A Century Plus One

This letter was written to me by a woman whom I knew as Grammy Darling. She was one hundred and one years old when she wrote this letter, six months before her 102^nd birthday and her death. I met this great woman only twice, but I felt a connection to her because she was the only grandmother I had known at that point. Both my maternal and paternal grandparents had passed away. Grammy Darling was an amazing woman who had more than her fair share of incredible experiences under her belt. Born in 1900, she passed on in 2001. This is her New Year letter, in which she reminisces about the past 100 years that she had experienced, attached was the first and last letter she ever wrote to me.

A millennium has just flown by

A new one has begun

The world has altered a million ways

As be begin two thousand one.

Realizing the miracles of this century, it seems only a moment compared to the marvels and advancement of progress worldwide.

My daydreaming returns to the horse and buggy days- the open-air carriage that slowly sputtered over unpaved streets. Curtains with fasteners that hooked to the interior partially shielded the new invention from rain and breezes.

A fortunate few added crystal radio sets with earphones to their possessions

An electric light bulb dangled from a cord, which entered the room from the ceiling, offering the luxury of light that now replaced the oil lamp.

Intellectual geniuses were stretching their busy brains to create delicate flying machines to become airborne.

This mode of travel is now a convenient means of commuter travel plus circumventing the globe that has become too small.

Outer space is the challenge – even a man on the moon was a present day accomplishment toward exploring other planets.

And now we speak casually on a hand-phone via satellite.

May I expect in the future, space travel as a sport or hopping to another planet as a vacation holiday?

All this has been or is on the verge of accomplishing during the 100 years of my life, which includes a mere portion of the past millennium.

Dear Katy

It was taken quite a long time to answer your letters, which I appreciated, and how very pleased I am that you are taking an interest in cursive writing. I am proud of you!

My writing is not improving as it has become more difficult to write plus a problem with my vision. I was so pleased to hear from you.

I have been in the hospital again. This time- a virus which has left me quite weak. I must use my three-wheel walker at all times now and my trips are limited. It was a three-day “stay”. My apartment is fortunately close to the dining room where I take only my evening meal.

I expect the earthquake was quite an experience for you. It has been many years since I had experienced another. When I lived in El Salvador, we had many. San Salvador was called “Hammock Valley” then.

Thank you for your very thoughtful letters and I am so pleased to have known you.

Much love,

Grammy Darling (Elmamae Olsen)

Under the Knife

It's Saturday and I have an appointment with an oral surgeon to have my wisdom teeth extracted. I only have two, they're on the bottom. Unfortunately, the teeth are "impacted", meaning that they're facing sideways instead of straight up, and not only that, but they're growing that way and pressing on my other molars. Impacted wisdom teeth can cause all sorts of problems, cysts, infections, not to mention destroying other teeth. So I have to have them removed before any of that stuff happens. So far I've had a lot of toothaches in that select area in the back of my mouth, and some popping noises when I chewed, which is incredibly annoying. Most problematic, I get cramps on one side of my jaw. It usually happens when I'm chewing gum, and my jaw will just lock and I'll have this shooting pain up my jaw. It sucks. So anyway, I'm going to this oral surgeon guy to get them fixed.

My dad and I get there at 12:45, the time of my appointment, and then sit around for 45 minutes while the receptionist does nothing after checking us in. Finally a nurse comes out and takes me and my dad to a room. We sit there some more, then the nurse plays a video about informed consent. (If the patient doesn't know the risks of the operation they're about the have, the doctor is liable for any complications.) The video is incredibly cheesy, but it goes on and on about all of the awful things that my happen to me while I'm out. (ie. My jaw could be fractured, the nerve in my jaw could be damaged, other teeth might be ruined, I could get an infection, my face could be badly bruised, and oh yeah, I'm going to be in a hell of a lot of pain.

So I'm a little more nervous now, but the doctor puts me at ease. He lowers the chair back, and the nurse takes my right arm and takes my blood pressure and puts something on my finger to monitor my pulse. The doctor takes my left arm and straps it to the arm of the chair. I'm confused, but then I realize that he's about to insert the IV needle. I look away, but I can still hear the paper being torn off of the syringe. He tells me to make a fist like I'm going to punch someone. I do. Then he does a pretty good job of distracting me by asking me about my Christmas vacation. He says there will be a little sting, but I barely feel anything as he inserts the needle into my arm.

He tapes the needle to my arm, then turns around and connects the needle to the bag of fluid by a tube. I'm expecting the doctor to say something like, "Count backwards from ten" or, "you're feeling veeery sleepy", but neither he nor the nurse say anything. The nurse smears some vaseline on my lips so that they won't dry out too badly during surgery. She gives me an oxygen mask that only covers my nose. She tells me to open my mouth, and then she shoves something into my mouth, I can't remember what. The last thing I remember before I went out was her opening a glasses case and taking out a pair of glasses.

I remember nothing after that. I'm told they completed the surgery without complications, so no broken jaw or damaged nerves. I woke up in a different chair. I was pretty groggy, I think the nurse and my dad were talking to me, but I can't really remember what they said. My dad went out to get the car and pull it around to the back. The nurse helped me to the door because I felt like I was gonna pass out. I got out to the car okay, and my dad and I started driving home. I was fine for about half of the car ride. The lower half of my face was so numb, i could feel anything. I thought my face was wet, but I guess that's a common reaction to the anesthesia.

The second half of the car ride was terrible. The numbness was beginning to wear off, and we hadn't gotten the Vidcodin the doctor prescribed, so I could feel my jaw just fine. Let me try to explain the pain to you so you can understand. It felt like someone had ripped open my gums with their fingernails, ripped my teeth out with a pair of pliers, then sewed them back up with fishing line. After that someone had smashed my forehead with a hammer and given me a strong right hook to the jaw. I was hungry (you can't eat/drink 8 hours prior to surgery) and thirsty, and even the Starbucks frappe tasted bad because it was mixing with the blood still coming from my gums.

When we got home I had some of the Vicodin and promptly threw it back up. Apparently nausea is one of the side effects. So it's straight motrin and ibuprofen for me. I'm feeling much better now that I have pain killers in me. My jaw is still pretty stiff and I can't open my mouth very wide because it still hurts, but all in all I'm okay.

The End.

Guess What I'm Craving?

I enter the restaurant of my choice tonight, Morton’s, and leave the noxious smells of the street behind There are dozens of people waiting already, but I’m not too worried. A hostess, as well as dozens of delicious smells greets me. The smells are an augur of the wonders to come. The hostess asks if I am alone, and I reply to the affirmative. Without looking up from her clipboard, she informs me wearily that the wait will be as long as forty-five minutes. I nod agreeably, but she doesn’t see because her head is still ducked close to the clipboard. She asks for my name, and when I give it, she perks up. Immediately, she reaches for a menu and tells me that she’s sure she can find something for me. I smile, thanking her for her consideration.

She leads me through a bevy of tables. The sight of succulent steak and palatable mashed potatoes with sautéed asparagus assaults me. Morton’s has some of the finest gourmet cuisine in the United States. Fresh dough for rolls is flown in everyday from Texas. Morton’s employs only the best chefs. The beef these chefs use is not just any meat; it comes from the finest meatpackers in Chicago. After this premium beef is procured it is aged for a period of two weeks, allowing it time to become naturally tender.

Needless to say, Morton’s is famous for its incredible steaks, and I cannot wait to get one bite into my watering mouth. The head chef himself leaves his station in the kitchen to welcome me, and to my delight, he does not come alone. He rolls a cart along with him, which has a beautiful display of raw, crimson steak. I let my eyes rove over the selection before choosing one that is the perfect thickness with the right amount of marbling. The chef murmurs his assent before rolling the cart back to the kitchen.

As I wait for my steak, I munch on a warm roll and sip icy water. As I watch the waitresses go back and forth from the kitchen with steak after juicy, dripping steak, I can hardly stand it. The scents issuing forth from the kitchen are divine. I am about to stand up from my seat and burst into the kitchen when a waiter appears. He carries with him a tray, and on the tray? My filet mignon, cooked to perfection, mashed red potatoes with butter, and those wonderful asparagus. I am in heaven.

Slowly, I torture myself further by carefully cutting a small piece of steak away from the rest. I impale this piece on my fork and carefully bring it toward my mouth. I can feel it in my mouth, though it is not there. I can feel the juice running down my throat. I can feel the warmth of the steak and the release of flavor mixing with my saliva.

The steak is almost in my mouth, when out of nowhere, my mother appears. She stands next to me, her hands on her hips, and cries, “What are you doing still here? Get out of bed!” Confused, I look around, but Morton’s is melting away. The smells and the steak I was about to enjoy are now gone, replaced by the drab colors of my room. It was a wonderful dream all the same, I suppose. I smile to myself as I catch a whiff of that warm steak.

American Culture

American Culture is so weird, you know? Our children believe that a fat guy slides down their chimney once a year to give them presents. If that's not weird, I don't know what is. What's with the Easter bunny, you know? What about the tooth fairy. I mean, what strange and odd things Americans value. A fat dude, a giant bunny, a someone who steals your teeth in the middle of the night. Kind of says something about our country. We're a country of people who eat out all the time. We watch television, we spend time on the internet.

When was the last time you picked up a book? Kids these days don't care about literature. What will happen to greats like Charles Dickens, Victor Hugo, and Alexander Dumas? How many people reading this entry even recognize those names? What will happen to classics like "Pride and Prejudice" and "A Tale of Two Cities"? Who will read "The Man in the Iron Mask" or "The Count of Monte Christo"? I very much doubt that any of today's youth have read those books, it's unlikely that they've even seen the movie. Authors like C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and George Owell are forgotten in the new world of science fiction and fantasy begun by Rowling and Paolini. What will happen to Chaucer, Homer, and Shakespeare? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, O'Henry, and Agatha Christie are lost among a myriad of contemporary mystery authors. John Steinbeck is known only as a cursed name by high school students "forced" to read his masterpieces.

Art is disappearing into a black hole. Who painted the Sistine Chapel? Who carved the David? Who painted Madonna on the Rocks and the Last Supper? What about the Mona Lisa? Do you have any idea who built the Guggenheim? Do you even know what that is? Quick, tell me who painted Starry Night! You don't know, do you?

Art and Literature cannot be appreciated by a generation who has no interest, no knowledge, and no hunger for such things.


Am I the only one?

Fred Astaire

Fred Astaire was a master at what he did. His elegance and grace have never, and could never, be matched by another dancer. Astaire brought charm to film and a delightfulness to song. Fred Astaire was a singer and an actor, but most of all an dancer. The fluidity to his dance numbers is awe-inspiring. The key to Astaire's success was that he made his dances look easy. An incredible amount of strength is necessary to dance like he did, but Astaire made each number a masterpiece. Watching his movements, the perfection of each step, the grace of his hands, is something so beautiful it's hard to take in.

If you're interested seeing beauty interpreted through dance by one of the greatest dancers to ever set foot on a stage, I would encourage you to look into Fred Astaire's collection of movies. I highly recommend his films with Ginger Rogers, but especially "Top Hat", "Swing Time", "Shall We Dance", and "Follow the Fleet". With a signature smile, and his regular top hat and tails, Astaire is astounding in each of the above films.

Tap and ballroom, ballet and swing are encompassed in his dances. In "Shall We Dance" a scene that took 150 takes, in which Astaire and Ginger tap with a twist-in roller skates. In "Carefree" A scene in which Astaire taps-with golf balls. Two weeks and six hundred golf balls later, the scene was finished. In "Follow the Fleet" Astaire and Rogers raise the roof with the song-and-dance number "Let's Face the Music and Dance". In "Swing Time" both a gorgeous tap tribute to Bojangles and one of Astaire and Ginger's most amazing dance numbers ever choreographed, which appears effortless after 350 hours of rehearsals. Each one of Astaire's performances is utterly delightful and, as always, incredibly beautiful and astoundingly choreographed.

In tribute to one of the greatest performers to ever grace the screen, I salute you, Mr. Fred Astaire.

"Can't act...can't sing...balding...can dance a little"-review of Fred Astaire's first screen test