Losing Teeth

A piece of me is going to fall out?! 

I got my first loose tooth around the age of 6, and I could not have been more terrified. A part of my body was dying, it was going to completely detach, and I would lose it forever. No amount of Tooth Fairy stories or assurances that this was a normal rite of passage could soothe me. The end of the world was obviously near.

Operation Keep Mouth Intact was in full effect. I shied away from corn on the cob, apples, or any hard foods. I let my cereal get mushy in milk, which I hated. Applesauce, pudding, and soup made up most of my diet. I didn't dare push the tooth with my tongue... gross.

I'm not sure how long I let this go on, but it was a while. My parents (who thought they were out of earshot) joked about tying a piece of string around my tooth and yanking it out. Just like [their] parents did. I knew they wouldn't dare; I'd put up too much of a fight. This tooth was staying in. Forever.

One day, I was lying on the living room floor watching TV after school. My little brother had just learned to walk, and ambled in from the kitchen. He took one step, then another, then another and another and another faster and faster. It was like his feet were moving too fast for him and he had trouble keeping up. Like a deer in headlights, I froze as this clumsy baby was headed full speed right for me. He started to fall.

Somehow, he managed to do a 180 and landed, butt first, on my face. It didn't hurt; the diaper (and whatever was in it) cushioned the blow. 

Then I felt something in my mouth. It was hard, and about the size of a corn kernel.

Oh, no.

I removed my brother's rear from my face, and spit my tooth into my hand. I confirmed with my tongue the now-empty space in my mouth. I stared at the tooth for a while, not knowing how to react. This part of my body fell out, and I'm still alive.

I don't remember what happened next, but I know it involved putting the tooth under my pillow and awakening to a crisp $1 bill. I'm pretty sure I was ok after that.

I am Lenny

7:40 AM
The female human is asleep. She was up late, and is probably very tired. I'd better jump up on her dresser and knock items off, one at a time, until she wakes up. I am hungry.

7:42 AM
The female human threw a pillow at me and went back to sleep. I am still hungry, so I need a new plan.

7:44:59 AM
I am sitting on top of the female human. When she wakes up, I will be the first thing she sees. She will know then how hungry I am. Even the Calico Idiot has caught wise and is joining me in this effort.

7:45 AM
The female human's alarm clock has sounded, and I've been thrown from the bed as she rolled over to hit the snooze button. Surely if I sit here and tell her how hungry I am, repeatedly, she will realize it's time to feed me.

7:54 AM
The female human's alarm clock has sounded a second time, and my voice is hoarse from explaining how hungry I am for the last nine minutes. I tried increasing the volume of my voice and the speed in which I talk to get her attention, but it didn't work.

7:55 AM
The female human is checking her phone. I don't understand how Facebook can be the most important thing on the agenda right now. I am hungry, and despite sounding repetitive, continue to let her know.

7:58 AM
Finally, the female human has arisen from bed! I will walk directly in front of her feet and cheer her every step so she knows how appreciative I am that she's about to feed me.

8:00 AM
Finally, sweet breakfast.

8:00:30 AM 
I'm full.

8:01 AM
I have assumed my regular position on the couch, where I will remain until dinnertime.

I am Lenny.

Map My Life

View My Life in a larger map

The Last Crusader

Just one month ago, I was your typical fry cook at the Palma de Mallorca McDonalds. With a wife, young son, and a baby on the way, I knew I had to make a change for my family. But how? I dropped out of school when Marta got pregnant. I have no marketable skills, I have no talent.

"Baby, it's ok. We'll get by," Marta always says whenever I feel down about our situation. "Just keep smiling. Everyone loves your smile, especially me."

I guess it's true. Ever since I was young, people would comment on my smile. Even strangers have commented that my smile makes them feel like we've been friends for years. Marta always says she fell in love with me when she saw me smiling for my school photo. She introduced herself, and we've been inseparable since.

One day, I left for work 20 minutes earlier than usual. I walked by the port just as a cruise ship was letting its passengers off. I saw a stray cat waiting patiently by the waiting buses for pets and scritches from the new visitors. I couldn't help but smile. Just then, I was stopped by a group of tourists. I figured they wanted directions to the cathedral. This happens a lot. The cruise ships come in almost every day, and no one ever knows where they're going. Most tourists don't speak Spanish, so I've become handy with non-verbal communication.

I pointed toward the cathedral, but they shook their heads and made a gesture and clicking sound. The international sign for "Can you please take my picture?" I reached for the camera and they shook their heads and pointed at me. They wanted to take my picture. Not just of me, but with their group. They handed their camera to a passerby and crowded around me. What else could I do but smile?

The passerby seemed amused by my confusion, so he stuck around and translated for me. The group of tourists explained that they do this everywhere they go; they have their photo taken with a friendly local. They'd been walking around Palma for a few hours, and had almost given up on finding someone, after being accosted by sketchy street vendors and aggressive taxi drivers. Then they saw me smile at the baby bird and they knew I was their friendly Palma local. They asked me where the cathedral was, I pointed toward it, they handed me 20 Euros and were on their way.

I laughed. This was crazy! 20 Euros for not even five minutes of my time?

By this time, we'd attracted quite a crowd, and more tourists asked for photos and directions. After about 15 minutes of photos with complete strangers, I walked to McDonald's 200 Euros richer. It was more than I made after a full day of work at my full-time job!

That was my light bulb moment. I'll pose with tourists for a living! I will be the unofficial ambassador to my island! I will save my family from the brink of poverty! I couldn't stop smiling, even as the fry grease splattered my apron.

"Are you crazy?!" Marta wasn't as excited as I was. "You can't just quit your job! What if the next cruise ship doesn't want to take pictures with you?"

She was right. I had to do a test run to make sure this was a viable idea.

I made sure to leave for work 20 minutes early every day for the next month to ensure I was at the port when the cruise ships arrived. And each day, the tourists came. "Smile!" they said, and the money followed after I pointed them to the cathedral. I brought home anywhere from 100 to 350 Euros per day!

Marta still wasn't convinced, but she gave her blessing. "If it doesn't work out, there's always Burger King," she added dryly. I gave McDonald's my notice.

The day before my "first day at work", I wracked my brain wondering how to make it special. I took a walk to clear my head and glimmer caught my eye. A crusader costume in the party store window. The cathedral was ordered to be built by a crusader, it's our top tourist attraction. Could this be any more perfect?

So here I am. The cruise ship arrives in 10 minutes. I'm dressed as a crusader. Let's do this.

Yoga Class Inner Monologue

Great. I'm five minutes late so the only open spot is front and center.

Breathe in, breathe out. Make sure to count and make your breaths even. 

Stretch and bend. Am I doing this right? Better sneak a glance at the person next to me without breaking my pose.

The teacher is correcting me a lot. This is why I hate the front row. I'm leaving work early next week.

Oh hell no. I will not be that person who farts in yoga class. 

Seriously? I can't bend like that. Especially not while holding back gas.

Control your breathing! Focus!

I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing. Why am I so sweaty?

Ok, we're at the end of class where we lie down and close our eyes. We're supposed to meditate, but I will use this time to plan the rest of my night and stress about work tomorrow. At least I don't have to fart anymore.

This music is really soothing. My mind is clearing. I feel connected with the floor and world around me. So peaceful... zzzz...

"Namaste. Thank you for coming."

Dammit.

Squeak!

One spring afternoon, my brother and I made our way home after school. I fished the house key out of the clothespin basket on the deck. While my parents trusted me to stay home and watch my brother until our parents came home from work, I was apparently too young to carry my own key.

I unlocked the door, and immediately heard a high-pitched squeak! I thought it was Maggie, so I went looking for her. She was fast asleep on the couch. As I pet her, I heard it again, coming from another part of the house. Squeak!

They grew louder as I made my way upstairs, until I found myself standing under the attic door in the hallway. Squeak, squeak! We had those ladder stairs that folded down from the ceiling, and I wasn't allowed to open them. It didn't matter anyway; I was too short to reach the handle.

Squeak, squeak, squeak!

By that time, I heard Mom's car pull into the driveway. I ran downstairs and outside to meet her.

"Mom! Mom! There's a weird squeaky noise coming from the attic!" I even imitated it for her. "Squeak, squeak!"

I practically dragged her upstairs. We both stood in the hallway, staring up at the attic door. Nothing. Not a peep.

"I have to make dinner, Andrea. Go start your homework," she said as she headed back downstairs. Her annoyance was not lost on me.

Was I crazy? Did I imagine these sounds? I was so confused and frustrated.

I trudged down the stairs to get my books when I heard it again. SQUEAK!

"MOM!"

She came back upstairs, and this time the squeaks didn't stop.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Stay here."

She pulled down the stairs, brushing away the chunks of fluffy pink insulation that always came down with them, and climbed up. I heard her footsteps as she walked around for what felt like an eternity.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

I could barely contain myself. "What is it?" I hoped it was a kitten. Maggie, who had come to investigate, glared at me, like she knew what I was thinking.

"It's a baby squirrel! Its mom must've gotten in through one of the vents."

"I'll name him Squeak. Can we keep him?" I asked, naturally. Who wouldn't want a pet squirrel?

"No. We'll wait and see if the mom comes back." Mom put together a shoe box bed full of washcloths and removed our guest from the insulation of our unfinished attic. It was a move I didn't understand at the time; that insulation looked pretty darn comfortable to me, even though I wasn't allowed to touch it.

I really wanted to go up in the attic to meet him, but Mom wouldn't let me. Even though I couldn't see Squeak, I felt responsible for him and made sure to keep my parents on top of his care.

I'm not sure how long we waited, but Mama Squirrel never came back. Squeak's squeaks grew quieter, and less frequent.

Squeak... squeak.

Squeak was weak. One day, Mom brought Squeaks and his bed down from the attic. It was my first time seeing him. He was so small, not more than a few inches long, and so cute. His eyes were still closed, and his tail wasn't fluffy yet. I pleaded with Mom to let me keep him. He needed me!

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Against my wishes and despite my tears, we piled into the car and drove to a building in the woods.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"A hospital for wild animals. They will help Squeak get better. Then, when he's old enough, they'll release him back into the forest."

"Will we ever see him again?"

"Probably not. But he'll be OK. You made sure we took good care of him, now it's the doctors' turn."

I was sad, but I knew it was the best thing to do.

We came home, and Dad was up in the attic, resealing the vents. We never got another Squeak.

Since then, whenever I see a squirrel, I think of Squeak. I wonder how he turned out. I'll never know for sure, but I like to think he found a nice squirrel wife, settled down in a big oak tree, and had a bunch of squirrel babies.

Photo credit: BetterPhoto.com

Ode to Maggie

My newlywed parents found a tiny black cat in an alley in 1970s Brooklyn. They took her home, and named her PJ. She was their baby, until I came along. The only memory I have of PJ is her hissing at me and scratching my face. I was very young, so I don't remember why, but I wasn't keen on animals after that. Would you be?

PJ passed away when I was still young. We didn't get another pet after that.

When I was in the third grade, my best friend found a small grey and white cat in a strip mall parking lot and brought her home. Two days later, that cat had four kittens. My friend already had two dogs, and the new mom was having none of it. Imagine this little cat chasing after a Rottweiler and Irish Wolfhound! When the kittens were old enough, my friend's family gave two away, kept two for themselves, and offered the mother to me. 

I was skeptical. She sounded mean, like another PJ. But Mom named her Maggie and brought her home. Maggie made her mark right away. She caught mice and birds in our yard, got into occasional fights with strays, and explored the neighbors' yards. Despite her adventures, she still came home every night to eat and sit on the couch with us. 

One day, I was making a sandwich and offered Maggie a piece of turkey. It was our first bonding experience. From that day on, she came running whenever she heard the rustle of the deli plastic. It came in handy when I had trouble calling her inside at night.

Over time, the hunting and fights stopped. She was healthy, just getting older. She still had moments of playfulness, especially with jingle ball toys, and the pile of wrapping paper on Christmas morning. I wondered if she had any memory of life as a stray, or her kittens. 

Through elementary, middle, and high school, Maggie was a constant in my life. After school, she'd sit on my lap and I'd forget, at least for a while, about how Jessica made fun of me or the bad grade I got on my math test. I'd rant about stupid boys or whatever else I was obsessed with that day. I knew she couldn't understand me, and probably wasn't even listening, but she tolerated it. That was enough for me.

I missed Maggie terribly when I went off to college. Her photo had a prominent place on the desk in my dorm room. Her advancing age became more noticeable each time I came home to visit. She moved slower, she got even fatter, at one point up to 18 pounds! It was harder for her to jump up on the couch, and she was no longer interested in going outside.

After college, I moved away. Maggie got sick and passed away, at the ripe old age of 15. I was sad, but it wasn't until my next visit home that it hit me. I went to make myself a turkey sandwich, rustled the bag, but Maggie never came. The house suddenly felt so empty.

I could've easily been sworn off of cats for life after PJ's scratch, and never adopted another pet. But Maggie not only turned me into a cat person, she made the rest of my family love animals, too! My father adopted another cat about a year after Maggie died. I also adopted two cats. My brother adopted a dog. I can't imagine my life without their companionship. Thank you, Maggie.