... and counting

Poles used to spot an American visitor by looking at the shoes. Americans have singular travel shoe preferences. These days with open markets in Poland you can get fooled. I have a better tool anyway: a pretty reliable marker of American citizenship is that smile and those rows of even teeth. When we watched the Olympics, Ed and I would grin knowingly each time an American stepped up to talk about that won medal: look at those American teeth!

My crucial childhood years were spent in Poland. No fluoride, not enough restorative bracing. Possibly lousy genes there too. My dad had teeth which he hid all his life with a tight-lipped smile. Anyway, blame it on birth, blame it on fate -- I do not have American teeth.

And so this morning I had yet another surgical appointment to remove some big time offenders. Forget the details -- teeth stories are not interesting stories -- but I do want to note that I have had more teeth pulled in the last two years than there are fingers on one hand. Today's twosome was, therefore, no big deal. (It is however only stage one of the process. You need to put something in the vacant lot! Three more stages will follow. If all goes as planned.)

I had finally convinced the dental surgery that me inquiring about vaccination status of the team is NOT a violation of HIPAA and so I did ask and everyone assured me that they had had the shot (but oh, the struggle to get that information!). And so very early today, after a very quick walk through the gardens to attend to the animals...

...I drag out of bed a sleepy Ed (you need a return driver) and I have my surgery, enjoying the woozey state of being half under and half with the rest of the world for pretty much he whole morning.

(Breakfast, so much later!)

It happens to be the day that I have a Zoom call with my Polish friends. Perhaps they got a version of me that wasn't altogether sharp. All this at a time where our discussion veered toward such lightweight topics as Afghanistan and the delta variant. Still, it was really good to talk to them. Poland is where we were in June: low infection rates, no surge yet. People are feeling comfortable in settings we here know now are no longer safe. So it's goofy fun to hear that two were heading out to a concert, and a child of theirs was heading out to Corsica, and a child of another was about to embark on a flight to Croatia, while one set of grandparents was heading out to Italy. It was wonderful to imagine a normal-ish life for two hours. May it last for them, may it come back to us. And to everyone on this great big beautiful planet! 

In the evening, Ed abandons his ambitious Wednesday bike ride and tags along with me on a more modest one. We head for the lake.

It's not in a good state. None of the lakes in our county are in a good state. This great big beautiful planet of ours needs our help. Ed says quietly -- imagine how wonderful it would be to jump into a clear lake. Yes, imagine.

We pedal back slowly, because when you return from a lake you are usually going up a hill. Besides, we aren't in a hurry. Internet is down at home. Our computers are sitting idle. 

My dinner plans are simple: reheat the corn soup. Summer food. Wonderful, wonderful summer food.