Oral History

I had written about both of these things before, so shame on me for falling into the rabbit hole once again. Yesterday, my storied experience with the dental community of Naperville and my inclination to blog ahead collided. It wasn't pretty. 

I was all set and ready to go. I had skipped breakfast, heeding the advice of the skinny Russian receptionist who probably always skips breakfast. (Lunch and dinner for that matter.) I had let the hole that Roscoe dug in my flower bed while pursuing Chipmunks this morning slide. I had made it to the train in time, boarded it (bike in tow), exited it, and commenced a five mile bike ride to the oral surgeon. I was thinking about the next couple hours: park the bike, text Peter the address, fill out paper work, go under, wake up without the four champion chompers in the back of my mouth, get in the monster truck, go home, start recovery. I had the perfect article to write. I would call it 'Dog Therapy.' It would be all about my house guest, Roscoe, helping me recover, loving me despite my chipmunk cheeks and inability to talk. Man's best friend was also Lo's best friend. 

About a mile out (still on my bike, on the sidewalk, helmet on, Mom and Dad) I called the oral surgeon whose name just happens to start with an H and end with a -uvar to tell him that my five minutes late had turned to twenty. The Russian receptionist answered and courteously said, 'Oh, I was just going to call you. We have to reschedule your appointment because you are late and there isn't time.'

WTF.

I explained my situation - that I was a mile away - that I was on bike - that my train had arrived late to the station - that she and the whole oral surgery team and the terrible dental office that referred me to them sucked - that if the doctor were late, later, later, I would remain waiting - that the moment a patient is late, he or she is shewed away? She stuttered a couple more 'sorry we can't do anything for you' statements, then gave me the option of rescheduling on July 4. 'Oops, we're not open then. We can take you on July 31.' I dramatically said I was taking my business some place else, hung up the phone, and irrationally started getting choked up in the middle of Washington Street.

It was 95 degrees, I was stranded in Naperville on my bike with nothing in my basket but a wallet and phone. I had been putting off this surgery for at least five years and when I finally had it on my calendar I was denied. Yes I was tardy, but come on! Choked up turned to tears when I reached downtown Naperville.

After another $5 train ride followed by a two mile bike ride, I made it home to find that the truffula tree haters had gathered around the majestic Elm tree outside of our house to saw it down. It had been marked with a neon orange circle, signifying Dutch Elm Disease and an urgency to turn it to dust. I tried to stop them Lorax style, but it was in vain. Twig by twig, branch by branch, from the 70 year-old bow to its anchored root system, our house went from shady to sunny to sad.

Yesterday, my nice life was punctuated with a bad day. And as much as Roscoe's dog therapy helped in the afternoon, it was something tried and true that enabled me to wake up on the right side of the bed this morning. That is a great dinner - tandem Italian sausage burgers - and a great night's sleep.

 

Lo. 

Italian Sausage Burgers with Garlicky Spinach: 

For the sausage patties - mix together: 

1 pound ground pork

Fennel Seed

Anise Seed

Paprika

Garlic cloves minced

Onion minced

Salt, pepper

Red Pepper Flakes

Drizzle of olive oil

Chianti

Italian parsley

For the spinach - saute

Spinach
Olive oil
Garlic
Salt

Roasted Red Pepper - roast a red pepper at 390 degrees for 30 minutes
Toasted kaiser rolls
Provolone cheese - melt on burgers

Assemble. Enjoy.