Having a hole in your mouth would be ab excellent weight loss program.
Went out and had some lemon rice soup at a good local place, Just finished eating my third bowl of Mrs Grass. I could eat a light pickup truck. The wife had two razor thin slices of beef liver, and two crisp slices of bacon. I actually drooled.
The spot where I got the shot in the roof of my mouth hrts way more than teh extraction. Maybe that’ll change tomorrow. I want a beef sandwich. Dammit.
Had my second wisom tooth pulled about ten minutes ago. Nothing on earth is as valuable as a good dentist and a good oral surgeon.
Not sure why, but when he hit me with the novocaine it didn’t seem to numb the tooth in question. All around it was numb, but not the tooth itself. So I felt every wrench and yank, but as he was done in about ten seconds, what pain there was was over so quickly I couldn’t complain.
I wish they’d let me keep the tooth. I think it would have been cool to wear around my neck. With the ears.
Dad worked a lot. A LOT. What time we had to spend together was pretty scarce and mostly, it involved work. Those times we hunted, or fished, or vacationed together, were pretty awesome.
One thing I never had an opportunity to do, one thing he loved, was rabbit hunting out on Beaver Island Michigan. He went up a couple years in a row, for a week each time, and before I had an opportunity to join him he’d died.
I did get to be there in spirit, though. A couple years before he died, he mentioned he had always wanted a light double for rabbit hunting, and since I was never any good at figuring out what dad wanted or needed, I took the bait.
It took a while, but i found a clean, well kept LeFever Nitro Special, in 20 gauge.
I gave it to him for Christmas. Took it out to him wrapped in a blanket, and gave it to him in the garage. Away from the women, where the tools were. Smelling of wood chips and oil and old wood fires.
Dad unfolded the blanket and sat it on the bench. He picked it up and put it back down again. Then he picked it up, broke it open, looked down the barrel, and sat it down on the bench again.
Dad was never good about showing his emotions, but tears welled up in his eyes.
Sorry, I can’t talk about it any more. It was a good Christmas.
