A Slow Start & A Small Wonder

Well folks, I failed to blast off on January 1st. As you can see, I am nearly two weeks behind in publishing this monthly blog. But that’s okay. Life gets messy down here on earth, and sometimes it’s better just to give yourself permission to putter and plod.

I’m still savoring the holiday season. On Christmas Eve, our entire team—comprised of ten adults and three children from four continents—joined together at our house for the first time in two months. A couple of members had had the Coronavirus and were quarantined until, mercifully, they recovered. For me the gathering’s highlight was listening to “Silent Night” being sung in our five languages: English, French, Swedish, Afrikaans (from South Africa), and Korean.

On Christmas Day, Mark and I visited our neighbors and delivered gift bags of mandarins (clementines). Our local friends reciprocated by bringing me an original painting, a pocketbook, two malafahs, a necklace and a ring, three bracelets, two pairs of earrings… and a partridge in a pear tree (just kidding). Who knew that citrus fruit would reap such bounty?

One evening we thought we’d make a quick stop at our next-door neighbors’ house just to pop in and say “hi.” That turned into a five-hour visit complete with the requisite three cups of tea, large glasses of “mélange” (milk mixed with mango juice), and a full meal of chicken, vegetables, bread and salad, followed by fruit for dessert. Mark sat on the floor in one carpeted room with the men while I sat across an opened area in another space with the women.

Our hosts were a wonderful couple blessed with eight children. Among them were two sets of fraternal twins. The atmosphere was delightfully noisy and chaotic. The television was on the girls’ side, so I watched a T.V. drama from Turkey and one from India. Both supplied subtitles in minuscule Arabic script. Happily, I could follow the plot without understanding or reading the words. Meanwhile the mother sat beside me—patting me affectionately on the arm—even though I couldn’t follow a word of her rapid conversation.

The younger children chattered and bounced around me and insisted I take a selfie with them. Between beverages, the kids played, took naps, and generally amused themselves. One daughter brought me her school notebook and had me draw pictures of everyday things. I would then teach her the English word for the item while she in turn taught me the correct word in the local Arabic dialect. This was fun! Children make enthusiastic and patient language teachers.

One girl offered me some locally made candy. It looked like a brown cheese puff. I bit into a piece and started chewing. And chewing. And chewing. It was sticky but not too sweet. Eventually I gummed it down to a hard bit I couldn’t break up. In the dimly lit room, I managed to discretely spit it out and tuck it into my little pink purse. Despite this, a fair portion of the treat remained lodged on my lower jaw teeth. “Ah, well,” I thought, “I’ll be flossing tonight.” A little goo didn’t slow me down from eating a full meal.

Finally, Mark and I returned home—happy and full and tired. (It’s exhausting to navigate in a foreign language.) I then prepared to floss before the bathroom mirror, but soon realized that the unusual contours my tongue had been massaging all evening were not from candy residue: I had lost the crown off a lower molar. Oh, no!

Then I remembered something. Hmm… what exactly did I spit out of my mouth earlier? Quickly I excavated my little pink purse and found… my crown! Thank you, Jesus! I was so happy and relieved. It was a wonder that I hadn’t swallowed the thing or spit it out in my neighbors’ trash heap.

Now at this point in the story, if I were still in America, I would just pick up the phone and call my dentist, who is also a friend. And maybe Mark would run to the drug store and pick up some denture adhesive to “make do.” But here, neither was a ready option. Even if I could find a dentist in this country, would I trust him to fix my crown? When a native here gets a cavity–and has the resources to see a dentist—he simply gets the tooth pulled.

Thankfully, my hubby did some research on the internet and learned that toothpaste can be used as a temporary adhesive. Dr. Mark cleaned and dried my crown, applied a little Colgate, and popped that puppy right in. He then checked around to get recommendations for a good dentist, found one, called his office repeatedly, and when nobody answered the phone, finally went there in person to book me an appointment. To make a long story short, I got my crown repaired easy-peasy. But from now on, I’m sticking away from the sticky stuff.

I hope to post a new blog on the 16th of each month. Remember “Sweet 16.” Please tell your friends and family to subscribe. Yay!

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