The After Life

My husband died at the dentist today. Not for long and not for serious. But he was dead for a bit. It’s not the first time.

He walked into our bedroom after his dental appointment, looking chagrined.  Chagrined is a pretty word that means, “It’s possible that I threw up or passed out in the office of a health care provider and made a spectacle of myself.” You know, chagrined.  

“How did it go? Did you ralph?” It’s a fair question; there is a certain historical precedent.

“Not this time,” he mumbled around a mouth full of Novocain and then he sighed around a mouth full of Novocain.

The sigh tipped me off.

“Oh no! What did you do?”

“Ummmm,” he said, followed by some mumbling and then more mumbling and then, “I sort of . . . lost all my blood pressure.”

This got my attention. I perked up like a Cocker Spaniel on crack.

“Define lost.”

“Well, first I got the shots. Then I got clammy. Then I got nauseas. Then my blood pressure went away and they started talking about me like I wasn’t in the room. You know, ‘I can’t get a reading,’ and ‘There’s been two beats in sixty seconds.’ Stuff like that.”

“You died.” I pressed my hands to my steadily beating heart.

“I didn’t die. I kept telling them that I was fine, but they didn’t seem to hear me. And then they gave me oxygen.”

“Because you died. Was there a bright light?”

“Sure. And it was shining right in my eyes. It was the exam light. I didn’t die. “

“Not the way I’m going to tell it. The way I’m going to tell it is that you did die, saw a bright light, started toward it, thought about how much you adore and worship me, and then turned around to spend the rest of the next hundred or so years loving on me. Okay.”

He walked over and gave me a droopy, Novocain laced kiss on the forehead.  He reached out and squeezed my shoulder.

“You tell it anyway you want. They did tell me that they had 911 on speed dial.”

I reached up and squeezed the hand squeezing me.

“I’m glad you didn’t die for serious.”

He smiled. His mouth only looked a little bit goofy. My heart skipped a beat . . . or two.

Linda (Heart Smart) Zern

  

The Parable of the Jazz Shoes

Or Everything I Learned About Human Nature I Learned From Shoes

Once there was and once there wasn’t a young girl who loved to dance and her name was Heather. Every year her parents scrimped, plotted, saved, and planned to pay for Heather’s great heaping pile of dance shoes, which Heather required for her countless dance classes.  She always needed a boatload of dance shoes, and they ‘aint cheap.

Believe it.

The year that Heather went “on point” she required: point shoes, ballet slippers, tap shoes, and character shoes. Her parents scrimped, plotted, saved, and planned to give their daughter the required shoes. The first week of dance classes Heather’s parents were informed that she would require—in addition—to her point shoes, ballet slippers, tap shoes, and character shoes, a pair of tan jazz shoes.

The well was dry. The money was gone. The budget blown.  Heather’s parents sadly but firmly informed her that there would be no more shoes provided by the family largesse.

Heather’s parents said, “Work, save, buy! It’s up to you.”

“Do I have to?” Heather asked.

“Yes!” They chorused.

She did, buying the last lonely pair of jazz shoes with her own hard earned, scrimped for, plotted to get, saved up, and well planned for money.

Then something mysterious and wondrous occurred.

The shoes provided to Heather by her parents went to dance class in a huge jumble, in a dance bag reeking of foot sweat and calluses, slung over her shoulder with cavalier indifference.

The tan jazz shoes—purchased by Heather with her own money—went to dance class in their original shoe box wrapped lovingly in their original tissue paper, carried tightly under her arm—with a pride of ownership and a tender awareness of their worth.

When Heather put the jazz shoes on she began to dance and dance, faster and faster and faster, until she turned into butter.

(“No! That didn’t happen. That’s just silly)

What did happen is that Heather’s parents learned an important lesson about children, grownups, shoes, responsibility, human nature, welfare, generosity, dancing, and charity.  Shoes you sacrifice and work hard for never get left out in the rain—by accident—ever.

Linda (Time to Pony Up) Zern

        

QUICK QUOTE OF THE WEEK

 Conner-Boy (7) said, "Poppy, I think I pulled a muscle." His Poppy reassured, "Conner, you've got to have muscles before you can pull a muscle."