Dental implants--or, my oral surgeon was awesome!

Dental implants:  Best idea ever!

The oral surgeon was so kind and competent, not like that sadistic endodontist.

They took X-rays and concluded I was a great candidate for the implant surgery.  Plenty of bone in which to successfully place the posts.

Not a fun process, though.

I went in last October for the posts to be implanted.  Posts are the metal pieces to which the fake teeth will be attached.

The process wasn't fun, involving drilling and putting metal nail-like things into my jaw.  Two of them. One near the front, on the right side; another near the back, on the left side.  I was quite sore for a couple of weeks, and the stitches were... disconcerting.

At least my oral surgeon prescribed appropriate pain meds.  A few days' worth of Vicodin.

Then I had to let my jaw heal for six months.  It was hard to chew at first, with sensitive gums on both sides, but it quickly got better.

My wonderful, compassionate dentist made me a little fake removable tooth to fill the gap near the front of my mouth, sort of like a denture, to use when I needed to make a good impression (like in court or at a meeting at work).  I couldn't eat with it, but I could talk and smile without showing a big gap in my teeth.

In April, I went back to the oral surgeon to have the implants "uncovered"--i.e., he cut through my gums so the posts could be used to attach the new fake teeth.

Then I went to my wonderful, compassionate dentist, who modified the fake tooth denture thingy to fit with the newly uncovered posts and took casts so he could make the two fake teeth.

A few weeks later, I went back to the dentist and had the fake teeth installed.

They are amazing!  Just like real teeth!  I can chew normally again!  I can smile without being self-conscious!

All in all, life is good.

The Second Root Canal

I told you all before about my first root canal, the one that took me totally by surprise, given my prior perfect-teeth condition.

The second time it happened, last year, I nipped it in the bud early.  I recognized that particular sensitivity to heat, cold, pressure...  I knew right away that I had cracked another tooth.  I regretted all the ice I had chewed for years and years before that first root canal.

This time, I engaged in no denial.  I went straight to the dentist and said, "I think I have another cracked tooth."  He took X-rays but said that there was no clear crack visible, maybe just a little shadow that could be a problem, and referred me to the endodontist for a second opinion.

I walked across the parking lot to the endodontist's office, referral slip in hand.  Could they get me in today?  Yes!?  Thank heavens!

The endodontist took more X-rays and poked around a bit and declared that, indeed, I had another cracked tooth.  Did I want a root canal today, or just remove the tooth?  She recommended trying the root canal

I said ok.

The root canal didn't work.  The tooth split.  It had to be removed.

After the removal, I asked for a prescription for a couple of days' worth of pain meds.  They said no(!)  They don't prescribe pain meds.  They recommend that you just take OTC Advil plus Tylenol.  I explained that the last time I'd had a root canal and tooth extraction, I had thought I'd get through it with aspirin, Tylenol, and/or Advil, but had ended up needing the Vicodin that had been prescribed. With just the Tylenol and Advil, I had not been able to sleep because the pain was so intense.  I further explained that I needed only two days' worth of pain meds.

They said, "There are too many addicts.  We don't prescribe anything, ever."

I said, "If you had told me that before the procedure, I would have never consented to it and would have gone elsewhere."

(LegalMist's life lesson:  always ask about pain med policy before consenting to a dental procedure.)

They said, "It will not hurt as much as it did before you came in."  I said, "It already hurts more than it did before I came in because I came in at the first sign of pain and cracked tooth, based on my prior experience.  And besides, I know from experience that the pain will keep me from sleeping for two nights.  I did not pay $800 to have a root canal/tooth extraction (and have a tooth extracted!!) just to get two days' worth of drugs that I could probably buy on the street for less than $40."

They said, "Sorry, we can't help you. "

I said, "You people are sadists!  This is like 'Little Shop of Horrors!' This is why people hate endodontists!"

I walked back across the parking lot to my dentist's office and explained the problem.  My compassionate dentist gave me a prescription for a few days' worth of Vicodin.  The man (now retired) is a saint.

Sure enough, I needed the pain meds.  I would not have slept for two days without them.

(I have since that time told two people not to go to that endodontist and have told my new dentist that he should never send anyone to her, ever.  I hope he takes that advice.)

I still hadn't gotten the implant to replace the first lost tooth.  It was in the back, not really visible.  And the procedure promised to be expensive, time consuming, and potentially painful, so--as any normal person would do--I had procrastinated.

But this second one was near the front and visible when I smiled, making me self-conscious and afraid to smile.

I knew I had to get two implants ASAP.  Ugh...

Next time...
Implant procedures:  not fun!
Implant results:  awesome!

The spider

I got a new car.  It's a 2017 Fiat 124 Spider.  Here is a photo:

Gorgeous, right?  It's a convertible.  It is an awesome car.  Fun to drive.  Stick shift.  Turbo.  Quick 0 to 60 ( or 80... ).  Best car ever!

As my friend Sandy said, "Way to rock the midlife crisis, LegalMist!"

Question:  does it count as a midlife crisis car if you have wanted it since you were 25 but couldn't make it work until now?  Actually, I wanted a Mazda Miata when they came out in 1989.  Here is a 1989 Miata:

Cute, right?

But I was just about to start law school (in 1990) and couldn't afford one.  So in 1992, I got a used 1987 Honda Prelude instead.  It was awesome too. Sporty. Stick shift. Moon Roof.  Quick acceleration.  Fun!

Then I graduated, got married, had kids, and a Miata just wasn't practical.  In fact, I had to sell the Prelude to get a car with 4 doors and room for a child safety seat.  I got a Toyota Corolla (the "Green Lady").

Well, LegalMist's Daughter (LMD) is off to college this fall, leaving only LegalMist's Son (LMS) as a potential passenger (I am planning a divorce, remember?), so a two-seater became  a possibility... I decided to get that Miata.

But then I read the Consumer Reports car guide and saw the Fiat 124 Spider, reinvented for 2017.  It was even prettier than the Miata.  Sporty.  Convertible.  Cute...  I held out for the test drive.  Finally, on July 12, the spider arrived at the dealer... I showed up right when they opened to test drive the car.  Drove the automatic.  The stick shift.  The upgraded, all-options version.  The stripped down, no frills version. Looked at all the colors.  Considered all the options.

Side note:  I loved the blue one.  But to get blue, one had to buy the "Prima Edizione" version with all options, including automatic transmission (what's the fun in that?!) and leather seats (in Arizona, I prefer cloth).  They only made 124 of them (get it? The "124" spider?), and they came with the free t-shirt and poster and a numbered plaque on the dashboard to tell you which one you got.  But it cost $11,000 more than the stick-shift, cloth-seated model that I preferred.  In the end, I decided that blue paint and automatic transmission was *not* worth $11,000, so I bought the gray one pictured above.  Here is a photo of the pretty blue one:

Nice, huh?  But I think the gray is pretty too.

I love my car.  It is so fun to drive to work now.  It makes me smile every time I see it.  I call it my "Midlife Crisis Mobile," and it is a bright spot of joy in my otherwise not-as-joyful-as-I-wish-it-were life.  At least on the way to and from work, I can pretend to be the happy, carefree young person that I used to be instead of the somewhat sad, about-to-be-divorced, almost-old person that I actually am.


The car turns heads, even if I don't any longer.

ZZ Top Still Rocks

I scored free tickets to see ZZ Top last Friday night at the Comerica Theatre (formerly the Dodge Theatre) in Phoenix.

ZZ Top -- who would have thought they were even still around, much less touring ... but they are, and they are ... and they ROCK!

The show was fantastic.

Well, a little odd, too, but fantastic. Odd how, you ask?

First, I'm not that much older than I was when I first rocked out to "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide," "Cheap Sunglasses," and "Jesus Just Left Chicago" among other awesome ZZ Top hits. So why did everyone in the audience look so damned old?!?

(And act so old! The dude next to me was sitting, looking tired, and complaining to the people in front of him that they should sit down. WTF? You're at a concert -- stand up and dance, or at least bob your head a little! Really!)

The warm-up band (Philip Sayce) must have noticed this, too, because it opened with a song called "One Foot in the Grave." Oddly appropriate, I suppose...

Second, the video screen behind the band didn't add much to the show and sometimes seemed, well, just weird.... floating spark plugs (for "Got Me Under Pressure")? floating wrenches ("Jesus Just Left Chicago")? floating hubcaps ("Waiting For the Bus")? Was this an auto-parts store ad, or what?

But the show itself? Rocked. Ignore the lame video screen and focus on the act itself, and you'll be pleased. The band looks essentially the same as they did in the 1970s and 80s-- two dudes with suits, hats, sunglasses, and the trademark long (if a bit grayer) beards, and the un-bearded drummer, Frank Beard. Three "Beards," one way or another.

And they sounded great -- played all their classics with their best blues sound. And played a straight-up tribute to Jimi Hendrix ("Hey Joe") along with an explanation that they appreciated Hendrix's recognition of them when they were just starting out (in 1969!).

Here's a sample -- from a different show, for sure, but it'll give you an idea of it:

• Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top

More ZZ Top music on iLike

And they're good people, too, not narcissistic bastards like some aging stars can become. During the show, a fan waved a copy of their first album. Guitarist Gibbons waved the man up to the stage, chatted with him a minute or so, and then all three of the band members autographed it. Then he pretended to auction it off, talking fast and sounding for all the world like a real auctioneer -- "OK, the bidding starts at $1000, over here do I hear $1000, $1000 over here.... Nah, I'm just kiddin'!" And he gave the album back to the fellow, to loud applause.

Later in the show, a kid dressed in ZZ Top attire -- black suit, hat, sunglasses, fake beard -- was invited up on stage to share the spotlight for a few minutes. Gibbons teased him, saying he had stolen his Halloween costume.

All in all, a down-to-earth, fun performance.

Ya' just gotta love that great little "Beard band" from Texas!



* * * *

They have shows coming up in October in Nevada, Colorado, New Mexico, Kansas, Alabama, Texas, Illinois, Iowa, and West Virginia. Maybe you, too, can catch the awesomeness with a side of odd. For more info, click here.

Tooth Fairies, Reprise

You may remember my adventures over the summer with the cracked tooth and root canal. My tooth apparently was too cracked, and so even after the root canal procedure was finished the tooth kept getting infected (yuck) and I couldn't get a crown installed. So the endodontist recommended removal, and the oral surgeon concurred.

I have an infinite capacity for denial and avoidance when something is likely to be expensive or painful or both.

Since "tooth extraction" sounds both expensive and painful, of course I put off having the tooth extracted (or even thinking about having the tooth extracted) for as long as humanly possible, which was all the way until this past Sunday, when the soft filling that the endodontist installed when he did the root canal -- the stuff that was supposed to remain inside the tooth sealed carefully under the crown that was, sadly, never installed -- suddenly fell out while I was brushing my teeth.

"Ick! Eeek! WTF?!?" I thought. (My vocabulary degenerates rapidly when I am scared or hurt or both...)

Even I know that one is not supposed to have a giant hole in one's tooth that probably extends all the way through the tooth to the underlying bone. Bad plan.

So I finally had the tooth extracted yesterday.

It was a relatively quick procedure. Once the novocaine took effect, it took the oral surgeon all of about 5 minutes to get the tooth out of my mouth.

I wish I could say it was also painless.

But I am hurting today. Not so much where the tooth was, although that is obviously a little tender. No, the bigger problem is that my jaw is very sore and stiff -- even more than it was after the root canal, which took two hours of drilling and disinfecting and packing the tooth with the soft filler material -- I can hardly open my mouth to drink water or talk. Forget eating - not gonna happen. How can this be? One would think I would have been more sore after the two hour drill-a-thon than after a 5 minute procedure... Maybe it was the 45 minutes of "biting down" on the gauze afterwards?

I wish I were young enough to at least get the small consolation of a $2 bill from the tooth fairy...

Then again, my track record with the tooth fairy isn't so good; maybe it's better that I'm not waiting for her to show her lovely face.

All I can say at this point is ... pain meds + empty stomach = good times!

* * *

I can hardly wait to start the tooth implant process.

TBC, 1922-2009

My Grandpa died last night. It's odd calling him "Grandpa" here. In reality, he always had me call him by his first name. But I'm still trying to be a bit anonymous, so "Grandpa" it will be, in this space.

He was 87. He had been very ill with heart troubles so it was not unexpected. But I still feel the loss profoundly.

When I was a kid, I used to visit my grandparents every summer for a few weeks at a time. I posted about their awesome house in Pensacola, Florida, here (scroll down to number 4) . I loved that house. But even more than the house, I loved the people in it.

My grandma was (still is) a wonderful cook and was generous with her time, taking me shopping, to the beach, out for ice cream, and for walks around the neighborhood, visiting neighbors and just enjoying the days.

My uncles were lots of fun, playing games (board games, hide & seek, ping-pong, bumper pool... you name it) with me, taking me bike riding, building sand-castles at the beach, and even playing the guitar for me.

And my Grandpa... I could sit and watch golf or reruns of old cartoons (Felix the Cat, anyone?) with him on the weekends. On weeknights, he loved to watch Johnny Carson, and I loved that he let me stay up late enough to watch it with him. I fell asleep to Johnny Carson many a night. Sometimes while we watched tv, he would play scrabble with me. He always won, but he always let me think I had at least given him a run for his money.

When I was very young, he sometimes liked to pretend to pull coins out of my ears. Or he'd say, "what's this?" while pointing at my shirt (and I would look, thinking I must have spilled something), and then "watch out for that!" while chucking me gently under the chin or on the nose with that same hand. I would laugh and laugh.... and he would smile that smile and do it again.

Once when I was about 12 he took me golfing and let me drive the golf cart. What a thrill! Too bad I didn't really know how to drive and I almost ran over some trees and other golfers and my driving privileges were revoked within fifteen minutes. But it was a wild, fun ride while it lasted!

My Grandpa sold insurance for a living. He was good at it because he really cared about his clients. He had lifelong clients who loved the service and thorough explanations and assistance with wealth management that he provided. He was the top seller in his region and/or in the United States many different years. My grandma assisted him sometimes at the office, and sometimes my grandparents would take me to the office with them for an hour or two. My impression was that my Grandpa's office was always clean, bright, well-run, efficient -- and that the people there seemed genuinely happy to see him walk through the door.

Because he worked a lot, I didn't see him as much as I saw my Grandma and uncles, but he would come home from work, invariably cheery, happy to be home, singing some old Bing Crosby song or Irish ditty, and smiling as though his family had just lit up his world. He loved to sing old songs for me, and he had a deep, resonant voice and such a happy twinkle in his eyes when he sang. Oh, how he loved to sing.

He would always talk to me when he came home from work as he kissed my grandma, saying, "Isn't she just the most beautiful woman you ever saw?" (Frankly, my 8 year old self thought they both looked a little old, 'though at the time they were only in their 40's, not so much older than I am now... ) I always agreed with him though, and indeed, my grandmother is a beautiful woman. I would never have thought to look for it if he hadn't pointed it out, but she has beautiful eyes, perfect cheeks, and clear, smooth, perfect skin... Looking at photos, it turns out she was amazingly beautiful when she was in her 20's - movie star beautiful, even. I haven't seen her in several years, but I imagine she is still beautiful, if a bit older, possibly grayer and more wrinkled...

After my grandparents moved to Atlanta, they loved to take me out to lunch and dinner, and particularly loved to introduce me to new foods. I think they were enjoying the new variety of restaurants in Atlanta, and were thrilled to have someone, even a teenager, with whom to share their joy and enthusiasm. I might never have tried escargots if my Grandpa hadn't talked me into it. Or Thai food. Or Indian food. Or frozen yogurt. Thanks to my Grandpa and Grandma, I learned to keep an open mind, to try new foods, and to enjoy new tastes.

They would also take me to hear concerts in the park, to art museums, and to the revolving restaurant at the top of the 70+ story Peachtree Plaza Hotel. All heady stuff for a 13 year old who had lived most of her life to date in a smallish college town.

In his free time, for many years, my grandpa liked to paint. He used oil paints and mixed the colors with such love and joy. He painted birds sometimes, and landscapes. I wish I had one of his paintings now.

He also loved to fix and clean things, to keep them in tip-top shape. Probably this was a result of him living through the depression and learning not to waste things, but it was charming nonetheless. I remember he loved to keep his shoes well-polished; and he loved to polish mine, too. I hated this as a kid, when scuffed up, dirty sneakers were "cool" and bright white ones made you look "geeky." Looking back on it, though, it was really sweet of him to take the time to keep my shoes nice for me.

He used to smoke a pipe when I was a kid. I loved the smell of the pipe tobacco, and the gentle sound of him packing and then lighting that pipe. As he got older, his doctor advised him to quit smoking, and my grandma demanded that he comply, so he gave up his beloved pipe. For years he struggled, though, smoking cigarettes off and on. The cigarettes didn't smell as nice and I don't think he enjoyed them as much, but he could buy a pack on the sly for not too much money, unlike the investment of a pipe and expensive tobacco which my grandma likely would have thrown out. He thought he would be able to sneak in the cigarettes. He'd go for a walk and light up while he was out, being careful to finish the cigarette several blocks before returning home so the smell would dissipate. It didn't work. My grandma could always tell when he had been smoking.

He struggled with alcohol, too. He liked to drink, and sometimes drank too much. My Grandma really hated dealing with his drinking. She used to tell him he was going to smoke and drink himself to death. His own father had died of a heart attack in his 50's. My Grandpa made it to age 87. Perhaps the stress relief provided by the alcohol and tobacco wasn't such a bad thing after all. Or perhaps he would have lived well into his 90's as his mother did, if he had quit drinking and smoking sooner. In any event, 87 isn't such a bad ride.

My Grandma and Grandpa had a somewhat difficult relationship at times. But I know they loved each other. She cared for him to the very end, and I am sure he was happy for her lovingly-prepared home-cooked meals, and her attention to his health, when he could no longer care for himself these past weeks and months.

And they had their good times, too. He loved to read and summarize articles from the newspaper for her while she cooked or drove. (She usually wouldn't let him drive; said his driving made her nervous). Sometimes they would debate issues, and they both seemed to enjoy sparring about politics and world events, or discussing whether "Dear Abby's" advice was any good that day.

They both enjoyed travel, too, when they were able. I remember many car trips to the mountains with them, in Georgia and Tennessee. We would stop at little roadside restaurants and dine on fried catfish and fried okra, or barbeque ribs and corn on the cob. Awesome food in beautiful places. My Grandfather dreamed of moving to a cabin in a small town in the mountains.

In more recent years, as my Grandpa's health deteriorated, he was unable to travel so much. But he discovered the internet, and he would send me (and my mom, and my uncles, and probably everyone else he cared about) several emails each week (sometimes several each day). He took the time to send individual emails to each person or to targeted groups on topics he thought might interest them -- rather than sending everything to everyone on a huge mailing list, as many folks seem to do these days. For me, the topics usually were law, politics, travel... and occasionally a joke or two, or some photos. He learned so much about computers, too, and would often send emails warning me of internet viruses or telling me about some great new program he had discovered. I loved this new connection with him. And it is oddly fitting to write a tribute to him on the internet. I think he would have liked that.

But over the past several months, his health declined substantially. It was difficult in many ways, knowing that he was weakening, suffering... but one of the most difficult things was knowing that he was unable to sit at his computer, unable to connect with the world in the way he loved. I miss his emails. I've kept a few, unopened. I'll open them in the coming weeks and months, and maybe it will feel like he is still here, sending his love. I hope so, anyway. Regardless, it will be fun to see what he found interesting and thought I would be interested in.

My Grandpa was a product of his times - certainly not perfect, and the family had its share of dysfunctional interaction. My Grandpa could be difficult and ornery, withdrawn and sullen, even a bit mean, if he had been drinking. But he was, overall, a good man. He worked hard to provide for his family. He loved his beautiful wife (my wonderful Grandma), even when they fought, and he loved every one of his kids and grandkids. He sometimes felt he did not do enough, perhaps did not know how to do enough, to make sure we knew we were loved. But I always felt his love. It was in his singing, his smile, the twinkle in his eye, the time he shared with me.

Grandpa, I miss you already. I hope you are in a place of peace and comfort. I hope you know that you were, and are, dearly loved.

.

I Can See Clearly Now...

When I attended the University of Virginia, I loved to sit outside on a clear spring day. The University has thousands of gorgeous old, huge trees lining walkways across huge expanses of grassy lawns. The new green leaves set against the brilliant blue sky with bright white clouds .... oh, I could lie on the soft green grass and stare through the tree boughs to the blue sky beyond and daydream for hours there.

Spring was all the more beautiful because it followed what was generally a long, cold, and dreary winter. Those of you who live in places such as Minnesota (or even Connecticut) will scoff at me for thinking it is cold in Virginia, but those of us who were born and raised in Florida find Virginia to be intolerably damp and frigid in January and February.

Spring in Virginia meant we could enjoy warmer weather, sunnier skies, bright flowers and green trees, and, best of all, summer vacation within a few short weeks. I loved it!

Then I moved to Arizona, where the winters are warm-ish and sunny and not very long at all. I still loved Spring. But it lost some of its cachet.

Spring, here, means that Summer is just around the corner. Summer. With temperatures exceeding 100 degrees day after day.... and sometimes even night after night in July before the monsoon season brings some cooling rain. Trees and grass turn crispy and brown from the heat and lack of rain. Car door handles and steering wheels are too hot to touch, ironically requiring the use of "driving gloves." (I never wear gloves while driving here in the winter. They are quite handy, however, in the summer.) Every summer, the local news crews find it amusing to pick a particularly hot day and show how one can fry an egg on the sidewalk.

Don't take all this the wrong way. I do not mean to complain. I live here for the simple reason that I prefer those 100-plus super hot days every year to the cold and wet Winters in Virginia. But that doesn't mean I have to love the heat. There is, after all, the concept of "too much of a good thing."

In Arizona, Autumn** is wonderful, coming, as it does, after the seemingly interminable blazing hot summer, and being the harbinger of cooler days and nights to come. Finally along about Halloween you can count on evening temperatures below 80 degrees. November and December are generally delightful, weather-wise. January is sometimes a bit chilly for my liking, but February perks right up again. Yes, Autumn, leading as it does straight to the beautiful Winter season, quickly became my favorite time of year here.

But the beauty of an Arizona Autumn differs substantially from the beauty of a Virginia Spring. Instead of spending hours outside staring at the new green leaves on the trees in April, thanking the heavens and Mother Nature for the beauty that is Spring, I focused more on the newly re-discovered Autumn wonders of warm (not hot!) evening walks, colorful sunsets, moonlit clouds, and cool night breezes.

None of these amazing experiences particularly requires eagle-sharp eyesight to enjoy them, and so I did not immediately notice that my eyesight had diminished.

In fact, it took at least a year before I noticed that I couldn't read street signs from very far away while driving on the freeway. Then another season or two so before I realized that I was having a bit of trouble reading street signs at all while driving.

So I had my eyes checked. Sure enough, I needed corrective lenses. My eyes aren't terribly bad; I am not even required to wear corrective lenses while driving. In fact, I can see cars, people, animals, lane lines, traffic lights -- everything that is necessary to avoid crashing my car. But I much prefer to see well, not merely adequately, while I drive, since it makes it so much easier to find the correct exit on the freeway.

And so I faced the reality that my eyes were no longer perfect, and it was time to remedy that problem.

I first tried wearing contact lenses, but I never could learn to put the darn things in my eyes efficiently. It took me 45 minutes every morning -- time I knew I would rather spend doing something else. Sleeping, for example, is always a good thing to do early in the morning. I had no problem at all taking the contact lenses out of my eyes in the evening; it seemed somehow normal to me to *remove* an item from my eye. But every reflex and fiber of my being resisted my attempts to place those foreign objects (er, I mean, "contact lenses") into my eyes each morning. And once I had them in, I spent most of the day squinting and blinking and applying eye drops, trying to keep my eyes moist enough so they didn't hurt. (Did I mention the average summer humidity here ranges from 12% to 50%? Compare that with Northern Virginia's range of 55% to 90%, and you can see how my eyes might have had a bit of trouble adjusting...)

I am a persistent person. I do not give up easily. But after several months of this ridiculous 45 minute ritual every morning and the subsequent all-day squinting and squirting marathon, I conceded defeat. I would have to wear glasses.

I fretted about wearing glasses. I was vain enough to wonder whether I would look older, less "cool" (my kids would probably question whether I was ever really "cool," but I sure thought I was), or less pretty (a fellow in college once said I had "eyes a guy could lose his soul in"; I didn't want to cover them up!). More importanly, I hadn't the foggiest idea how to go about picking frames that "matched" my face and looked stylish. I scoured magazines for photos of celebrities or models wearing glasses, looking for fashion guidance, but such photos were few and far between.

Eventually, I swallowed my pride and vanity, took along my husband and a friend for fashion advice, and picked out some frames for my corrective lenses. I found some that looked cute, and I bought them. I loved them immediately because I could read street signs and I did not have to squint.

And then Spring rolled around. All I could say was, Wow! I could see every leaf on every tree for the first time in years! They were so green, and so distinctly individual, and so... beautiful.

I love Spring again. It is once more the most beautiful of all the seasons. I can see the bees as they buzz around the flowers. I can see the individual petals on the flowers, rather than just a blur of color. I can see the difference between the new bright green needles on our pine tree and the older dark green needles left over from last season. I can see the stamens peeking from the cactus flowers. I can see the pouffy cloud shapes and the wispy hazy clouds and the feathers on the birds, and the hummingbird beaks (we have lots of hummingbirds here in Arizona) and the patterns on the butterfly wings. In short, I can see the wonder and the beauty and the fantastic bounty of nature that I missed for years!

Maybe it wasn't the heat, after all, that caused me to lose my enthusiasm for Spring. Maybe it was the fact that I just couldn't see it very well. Because here it is, more than 15 years after I got my first pair of glasses, and I still love Spring in Arizona.


______________

** In Virginia, we used to call it "Fall," presumably because the leaves would fall from the trees (and I loved the Fall, too, in Virginia. It had its own rather melancholy beauty, but I'll write about that some other time). Here, the word Autumn seems more fitting. There are some deciduous trees, of course, but they are outnumbered by the evergreen trees and cacti, so that one barely notices that some of the trees are missing their leaves. We have a plum tree, an apple tree, and a pear tree in our yard that lose their leaves about mid-winter, but they are surrounded by the pine trees, the eucalyptus tree, the orange tree, and the various desert shrubs (like the Mexican Red Bird of Paradise) which keep their leaves. There is no noticeable leaf-falling here in the valley of the sun.
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