Dentists

While loading some of the 22 rooms of laundry just now into one of our motel's magnificent front loaders, I started wondering how, 100 years ago, they did the laundry at hotels. Did they have a sweatshop of Chinamen scrubbing linens on rocks near a local stream? And that led me to marveling at all of the incredible inventions that are available to make so much of our lives phenomenally easy. Just typing this blog, having a spellcheck performed and launching it out for my friends and family to instantly stay in touch with my ramblings is beyond belief!

And that led me into the thoughts about dentistry. I cannot imagine there are many people out of the six billion in the world (well, unlikely that many have even the access to dentistry which is another topic) that actually do not mind the experience? I think of my life as six month increments between my checkups. Then, there is a certain amount of anxiety once I get my reminder card as to whether I will get a clean check-up. And, any little discomfort eating a caramel, or having a sinus headache, or in my case, somehow getting tin foil in my old fillings (ouch) makes a nagging worry appear in my brain. I am incredibly pain tolerant. I had 22 hours of active Pitocin induced nightmare labor with my first child with no pain medication, and didn't once swear at his father, so I should be able to manage a little "pinch" as they say, of Novocaine.

But, in reality, it is the noises in my head while he grinding my enamel to sawdust, and the smell of it, that really gets my hands sweating. I think it is being out of control and lying prone while there are fingers and cotton shoved in my mouth. I must fear I will not be able to talk!!

The real blame falls on my parents. Going to see Dr. Backus, the sadist, as a child was beyond description. Waiting in the office waiting room, yawning and stretching to oxygenate while nearly hyperventilating started the visit. Dr. Backus did not use Novocaine. Why, I do not know. Too modern for him? Too expensive for my parent's budget? And, on top of the lack of analgesic, he had the nerve to yell at us if we squirmed too much! Maybe my memory is distorted, but I have verified this with my siblings and he was definitely a torture expert. Maybe I got yelled at because I tried to punch him in the closest part of his anatomy to my fist, which would be painful to him as he bent over me, but I do not think so. And, after all of his so-called education, he was willing to give us a paper spit cup with mercury in it if we behaved? Didn't he know we took it home, spilled it on the hardwood bedroom floor and tried to pick up the million little balls it blasted into. And then rubbed our eyes. With mercury covered hands. All I know is that I have been scarred. And not just by the mercury which I can perhaps use an excuse for any behaviour I am now embarrassed by. I just want modern medical science to catch up with my laundry equipment.

Germans (cont.)

In keeping with my thought processes regarding Germany and the Holocaust, I rented a movie that was recommended some time ago to me by Sam's friend, Susan. Harry and I watched "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" last night. Although I do not want to give details of the movie in case anyone wants to rent it (highly suggested), I do want to say that it was a very finely made movie with more thought provoking material than I have seen in some time. And, it certainly gave me fodder to believe that perhaps many Germans (and I hope Americans) really did not know exactly what was happening to the Jews. Maybe I want to believe that since I tend to be a "look on the bright side to the point of annoying" person. I certainly spend a great deal of time wondering and thinking about how such a thing could happen. Yet, America moved tens of thousands of Japanese Americans to camps in our own country and if we believed whatever propaganda was presented, anything could have happened right here on our soil without our knowledge. I am struggling with complacency, not just on a global scale, but my own.

I guana tell you a story...

Remember the scene in "Caddyshack" where everyone flees the swimming pool in hysteria when they mistake a floating Baby Ruth candy bar for doo doo? Well, we had a reenactment at the Sea Dell. Actually, three reenactments over the past few weeks when guests approached me with looks of subdued disgust and mentioned in low tones that there seemed to be, uh hum, "poop" in the pool.

After prolific apologies, I took a net and scooped out the questionable guano and reassured the guest that it was not human, but appeared to be an animal's and that we were profusely sorry. I made a note to staff to inspect the pool every AM. And, yet, it happened twice again, which puzzled all of us, since we were inspecting the pool every morning. I kept watching for some gigantic heron or pelican, thinking they were dropping gifts from above.

But, today we got our answer. A family of three guests were swimming merrily in the pool, when a huge iguana climbed under the gate from nearby landscaping and took a swim with them. In fact, instead of the normal fear of humans, he appeared to be annoyed that someone was in "his" pool. Then, he proceeded to go to the edge of the pool to climb out and left us a gift! Question answered, but problem not solved. Now, how to catch the pooping pest??

Germans

I heard a story today that I cannot get out of my mind. Harry was talking to a "local" in Marathon (where our motel is) and the gentleman told him about his landlord who is a resident and who was a child during WWII. This man is a guest speaker who shares his experience during the Holocaust. When he was a preteen living in Budapest, the Germans invaded and he remembers his father gathering the family together and being told that they could drink a solution that would put them to sleep. It was poison. This man chose to take his chances so his family took him to a local Catholic Church in the hope of protecting him. The Nazis eventually entered the church and when the head nun tried to prevent them from interfering with the children, she was machine gunned down. The Nazis told the male children to drop their pants and those that were circumcised were tied together with wire and led to the edge of the local river, which was frozen. The children were machine gunned. This man was the only survivor and because he was covered with blood from the others, was left on the ice for dead. He awoke a few days later, very ill, at a Red Cross station. Eventually the Russians invaded Budapest and he was able to escape and survive. I do not know the other details of his family.

These stories are certainly out of our realm of reality. But, as we know, they were common.

We have numerous German guests at our motel. I have had to address my prejudices and feelings on numerous occasions. If a German male is abrupt and sharp in our interactions, I bristle. Last week a family with two teenage boys were guests and I was helping one of the boys figure out an electrical converter. He was a sweet boy, but I couldn't help myself from thinking that a couple generations ago, he could have been a naive teenage Aryan guard in the German Army ordered to send thousands of people to their deaths in a gas chamber. I was shocked at my thought process!

Maybe I am more aware of these feelings because my husband is Jewish, or because my father fought in WWII. I know that no one today is responsible for the sins of their fathers but in my gut, if I am really honest with myself, I still feel a slight discomfort when a guest speaks with a German accent or announces where he is visiting from. I wonder if they feel a discomfort also? If I were less of a WASP, and more like my husband, I would probably ask them! But, I behave politely and graciously while harboring my ugly thoughts! I know that time will erase all of these negative vibes, and my kids most likely do not even have the same feelings associated with a people like I do. What I do hope for our country, is that we never forget and casually slip back into our typical American complacency. How did we not know what was happening in Europe, and how did we not care?

Down in the Valley

We were in LA this past weekend, to visit Doris, my mother-in-law. She lives in Encino, in the San Fernando Valley, in Los Angeles. They were experiencing what locals call "June Gloom." It wasn't particularly warm, with cloudy, rainy mornings which clear up by noon.

LA has a wonderful growing climate, with abundant sunshine and mild winters. Roses are abundant and are everywhere and I always have had serious LA rose envy. In Cleveland, I would fuss, spray, feed, and prune every year and then winter in Pepper Pike would slam us and they would die back and have to start all over in the spring. By August, half the leaves would yellow and fall off from a condition called mildew. My plants would finish the growing season looking worse than they started. I would go out to LA and covet my father-in-law's tea roses that were stately, five feet tall and covered with long stems holding up the most perfect huge blossoms.

The visit was different, without my father-in-law Sidney there, but we enjoyed visiting with Doris , taking her out to her favorite restaurants, and catching up on family news. We worked in the yard, ran errands to Home Depot, made small repairs and felt satisfied taking care of the plants that Sidney so loved in his garden and making Doris's environment safe and more enjoyable. She did a remarkable job taking care of Sidney, and we appreciate her. And, she is just an enjoyable person to be around.