Today at the dentist's office they lined me up for a special x-ray that they perform once every five years.
The x-ray required me to stand by a machine in the hallway, although because of the height of the machiner, I had to bend my knees a bit. I rested my chin on a chin rest, and bit on a thing-to-bite-upon, for which a plastic thing-to-ensure-one-is-not-sharing-a-sal
The x-ray went around my head in a 17-second circle, with a Madame Curie flair. I stared at my reflection in a tiny metal mirror, used pre-ray to allow me to align my nose with an imaginery marker. I marveled at how much getting up at dawn negatively impacts my shave. I remedied that prior to going in to work. The woman who suffers through cleaning my teeth assured me I was doing well with my maintenance. When I drove away, I noticed the restaurant row near my Mesquite dentist includes two Mexican restaurants a few doors from one another. Parenthetically, tortilla soup is a wonderful thing--but I would prefer it without guacamole.
Things that interest me lately--pictures at a zoo, Christina G. Rossetti, a chapter in a book attesting to Haydn's saintliness, learning that Johnny Appleseed was not quite the eco-renegade I originally thought him.
I was listening to the radio today when they announced that it was time for the March of the Day. Perhaps every day should have a March of the Day. I expected a Sousa march to appear, or perhaps something by an Austrian composer. Instead, Elmer Bernstein's movie theme, "The Great Escape March", played. I've always loved that soundtrack, and it was grand to hear a Czech orchestra give it a run-through. If I am to march each day, or any day, I will step lively to a quirky flute melody over a martial drumbeat.
I broke my mother's heart by not playing in the band.
The daisies are fading, the daylillys aging. The weather is 90+ degrees. The month recedes, to be soon replaced by another. Dust to daisies. Ashes to asters. Onward, march.