The Lion and the Lamb

I draw realistic portraits with charcoal and pencil. The results are gratifying, but truthfully the process is slow, laborious and painstaking. I have quite the crick in the neck after I've been scrunched over a drawing for an entire day.

But, now watercolor. It looks so loose, free and easy. For months I've been trying to learn watercolor from Youtube tutorials. Not so easy after all. I've found it really hard, quite frustrating actually.  I've made one hot mess after another. 

I spend almost every Saturday painting. I start out so positive. I am going to do spectacular paintings. I make coffee, get my supplies situated, and put on Pandora.  I roll up my sleeves, then stare at my paper. For a very long time.

The thing is I'm not all that creative or original. I'm used to drawing realistically with precision from a reference photo. You can't do realistic or precise with watercolor. It has a mind of its own.  When I finally start something, I don't know when to quit. I've ruined the majority of paintings by overworking them. The results look like kindergarten finger paintings.

I keep telling myself I'm done with watercolor. So many frustrations, so many fails. But, surprisingly, I've returned later to some of my fails and realize they're not that bad. Whether they're good or bad or ho hum, I tape each to my wall. Well, some of the really, really bad ones, I turn over and use for practice paper. (Watercolor paper isn't cheap.)

Today I painted bunnies on cards for each of our granddaughters. They seemed to like them or at least they liked the five dollars that was in the card.

Tonight before bed I wanted to paint something spectacular to capture the majesty of the resurrection of Christ. The painting I did is less than spectacular, but I'll share it anyway--straight out of my watercolor pad. (Please don't laugh.)

The Lion and the Lamb...His humility on the cross and his power in conquering death.  

Happy Easter everyone! And, now I gotta go to bed. 

The conquering Lion of Judah and the Lamb who was slain. Rev. 5:5-6

Chance meeting

Sometimes it’s worth looking up from your phone to look at the person sitting right next to you.

A number of weeks ago, I took a trip to see a good friend in Oklahoma. It had been a long brutally cold winter in Minnesota. I had been feeling very heavy-hearted over a situation. I was looking forward to getting away, leaving the polar vortex and flying south, even if it was just to Oklahoma and not Florida. It was in the right direction anyway and bound to be warmer.

When I checked my bag, the lady behind the counter gave me a different seat than what I had been assigned when I checked in online the night before. I didn’t ask why; I didn’t much care as long as the seat wasn’t way in the back by the bathrooms.

Flying used to be more of a pleasure than it is today. Now, you basically just hope to survive the trip without any major hassles.  People generally don’t converse with one another like they used to. Keeping their heads down, most people's eyes are on their phones or some other device. Someone had told me that when he travels for work he doesn’t want to talk. He gets busy working or takes a nap so he can be left alone.

With that in mind, I made my way back to 18D. It was the last seat on the plane by the bathrooms. Oh, well. There was a young woman in the seat next to mine. I wouldn’t bug her. I was going to put in my ear buds and watch Youtube.

I still had this heavy, anxious feeling. I had been praying about it, but the feeling wouldn’t leave.

Thankfully, this young woman didn’t follow the no-talk rule and reached out.

Before I put in my ear buds, she smiled and struck up a conversation. At first we talked about the usual stuff…the extreme weather we’d been having, where we lived, who we were going to visit. She was a single mom and was from North Dakota. She told me about her business which she was considering expanding, but was praying about it. She wanted to be flexible with her time to be with her son.

I saw the book she was reading, “Kingdom Kids.”  I asked if she was a Christian. She was.  For the next hour she proceeded to tell me her story. As she shared, the heaviness started to lift.  Her words were exactly what I needed to hear at that moment.

I told her I felt God had arranged our meeting. She agreed.  I told her I wasn’t even supposed to be in this seat. She laughed and said her seat had changed at the last minute too.

As our plane was landing, God nudged me to offer to draw her son. 

"Snow Day"

Here’s a drawing of Jace, and his friend, Tatum.  Thank you, Sarah, for being a light.

Blessings to you,

Jacci

The Art of Observation

This last year I took up doing art again.  My niche is drawing portraits with charcoal and graphite pencil. I especially love drawing children's faces.

After I shared a few of my first drawings on Facebook, I was surprised when people started asking me to do their children and grandchildren. I was hesitant at first; I didn’t want to disappoint anyone if the drawing turned out badly. But I guess people have been happy because I’ve been very busy doing commissioned drawings ever since.

I don’t think of myself as especially artistic. I think of an artist as someone who designs, decorates, or does crafts. I’m not good at any of these things. I freeze up at T.J.Maxx just picking out throw pillows. I’m a disaster with a glue gun in my hands.

I’m more like a human copy machine. I draw what is already there as realistically as possible.  I can draw an animal freehand. It doesn’t have to be exact. A cow is a cow. But drawing people’s faces is laborious. I use a ruler and a grid to get the proportion right. If it doesn’t look right, I will hold it over the reference photo to see where I’ve gone wrong. If I am off even an eighth of an inch, the baby I’m drawing can end up looking a lot like Winston Churchill.

My skill lies in being a good observer. I am obsessive in the details.  My favorite part is drawing the eyes. Get the eyes right and you've captured the soul. My drawings take between six and eight hours. Sometimes more, especially if I don’t have a clear reference photo. It’s really difficult to fill in the blanks if I can’t see the details.

I’ll keep working on perfecting the drawing until I’m happy with it. Or until I force myself to be done, spraying it with fixative so I can't make any more changes.

While I’m drawing, I often think of the supreme and ultimate artist. I get just a very small glimpse of the delight God must have felt when He made us. Genesis 1:27 says God created human beings in His own image—His likeness. Crazy.

There are lots of verses about God making us perfect, one being James 1:4. “And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

That’s always stumped me. I know Jesus is perfect, and once we’ve accepted Him God sees us through His righteousness and perfection.  But we ourselves aren’t perfect. We'll continue to mess up right until the end.

Since I've been drawing, I've gotten a better understanding of God perfecting us.  God is the original and ultimate artist. He's the potter; we’re the clay.  If we yield to His hands, we begin to look more like Him. He continues to mold us. Our desires change, our actions change, our love grows. We’ll never be perfect this side of heaven, but we’re a work of art (albeit messy at times) on which He is putting the finishing touches.  So cool.

Fifty Shades of Greige

Painting has become a kind of compulsion for me. I’ve painted our house a ridiculous amount of times. Since we built our home 15 years ago, most of the rooms have been painted at least three times; Paige’s old room five.  Maybe I’m spending too much time at home looking at the walls, because I’m thinking about painting again.

The family room downstairs started out white, then was changed to a color I can’t quite describe—it matched the couch I bought off Craigslist.  I got rid of the couch and the rest of the furniture and repainted the downstairs before Paige and Matt moved in with us. They ended up staying three weeks and then Matt was offered a new job and they moved to Madison. Fortunately, the taupe we chose for the family room matched the new furniture we bought to replace what we had cleared out.   

I wasn’t able to live with the seafoam green though in what was going to be the nursery. The color made me feel nauseous when I started using the room as my workout room.  I repainted the walls gray which turned out looking decidedly purple. The next color I chose was cream. I figured it would be a safe color, but two coats couldn’t cover the four layers of color underneath. That room really should be done again. 

Amber and Paul helped me repaint the kitchen in 2011, a shade of green Amber chose that looks good with the oak cabinets. I’m thinking now about changing it when we replace our damaged laminate countertop.

A few years ago I repainted the living room the same golden tan trending at the time we built the house. It now looks dated. I want to freshen things up.

Gray is the new neutral. I actually love gray, but it doesn’t go with the warm colors in our carpet, furniture and oak trim.

If only I could paint the trim and kitchen cabinets white, I could pick any wall color I wanted. But there’s no way Dave’s going to let me paint perfectly good solidly built oak cabinets. That and it would cost a small fortune not to mention be a ton of work (once I got started I’d have to do the whole house of course).

I’ve been told greige is the ticket. It’s a warm gray with beige, considered a neutral that’s supposed to go with anything. Turns out there are at least 50 shades of greige, each having its own sneaky undertones. I’ve spent hours the last few weeks researching and scouring Pinterest for the perfect one. I want to get it right.

After several trips to Benjamin Moore gathering paint chips, I bought sample pints of the top two contenders--Abalone and Revere Pewter. I did what the experts tell you to do. I painted poster board and taped them to the wall. I’m glad I did. The Abalone definitely looks lavender and the Revere Pewter looks like yesterday’s oatmeal or a dried-up mud puddle.

People ask if I like painting because I do so much of it. I actually kind of abhor painting, but after so much practice I’m pretty good at it. I swear this is the last time I’m painting the house.  Maybe I’ll have one of those online interior designers suggest one color and hire a professional to paint the entire house with it.

Or, maybe I should just quit looking at the walls and get out more. I have Pinterest paralysis.

Learning New Tricks

Recently, our department implemented a new computer system. It was a fairly major shift from what we had been using. Employees spent weeks in classes learning the new program.  Those under 40 caught on quickly. The 50-plus crowd were intimidated. Those pushing 60 talked about early retirement.

I didn't think I was that stupid, but I had to ask more questions than the younger coworkers in my class. It was irritating when one of the 20-year-olds laughed at me when I asked how to print out a screenshot. Well sorreeeey, I didn't grow up using computers. Serves me right though. I remember years ago making fun of an older lady in my work unit for how she had to stop and look over her cheaters to see the computer screen.  

Well, the system is now up and running. It turned out that it wasn't that painful. No one even turned in their retirement papers. 

So it's possible to master new things when you're no longer a young pup. I tried to think of what I've learned since being in my 50s. It was a stretch, but I did come up with a couple of things. For one, I discovered and started using the tabs at the end of the aluminum foil roll. Why doesn't anyone know about these? They're there to hold the roll in place so when you go to pull out a sheet of tin foil or plastic wrap the whole roll doesn't get yanked out and you end up with three feet of crumpled mess. How annoying is that? If you've never used these little guys before, go to your kitchen right now and pull out the tin foil. See those tabs. Push them in. Your life is going to be infinitely better from here on in, trust me.

I've also earned how to properly fold a fitted sheet. It took practicing using a YouTube video, but I finally mastered it. 

My last post was about how I was learning how to draw again. Other than doodling the backs of people's heads on the bulletin during church, I hadn't drawn since college. My daughter encouraged me to start up with my art again. I was intimidated. I didn't think I'd be very good and wouldn't stick with it. My first sketches were pretty rudimentary. I began drawing using photographs of people in magazines for reference. That way it wouldn't matter if the drawing looked like the person or not. But when I drew Morgan Freeman and it actually looked like him and not Bill Cosby, I was pleased. I set out to continue to get better.

From YouTube I've learned about using grids. Before I start a new picture, I painstakingly pencil out a grid on my paper and place another one over the photo. It's time consuming and tedious, but it's made a world of difference in getting proportion right, essential in drawing realistic faces. I somehow feel like a fraud because I don't draw fluidly and effortlessly, but I found out that most of the great masters used grids. You better believe that when Michelangelo painted The Creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, he used a grid. Leonardo da Vinci regularly used grids and mathematical solutions in his drawings. So I guess if Michelangelo and da Vinci used a ruler, I can too.

Several have told me they wished they had my artistic ability. Ha! Truth is, drawing is like anything else. It takes years of practice to become skilled at anything (becoming good at playing piano, singing, writing or whatever). It's not necessarily raw talent.  It takes instruction, time and practice.  A lot of time. My drawings take at least six to eight hours, and I do much erasing and starting over.  Even though I love the process and it is immeasurably rewarding, it's still work.

I think I am a better artist now at this age than when I was younger.  I have the advantage of a lifetime of gaining perspective.  I can see things that I didn't see before. With the help of my cheaters, of course.

Hobbies and House-Husbands

Dave's been retired for three weeks, and so far it's been divine. For me anyway. Working isn't so bad if you have a house-husband. When I step through the door at night, my work is done. 

Dave's taken over almost all of the household duties. I was always the cook in the family, but now Dave starts dinner if I leave him step-by-step instructions. If there's so much as one dirty sock in the laundry basket, it will be washed, dried, matched up with its partner and put away by the time I get home. It's like magic.

He pretty much does all the grocery shopping too. He won't admit it, but I think he secretly loves shopping. He makes regular trips to Rochester when we're low on anything. I mean, anything. Like water softener salt, beef jerky or Twizzlers. Since a trip to Rochester is 50 miles round trip, the Twizzlers have become an expensive item. But I gotta give the guy a break. It's his only vice. That and watching Fox News, but that's another story. Don't get me started.

His joy though is being with the grandbabies. He'll never turn down an opportunity to be grandpa-nanny. 

So far, his retirement hasn't been a bad gig for him or for me. People ask him if he gets bored. He says no and so far hasn't been looking to start a new hobby. 

I, however, have a lot more time on my hands. After binge watching My 600 Pound Life and Intervention for Dave's first two weeks of retirement, I decided I needed the hobby.  

I used to draw. In college I majored in journalism and minored in graphic arts. By my junior year, I had a good start on developing my art portfolio. After spring semester that year, I left for California with the intent to return to Indiana in the fall. I put my things in storage at the school, all except for my art portfolio. I asked a friend to keep the art for me until I returned. Not that the art was so great, but I had put my heart and soul into it. It meant a lot to me. She promised me she'd guard it with her life.

When the summer was up, I decided to stay in California. I flew home to Minnesota, and my mom and I made the drive to Indiana to retrieve my things. The stuff I had put in storage in the basement of Martin Hall was still there. The friend with whom I left my art portfolio was not. Rumor had it that she joined a cult over the summer. I never saw her or my art work again.

The circumstances of my leaving college were painful. For a long time I had this melancholy feeling every fall when colleges started back up. I felt like I should be there. I had intended to finish college in California, but life took over. I started working, got married, had children, and put school and art on the back burner. 

After a number of years, the desire to go back to school left. I had a job I liked and didn't know what I'd rather be doing. I don't regret not having a degree but I have always had a profound sadness about losing my art work.  

Knowing this, Amber encouraged me to start painting again. She asked me to do a painting for her to hang up in their house. The idea of painting is intimidating. It's been so long, I literally don't remember how. I need to learn to draw again before I attempt a painting.

After a 34-year hiatus, I'm drawing again. I'm rusty. So far I've just been doing simple pencil sketches. My first attempts haven't been great, but that's okay. To become good at anything takes time and practice. I've got the time.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to track down the chick who took off with my art work. She probably threw it away, but you never know. Maybe it's stowed away in an attic somewhere. If I ever find her though, I'm going to throttle her.

Kicking Debt to the Curb

Last year Dave and I finally kicked debt to the curb. No more car loans, credit cards, or outstanding medical bills. We celebrated by screaming at the top of our lungs, "We're debt free!!!!" Then we sat down and ate ice cream.

We had been working on getting out of debt for a number of years. We didn't owe a ton and our payments were manageable, but we wanted to be completely out of debt by the time Dave retired. Progress was slow. It was like we were on a treadmill. One loan would get paid off and then another would inevitably take its place.

The game changer was when our daughter and her husband introduced us to Dave Ramsey. If you haven't heard of Dave Ramsey, he's kind of all over the place. Author, motivational speaker and talk show host, he educates and counsels hurting folks on how to get out of debt and gain financial freedom.

Amber and Paul were doing Dave Ramsey's debt snowball plan to pay off their college loans. Newly married and fresh out of college, they weren't making much and were living in Boston, a city with frightfully high living expenses. When their college loans first came due, reality hit hard. The combined loans would equal a monthly mortgage payment for the next 10 years, if not more. 

Amber and Paul heard about Dave Ramsey from friends who had been successful in paying off their school debt using his plan. They bought one of his books and started working the plan to attack their loans, smallest to largest. 

We kept up with their progress and cheered every time they called to say they had paid off another loan. In less than two years, they had knocked out their last payment. Their excitement was contagious. Paige and Matt went all in too and became debt free within six months.

Ours isn't nearly as impressive as the journey our kids made to become debt free. It took us longer than it should have, but we finally said enough already and got 'er done.

Dave Ramsey's just a guy. He admits that he hasn't invented anything new in the area of money. On his radio show, he often says that he gives the same financial advice your grandmother would. None of his concepts were new to me. But he's made the process simple and doable.

The best thing is you don't have to pay one cent to follow his advice. Just check out his book The Money Makeover from the library (or borrow the book I never returned to Amber). You can also watch his podcasts online or catch his radio show. Dave and I stayed motivated by listening to his show on IHeart Radio every night on the way home from work.
We're now working on Step 6 of Dave Ramsey's 7 Baby Steps.

Next week Dave's retiring on his 62nd birthday. We're not going to be rolling in the dough, but we're very happy to be out of debt and have a savings. 

New Year Resolutions

Another year passes--each one flying by a little faster than the year before.

Our New Year's day is usually spent just recovering from Christmas. Kind of like taking a day off after vacation to recover from vacation.

I do like making a few goals for the year. I don't call them New Year's resolutions though. That would mean I'd have to be resolute in keeping them. That I'm not.

I began making New Year's resolutions in high school.  My list consistently included a variation of the typical ones people make. 1) Lose weight (by so many pounds in so many months), 2) exercise more, and 3) read through the Bible in a year. 

My success rate wasn't high. On my weight, I gained an average of a pound each year, every decade adding 10 more pounds to my weigh loss goal. My goals to exercise were too lofty. The year I resolved to run a half marathon I ended up with killer plantar fasciitis, putting a halt to even thinking about walking around the block. 

I ditched my Bible reading plan around February when I was slogging my way through Deuteronomy.

I've gotten wiser and more realistic with age. My goals now are quite attainable. Like replace the torn lampshade in the living room. Or, vacuum out the Asian beetles from the light fixtures. 

Two years ago my goal was simply to watch more television. It was a worthy goal, I thought. Dave and I didn't spend enough quality time together. He watches television. I hole up with a book. When we switched to cable and bought a new comfy couch for the family room, I decided to turn over a new leaf and join him. Didn't take too long to become an HGTV junkie.

I'm not a complete slug though. Twice I've managed to read straight through the Bible from Genesis to Revelation. Both times it took me closer to two years, with the first year and a half spent in the Old Testament. I felt parched but overjoyed when I made it to Matthew.  

Now I read the Bible without a particular plan. The point is that I read it. Sometimes I spend weeks in one chapter. Other times I read a verse for the day. Currently, I'm memorizing the book of James with my friend, Millie, who lives in the nursing home. Maybe I'll finish by the end of the year. I'm not in a hurry. I'm refreshed just to be soaking in the Word and to spend time with Millie.

In 2010 I successfully lost the 40 pounds I had gained over 40 years. I simply resolved to eat real food, just less of it, and break a sweat each day. I didn't have a timeline. I was in it for a lifestyle change. The strategy worked. I kept most of it off for the first seven years. Recently though, I've been on the upswing. Something needs to be done.

I am setting a weight goal. From every year hereon in, my goal is to weigh my age plus 100. This year that's 155. 

I came up with the idea after watching a segment on 60 Minutes on research done on the lifestyles of those who lived to 90 and beyond. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/want-to-live-to-90/

They found that those who remained active lived longer and had less chance of developing dementia--not surprising. Taking vitamins didn't make much difference. Surprisingly, those who had a few drinks a day tended to live longer than those who didn't drink alcohol.

The real kicker, and what I found encouraging, is that at a certain age weight gain can be a good thing. Those who were average weight or moderately overweight outlived those who were underweight. Bottom line, it's not good to be skinny when you're old. 

I jumped on this idea. I decided that if I weigh my age plus 100, I can gain a pound every year and remain in exceptional health. Next year, it's 156. At 75 years of age, I hope to be at 175. If I'm still living at a 100 and weigh 200, that's fantastic. It's a beautiful plan. Of course, for all this to work out I'll first need to get back down to 155.

So there you have it. Older, wiser, and keeping it simple. 

Have a wonderful new year, my friends. May it be one that is joyful, peaceful, and surrounded by those you love.

Jacci

P.S. On one very happy note, last year on January 3 we finally crossed off a goal we had on our list for years. We did THE DEBT FREE SCREAM! Finally, we were able to kick our debts to the curb. I'll have to do a blog post on that one. Next time.

Hitting 55

Sharing birthdays with Evie

Yesterday I celebrated my birthday with our first grandchild. Evie was due on my birthday and came on my birthday. Pretty special. Evie turned three. I've hit the speed limit.

I am good with being fifty-five. For me, the sevens have always been the hard birthdays. Twenty-seven. Thirty-seven. Forty-seven. All gave me a certain kind of dread. I don't know why exactly.  Maybe because I was closer to the next decade than I was to the last.  

Forty-seven though was the worst. My plumbing was unpredictable. I was becoming increasingly forgetful.  I also weighed more than I did when I was nine-months pregnant with my last child. At my physical that year, my doctor said I had all the signs of perimenopause, the precursor to the last hurrah. Yay. Well, at least there was a reason I was going haywire mentally and physically.  

I asked her about the weight gain.  She said, oh yeah, that's part of it.  Once a woman turns 50 and hits menopause, the default is to continue to gain weight.  A woman would need to both exercise an hour more a day and decrease calories just to maintain her weight, never mind lose weight. Well, if all I could hope for after 50 was just to maintain my weight, I decided I would go into it the skinniest I possibly could.

For the next months I cut calories and worked out like a fiend. After 40 pounds lost, I recognized my face again. It felt good. I tossed out all my old clothes and bought new ones in sizes I hadn't seen since high school.

And, then, I promptly went into a full-blown midlife crisis. This was the best it was going to get before I got truly old. I grew depressed thinking of the day I'd be wearing comfortable orthopedic shoes and plucking hairs off my chin.

It took me until I turned 50 to get over the midlife crisis. Since then I've come to realize there are advantages of growing older.

For one, I have greater perspective. When my kids call to share their hardships, I tell them that things are going to turn out okay. And, I know they will. I've seen it in my own life. Sometimes it takes time--a long time, years even--but God can turn crummy things into blessings.

Yes, my memory is shot.  But there's an upside to losing your memory.  I can now read a book twice. I'm into the third chapter before the story line seems even vaguely familiar and I realize that I've probably read it before.  Doesn't matter. I don't remember how it ends, so I keep reading.

I've become more comfortable in saying what I mean and meaning what I say.  I certainly try to be gracious, but I don't have the energy or time to beat around the bush. I guess that's what it means to lose your filter. 

I'm okay with the way I look. I look my age, I think. It's silly to try to be some kind of hot grandma.  I'm just going for well groomed.

I think intercession is a special gifting that God gives to older people. After our last child left for college, I was sobered by the thought that the time of influence with our children was over. Had we done it right? We made so many mistakes as parents. Our sphere of influence is now in our prayers.  Dave and I have an urgency to pray for young people like never before. Daily we pray for the young people in our lives, each of them by name. Our adult children, grandchildren, nephews and nieces, and the children and grandchildren of our friends.  

The relationship with your children changes as you and they grow older. You become more of a mentor and cheerleader as they move into their adult lives and become parents themselves. You are honored when they come to you seeking wisdom. (That I have any wisdom to give is always a surprise to me.)

But the creme de la creme is getting grandbabies out of the deal. In the last three years, Dave and I have been blessed with three beautiful granddaughters, Evie, Hazel, and Ashton. My birthson also has two little guys: Moser and Daniel. Someone once told me that having grandchildren is like falling in love. It's true. When you think of your grandchildren, you get this soft, warm expansive feeling. You can't get enough of them and can't wait for the next time you see them. Pure joy.

But here's something else.  The older I get, the less of a hold I have on this life. This life is full of joys and blessings but more than enough heartache and sorrow to go around too. We live in a broken world. All you need to do is turn on the television and listen to the news. But this life is just a dot on the line of eternity. The older I get, I think of heaven more. I long to be in the Lord's presence forever. 

But until that day comes, I'm going to live my life gratefully.

Life at 55 is good.

Laughing Gas

For the last couple of days I've had a zinger of a toothache.  After a long night counting my pulse through the number of times my tooth throbbed, I called to get into the dentist right away in the morning. A few X-rays and a shot of cold air to tooth #15 and Dr. Peters confirmed I needed a root canal. She gravely informed me the tooth was dying.

So far this year we've paid the dentist the equivalent of what we could have spent buying a small-sized sedan.  I asked how much for the root canal.  $1,500.  I asked how much to have it pulled. $200 to $300, depending.  "Pull it." 

Dr. Peters looked pained. As a dentist she said she always tries to save teeth. The tooth was still good. It already had a crown on it. I could understand this. Rescuing teeth is her job. 

I asked if I could get along without the tooth, and she admitted that if there was any tooth you could live without it would be a back top tooth. I said I was ready to say goodbye to the problem child. I had spent enough money on this tooth over the years.

The receptionist set me up with an oral surgeon in the afternoon. She broke down the price and asked if I wanted to have nitrous oxide--laughing gas. It was an extra $86. 

I'd never had the particular pleasure of receiving laughing gas, but I heard it was a blast. I'd always just braved it out with Novocain, even when I had my wisdom teeth removed years ago. 

Our dentist in California was a man from India named Dr. Belur. I had assumed when I went to Dr. Belur to get my wisdom teeth pulled, I'd be put under or be offered laughing gas. I was wrong. When I asked when I was going to be put to sleep, Dr. Belur said in his genteel Indian accent, "Oh, no, in New Delhi I take out 300 teeth a day. Not even Novocain. I just pull." He said I should have gone to an oral surgeon if I had wanted sedation.

I felt a sense of alarm, but he said no worries. He'd use Novocain with me. He gave me my first shot, and there was no turning back. 

What came next was akin to two hours of labor and delivery with forceps. Dr. Belur was pulling so hard to get my first impacted tooth out that my butt kept lifting up off the chair. As my body dangled from the single grip of a pair of dental pliers, Dr. Belur told me I should have gone to an oral surgeon and gotten put under. 

He had managed to cut two of the teeth out by the time his office closed at five o'clock. I was sent home with two tea bags to put in my injured mouth and told to return in the morning to have the other two removed. I came back the next morning for more of the same, and finally the deed was done.

So with the memory of my experience with Dr. Belur in mind, I readily said yes please when the oral surgeon offered a little bit of the N20.

The laughing gas wasn't quite the hoot I expected, but it did make the whole experience of getting a tooth yanked out of your jaw an almost pleasant one. After the dental assistant strapped the mask over my nose, I had a moment of claustrophobia. I asked if I could get it removed if I started to panic.  The assistant said just to breathe through my mouth if I got uncomfortable.

They started up the mist. I waited. Nothing. Took a few deep breaths.  Still nothing.  But then my hands started to tingle and my lips felt like they were getting shot up with Botox. Not that I have ever gotten Botox. Finally, I started to feel a mildly pleasant sensation. The creative juices began to flow.  Man, this would make for a good blog. I tried to hang onto the pleasant thoughts drifting in my brain. 

I thought of my oldest daughter who had delivered our latest granddaughter at a birthing center. The midwives used laughing gas for pain relief. God bless Amber, I thought. She went through childbirth just with laughing gas. Gosh, I love that girl. Then I thought of our other two children. And our grandbabies. Well, just bless them all.

I heard the crunch of the tooth as it cracked, sort of like what you hear when you break apart the bones of the chicken.

Seemed like less than a minute and they were done. I remained in the chair as I was given instructions for after care. 

As I made my way to my car, I rehearsed the happy thoughts I had while I was under the stream of laughing gas. I was going to write the blog as soon as I got home.

First though I needed to get ice cream. Ice cream was supposed to be good for recovery. I pulled up at the drive through at Flapdoodles and ordered a pint of vanilla and a pint of white chocolate raspberry. 

At home, I replaced the gauze, took two Advil and started on the blog.  That was over four hours ago. I still haven't been able to recover the breezy thoughts I had while I was in laughing gas la-la land.

Oh, well. Getting the tooth pulled was a piece of cake. And I'm eating Flapdoodles ice cream.  All in all, a good day.