one knows. It may take years. Roads, power lines, schools, homes, businesses--all scrubbed from the mountainside. Sanded down to the roots. What took generations to build has been wiped away--again demonstrating how tenuous human hold is upon this planet.

Even writers who live there are barely able to scratch through the haze of disbelief. No adjectives are left. Nothing prepared them for this kind of disaster. No tornado footage nor western wildfire coverage nor even the great blizzards they contend with every year. Nada. So, they try to capture the living history of neighbors crawling through mud, just to reach ground to breathe. Or the memory of a town Patriarch, caught in bed, as his house was buried with him inside it. Or making small pots of coffee on a rain-sodden deck, using the last of the bathtub water and propane, trying to find a bit of humor in the mundane, even as Heaven raged around them.

There is a disconnect in this country this year. Something has shifted. Perhaps it is the lack of willingness to admit the economic severity of the Great Recession--or its impact on everyone from the middle down. The rich have a false sense of safety; making decisions that seem to only strengthen their position. What they don't realize is that America was made by its poorest masses. Its struggle was what gave it position in the world. Hope was its greatest "national product"; its greatest "sell". Colorado and its people, still trapped, may feel minimized in the headlines, but they are not forgotten. Their communities have learned what communities the world over know: in the end, wealth does NOT save you. In the end, we are in this together--with or without our government. Common individuals are who make America great. We have to reach out to each other.

 If the disaster in Colorado teaches me anything, it is simply that.  

MY TOOTH HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

My sister Ann has little corn teeth--at least some of them. Like the tips of candycorn, when she smiled, as a child, one was immediately reminded of Halloween. For Ann, this was a public embarrassment. Most of her adolescent photographs have her looking closed mouthed and perturbed.
In later life, the little corn teeth, which I found impish and endearing, were "fixed". However, her soft-toothed genetics have caused her many crowns and caps and overall dental hell. For this, I am truly sorry --glad that her job as a nurse allows her continued dental repair. Recently, she was in torment as one of those old corn teeth needed to be harvested...

My mother's teeth  have always been a cause of  fright--for her children.
When my mother was young, she had a wide gap between her front teeth. In those days, the answer was to fill the gap with "a partial"--a false tooth set-up with wires that connected the false teeth to the other teeth and allowed for snappy "in and out" action. My mother was thrilled with the dental "fix".
(However, it has always caused her moments of anxiety,so much so, that in her will, ANY dental needs, cosmetic or otherwise, will be taken care of, for life, for her three grand-daughters...)

My siblings and I remember our mother going ballistic, often, when we were little. One of her demonic tricks was to "snap out" the partial and bare her spaced-out teeth. She resembled nothing less than a ghoulish monster--not quite an evil witch and not quite  a vampire--but decidedly something to dread. She could clear the kitchen in a single open-mouthed grin. (She now admits that upon one or two occasions, she may have "let the partial drop", just for "fun"..."as a joke"...) To us, it was no joke.

I believe much of my relationship with my mother may be based on the fact that I never knew which "Mom" I was relating to--nor when the "evil Mom" would appear in front of me--gap toothed and grinning. On the other hand, perhaps my fascination with all things slightly creepy--including vampires--began with my mother's partial???

Dad went into the dentist with excruciating jaw pain two weeks ago. He is already on severe pain meds for his back and hips, so this pain had to be debilitating to cause him to shed tears. As he mouthed his supper, wincing, he begged my mother to call the dentist. (I wanted her to call the emergency line, but she, insisting it was "a Wednesday and no doctor is around on a Wednesday night..." wouldn't make the request until the next morning.) So, Dad grinned, ground his steak into swallowable hash and wiped the occasional tear from his eye.

Next day, he went into the dentist. Luckily, the oral surgeon's practice was next door. They took him  immediately. Zing zing zing. The oral surgeon offered a special "three for two" deal--three of dad's remaining natural teeth out,for the price of two extractions. (Dad has always jumped at deals.)
When he came home, half his face swollen to pumpkin size, the other half loose and bleeding, he resembled Mom on her "evil days".

"At least he doesn't have dentures," Mom said, bringing him ice.
(At least.)

I know that in the last two and a half years, I have been grinding my teeth in my sleep. Stress will do that. Sometimes, I wake myself up. However damaging this may be, I have not had dental insurance for a long time. A firm believer in all things hygienic, I have always taken good care of my teeth.
Because I had a front line of straight pearly whites, as a child (though the back teeth look like silver bullets...1950's family-friend dental care fillings...), unlike my siblings, I never was the proud recipient of corrective braces. My smile has always been deemed : passable. But, this stress-induced grinding has ground me down.

I knew something had to give.

I woke up with a bloody taste in my mouth and a hole in the back tooth that I could fit a gumball into.
Dad's recent trip to the dentist cost him almost seven hundred dollars per tooth! (And that was with decent insurance!) Ann's little tooth- ache involved a crown and oral surgery, too, and ended up closer to two thousand dollars!

I believed that I would have to endure, perhaps loading a Chiclet and some Krazy Glue into the hole in my back molar...

While subbing at the High School, I saw a flyer posted for the Gardner Dental Clinic. The add proclaimed that this state-funded enterprise turned no one away for lack of funds. No one.
I was someone who lacked funds and had an immediate need...I tucked the flyer into my notebook and promptly forgot about it.
Until my tooth began to scream.
(A high-pitched, bloody, throbbing sound that moved from my inner ear to  my outer-brain stem in syncopated time.)
I dug out the flyer and made the appointment.

"Soonest we can take you, Ms. Minns, is in December--" the secretary was clicking away on her computer.
"Oh, please, this is my wisdom tooth. I think I broke it off!"  I was pleading.
"Wait...okay...there's an appointment in two weeks..."
I could have kissed her.

By the grace of God, or the Tooth Fairy, or some being of light and compassion,(as well as the receptionist), I knew I only had to hold on for another fourteen days. I scarfed aspirin and ibuprofen,  avoiding all things crisp  or crunchy, and slept only on my back. Any nagging fears about the clinic, having a tooth removed, being chastised for neglecting my dental health for two years, etc. were forgotten. I was going to have the pain removed! O joy! O ecstasy ! O delight!

Anyone who has ever experienced mouth pain from a broken, infected, impacted or just plain rotten tooth, will understand--even wince as they read this. (Poor Dad! Poor Mom! Poor Ann!) Anyone who has suffered through years of braces or dentures or even a chancre sore, knows of which I speak.

Swallowing my pride as an unemployed/partially employed professional, I filled out all forms post haste, flashed my photo i.d. and state-health card. I was immediately whisked down a labyrinthian corridor, into the tiniest office I'd ever visited. There, a jolly technician sat me down in the enormous chair. She proceeded to take an x-ray and chuckle at my nervous banter.

A few  minutes later, a spry, muscle-bound, gray-haired dentist entered the room. (Why are all the dentists I've had been spry and muscle-bound?) He introduced himself as Dr. Cohen. We shook hands--after which he immediately put on rubber gloves. Then, he showed me, via his computer screen, what looked like the Rocky Mountains at dusk.

"Your crown is completely shattered...it's gotta come out, right now...we need you to sign the release and to know it can go two ways: first, I get a good grip and it pops right out...or second, it smashes into shards and we have severe problems...."

Shards???????????????????????????????????

(I thought of Ann and her little corn teeth.  I thought of Mom and her monster fangs. I thought of Dad and his bargain-striking oral surgeon...)

I signed the release.

Dr. Cohen and his nurse shot me full of fast-acting novacaine (or something similar).  Immediately, I couldn't even swallow. No spit. No blood. Just dry breath--which I concentrated on--just breathe--just breathe--just breathe.
After minutes of this mantra, Dr. Cohen was suddenly above me, looking down. (Or what I could see without my glasses.) His fuzzy face told me: Relax!
I closed my eyes.
I thought of the Dali Lama--of St. Francis and St. Michael and St. Joan--of my animal totems and walking in the woods by a flowing stream and----
"Done!" Dr, Cohen literally shouted from behind my head.

I'd noticed the grinding ripping sounds coming from the vicinity of my mouth. I'd felt the pressure of his thick finger pressing my broken tooth (as well as the crowbar he used to loosen it), but thank God, no pain.
No pain.

Suddenly there was gauze filling up the hole in my jaw. A brief taste of tin. Warnings about what not to drink or eat or do for the next twenty-four hours, and what to do if I ignored these warnings.

I hopped down from the big chair.
I shook both the tech's hands and Dr. Cohen's.
"You're like a Civil War dentist!" I slapped him on the back.
"How so?" Dr. Cohen looked up from my chart.
"Fast and effective!" I tried to grin but just managed to drool.

I thanked them both, again, and headed out into the humid afternoon, undrugged, a little bruised, but mostly relieved.

(On the way out, I did request that they not make any jewelry from my molar.)

•            

DEFEAT

We learn from it: defeat.

Don't give up. Never give up. Go down swinging; fighting; praying; to the last breath believing.
Don't give up.
Never give up.
Even if you are the final person standing, or kneeling, or sucking at the dust.
Never give up.
Even if  you are the only person staggering to continue; bleeding out with no one around; praying to what seems is a deaf and uncaring God: don't give up.

Never. Ever.
Even if you are the only person believing in yourself and your own belief is crying out: Why?
You cannot give up --on yourself.

Perhaps this is the hardest lesson of all.
( Perhaps this is the folly of a mad artist facing her own despair.)
Or, perhaps this is the whispered hope of angels...a message to a faulty human from a perfect Creator...THIS IS HOW YOU EVOLVE.

This is how we grow.
This is how we progress and become and learn to fly.

Pick yourself up. Knock off the dust. Wash off the blood. Take a breath. Look at the sky.
Or the dirt.
Or the trees.
 Breathe some more.
Move in one direction, however slowly, however painfully, however clumsily, but keep moving.
Keep breathing.
Keep believing: this, too, will end. This, too, will change.

I have not always dwelt in this failure. I have not always crawled through this pain.
I have not always been this hungry, nor tired, nor dirty nor hopeless.

I have known grace.
I have witnessed light.
I have laughed and shared and touched.
I have been touched back, in return.
There have been kisses and caresses and kind words. There have been dances and singing and parties in my honor.
My name has been spoken with love; with reverence; with respect.
Numbers do not matter. Who has the most "friends" in the world, at this time, does not matter.
(Who has the biggest bank account or the most "toys" doesn't win.)

These are transient properties, always changing, ephemeral and wild. Everything is made of atoms. Atoms are everywhere. Electricity unites us. There is more ''dark matter'' in the Universe than what we can see with our eyes. Mystery abounds. Defeat is a passing phenomenon, like rain in the desert. And as with rain in the desert, defeat will yield to a glorious harvest--in time.
In time.

In time, I am not alone.

I will always have one person who depends on me; who loves me; who knows me inside and out; who will never abandon nor leave.
I have myself.

The Universe is contained inside me.
However cold or dark the circumstances surrounding me; however dim the light around me; this is Truth.
The Universe is me.
I cannot be alone.
I am supposed to be here.

This promise has been handed down through the eons; the greatest Teachers have carried it and passed it to us, unblemished; undiminished; unchanged.

Believe.
Breathe.
Be.

Embrace defeat; see it as the ally it is meant to be. A lesson in motion; longevity; perfection.

Keep moving, forward, if you can, sideways if you must.
Seek out others, even if they are in the distance or in the shadows or in the darkness surrounding you. (Seek out others who softly moan, believing they, too, are alone and lost.)
 Seek them out and reach out and call out to them.
Tell them that we will move along, together, toward a different moment.
A time when Light will, again, rule.
A time when our voices will be heard; treasured and written down as Truth.

A time when what we have brought into existence will be recognized; valued for the gift it was meant to be.

If you do not share what you were meant to bring to this planet, it is lost, forever.

Forever. Believe.

Rise. Breathe. Move on, again.