Going to the Dentist – By Barbara Baker

 

Since I was a kid, I’ve dreaded going to the dentist. So why would I volunteer to take my granddaughter to see one?

“She’s never had teeth pulled before,” my son says. “Are you sure you want to take her?”

“Yup. I’m not the one pulling her teeth out. The dentist is the bad guy. Not me.”

When we get to the dentist’s office, Ainsley grabs my hand. “Come on.”

She leads me through a colourful hallway, and we climb twisty stairs. At the top, we’re in a tree fort. A tree fort in a dentist office. How cool is that? We test out bean bag chairs in front of a big tv while cartoons race across the screen. Then we move on to a computer at the base of the tree and Ainsley tries out her math skills until they call her name.

“Follow me,” the dental assistant, Breanne says. “Jump right up here.” She taps the blue chair.

Ainsley hands me her stuffies for safe keeping, puts on the fashionable glasses and gets on the chair.

“So, you’ve got some stubborn baby teeth,” Breanne says and then explains what’s going to happen. She’s animated and entertaining and makes it sound like what’s about to happen will be fun.

I cradle the stuffies and watch Ainsley’s hands. They’re relaxed. Fingers spread out. What a brave girl. If she knew what was about to happen, she’d clench them into a ball.

“Hello,” the dentist greets us in a cheerful voice. “I’m going to put in some freezing so you won’t feel anything when the teeth come out.” He pulls Ainsley’s lip out and taps where the needle will go. “But you might feel a bit of a pinch when I do it.”

Ainsley nods.

The dentist slides the longest needle ever towards Ainsley but keeps it down low out of her line of vision. Clever guy.

“Open wide,” he says. “Here comes the little pinch.”

I squeeze the stuffies. Ainsley’s index finger taps the chair once but then relaxes. The dentist jiggles her lip while telling her baby teeth sometimes need help to come out so the adult teeth, which are currently facing the back of her mouth, grow properly. He slips the needle out and passes it discreetly to Breanne.

“I bet your lip feels funny now.”

Ainsley nods again.

“That’s the freezing working.” He smiles. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

“What do you think the tooth fairy will bring?” I say.

“I don’t know if the Tooth Fairy is real.” Ainsley scrunches up her lip.

“Okay. But if she is real, how much money would she bring?”

“She brings money?” Ainsley puckers up her mouth and presses a finger on her lip. “It feels really big.”

“Yup, it’ll feel like that but,” Breanne passes her a small mirror, “look, it’s not big at all.”

Ainsley tips the mirror back and forth to examine her lip.

When the dentist returns, I sit up straight, reorganize the stuffies and squish them together. Tight.

“Okay, kiddo. Let's do this.” The dentist takes a silver plier-like grabby tool, slides it down out of sight again and brings it up to Ainsley’s chin. “Open wide.”

I perch on the edge of my chair and watch Ainsley’s hand. Still relaxed. She’s such a trooper.

“There’s one.”

The tooth pings into a container. He brings the grabby tool back to Ainsley’s chin. Her fingers, her hands – nothing flinches.

“There’s the second one.”

Ping. It also falls into the container.

The dentist looks at me. “Tell her parents not to worry. Those adult teeth will move right into place. Probably in a few weeks.” He turns back to Ainsley. “Good job. I knew you could do it.”

Breanne gives Ainsley two tokens to claim her prizes and then shows her the tiny teeth tucked safe in a miniature treasure chest.

“Wait till the Tooth Fairy sees these.” Ainsley skips down the hallway.

Treehouses? Painless tooth removal? And prizes? What a great day! For all of us.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

Hockey Night in Canada Somewhere – by Barbara Baker

 

My seven-year-old grandson, Wyatt, loves to play hockey. As a gramma, who played on the Banff girl’s team fifty years ago, I got up the courage to play shinny with him and his dad. I felt naked without the hockey padding but tightened my helmet and stepped onto the ice.

The puck ricocheted off the boards and the slap of the sticks echoed off the mountains.

“Gramma scored,” my son-in-law shouted.

“Off course she did.” Wyatt tapped his stick on the ice. “She was on a hockey team a long time ago.”

Out of the mouths of babes. My heart melted.

Memories of playing hockey as a teenager flooded back. In the mid 70s two of my high school teachers started a girl’s team and enrolled us in the Minor Hockey League.

We had many obstacles to overcome before our first game:

-    learning the rules (important)

-    learning to skate on hockey skates instead of figure skates (challenging)

-    the art of stick handling, passing without losing the puck, and skating fast (equally challenging)

-    there were no funds to buy team jackets (minor detail – we knit toques for everyone)

There was a wide range of athletic abilities amongst us, but we were determined. Not even the 6 AM Sunday morning ice times deterred us.

(top row 3^rd from the left)

We surpassed all our obstacles and our first game was against Jasper.

The game started. They skated fast. They deeked and passed and zipped up and down the ice like super stars. But we kept up. And then there was a bam. Our centre got slammed into the boards.

I stood in the box with my mouth open. My teammates wore similar expressions. Our coaches - speechless.

What the hell? We all looked at the ref. Nothing. He did nothing.

I watched our player lean against the boards and pull herself up. When my line went out I took my spot – left forward. Skate fast. Pass. Stay out of their way. That was my strategy.

I flew down the ice (it’s my memory, I can go as fast as I want). Just as I went to pass to a teammate, I felt a thunk. The next instant I was on my back looking at the overhead lighting.

I rolled over, got up on my knees and blinked. That hurt. A lot.

“It’s a long way from the heart,” Coach shouted. “Get up.” They were the exact words I needed to hear to stop the tears.

We lost 13 – 0. We should have been devastated but we weren’t. We were just thankful we could all still walk.

From then on, our practices involved: how to check, how to take a check, how to avoid a check.

Fast forward to our next game against Jasper. We lost 4-0 but we were all proud of our defeat. We hadn’t been thumped.

Our final game against Jasper was the Easter Tournament in Banff. In the first period there was a battle of sticks in front of their net. And then the red light went on. The red light!

We scored a goal.

It felt like the whole team scored that goal. And it was the only goal of the game. A shutout our coaches talked about for years. We were victorious.

           Now back to the goal I scored while playing hockey with my sweet grandson and my son-in-law.

  

Who am I to tell Wyatt the goal I scored was not intentional? I’d merely leaned on my stick to stop from toppling over after turning too fast. My stick hit the ice just in time for the puck to deflect off it and into the net. Almost like I planned it. But I didn't tell him any of that. I'll let him think I'm a super star for a bit longer. 

 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

 

Grampa Saves the Day - by Barbara Baker

On a gorgeous fall drive with two of our young grandkids we stop at a park to play. Fresh air. Colourful leaves. Blue Alberta sky. And a backpack full of snacks. A perfect outing.

The kids run and jump and swing through the playground. In no time at all, I have 5,000 steps and only three near heart attacks at the hanging upside down antics.

Just as I begin to video our granddaughter as she hurtles down a zip-line, our grandson, who is only three years old and too short for the ride, lets out a scream. Not just any scream - a full out anyone-within-a-mile-can-hear-him kind of scream.

I bend over in time to see him swipe a wasp off his pinky finger. Tears streak down his face as he sticks his hand in the air.

Even without reading glasses on I can see the stinger, with a blob of venom attached to it, sticking out of a small cut right above his pudgy knuckle. I pull the stinger out and lift it to my eyes. The venom sac still clings to the sharp barb. It’s kind of cool to see but another scream brings me back to my grandson’s finger.

Hugs can’t console him and people start to stare. I’m sure they think the tyke has fallen victim to some enormous travesty set upon him by me. I give the staring people a pleading look to tell them, “I’m doing my best.”

“Let’s go to the car and get a band aid,” Grampa says.  “Stick his finger in your mouth.”

I look at my grandson’s dirty hand.

“It was a wasp sting not a snake bite,” I say.

“It’ll distract him.”

I pick up the tyke and put his finger in my mouth knowing I’m doomed. No amount of hand-sani can’t save me now.

Once his finger is in my mouth, the screaming stops. When it starts up again, it’s not as loud. I suck on the finger. The scream turns into snotty sobs.

At the car, I set him on the tailgate and pour water over the sting while grampa searches for a band aid. Candles, old granola bars, blankets, masks and gloves (thanks covid) pile up beside us. Not one band aid.

Grampa digs through his emergency car repair kit. “Look what I found.” He holds up the tiniest silver hose clamp. “It’s a superhero ring for a brave little boy.”

Our grandson’s eyes go big. “Really?”

Grampa nods a very serious grampa nod. He takes the injured pinky and ever so gently, puts the hose clamp over the red mark.

All the way home our grandson holds his hand in the air.

“I got a superhero ring.” He waves it at his sister. “Because I’m brave.” 

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

Barbara Wackerle Baker (@bbaker.write)

 

                   

 

 

 

 

Writing a Gothic with my Granddaughter, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase my novels and other BWL books: BWL

I had a crazy idea, since the young adult market is so hot, and my granddaughter loves spooky stories, why don't we create a Gothic novel together? She was thrilled. 

At age twelve Jorja reads at a higher level, and enjoys Anima, and other wild Japanese-inspired cartoons.

She also warned that she tends toward the very macabre. So watch out, Grammie!

I might have to tone her down for the general young adult market, lol

So far we have a title, The Unfortunate Events at Lakelustre House. 

We have the names of the three children who will unveil, or attempt to, the mystery and murders. One child has a connection to the neglected house through a relative.

Jorja picked the state where the creepy mansion is located, Massachusetts. Near Salem, perhaps?

And the basic premise for the beginning of the story.

What will they discover, and what lessons will be learned? If it's for twelve years and up, there should be a lesson.

Now, what is required in a YA Gothic?

And can I rein in my modern granddaughter's macabre imagination?

According to an article by Amanda Pagan, Children's Librarian at the New York Public Library: "the overarching genre is generally defined by a focus on bleak, creepy, and unsettling settings and characters." and "Rooted in the traditions set forth by Edgar Allan Poe, Ann Radcliff and Bram Stoker, young adult gothic fiction features tales of terror and romance aimed at a teen audience."

I doubt my granddaughter will agree to the 'romance' part. (wink); and the main characters will only be twelve and thirteen.

The important thing, other than a riveting novel, is spending quality time with my oldest grandgirl. 

The only other Gothic-like novel I've written is A Savage Exile, vampires with Napoleon on St. Helena. And I enjoyed delving into the macabre.

Now to drag that girl away from her phone and get writing!

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

To find out more about her and her books:  DianeScottLewis

Travel Ban

Find me and my novels here...

 Life in the time of pandemic has changed.  With children and grandchild living on another coast, my biggest challenge has been not being able to travel to see them.  

                                missing this little California fellow!

My husband and I share a love of travel, of seeing the world from a new perspective, learning about  new cultures, people, history. Here in Vermont we share a border with Canada and have beloved cousins there. No go, though only a few hours from the border! Our European dreams have been feasting on Rick Steves’ travelogues through beautiful counties on the Mediterranean, Adriatic, and along the Arno, Rhine, Danube. We now count on documentaries with drone flights across jungle claimed lost cities and imaginatively drained oceans in search of ancient cultures and shipwrecks.

                         guiding art lovers along trails that painter Thomas Cole hiked

Once upon a time, we conducted art tours through the mountains loved by the Hudson River School artists. Now we head to remote state parks and find beaches too crowded for us to get out of the car.

                                           The Piddocks have a lovely spot

Lately we’ve found a cure for our wanderlust...we've been taking walks through local graveyards and cemeteries, in search of lives that genealogists are trying to track down. You can find lists of such requests on FindaGrave.com.  Claim them to start your search. The oldest gravestones in our area are in church yards. We have seen some beautiful stone carvings from early America and our Federal period.  And the names! Sometimes the stones even the stories of lives well-lived or cut short by childbirth, disease, sudden violence. 

                                         The Ellis grave includes their wedding date...

Later in the the 19th century cemeteries were established in garden-like settings, for picnic visits with deceased loved ones. We found ourselves talking to the people on our lists, scraping away lichen from their stones to make out their dates. We were rarely in the company of the living except for an occasional groundskeeper or romping dog.  Ah, socially distanced mask freedom!

                                           keeping watch over fallen comrades

When we return home, I go on FindaGrave.com and log in our images of discoveries. 

A pleasant surprise? Within hours, my email inbox is usually full of messages from far-flung relatives with profound thanks.  

We recommend grave hunting to everyone.

Grandparenting – The Joys and the Pitfalls

A Visit to the Grandparents by Adolph Tidemand 1859

Everyone undergoes life-changing events. Some are happy, others sad. Becoming a grandparent is, without doubt, a uniquely exciting and enriching experience. Research suggests that grandchildren find exceptional emotional and mental benefits in their relationships with grandparents. A bond of genetically-disposed acceptance and trust is formed between the two. Kids who grow up with emotional closeness with grandparents are less likely to become depressed as adults, one study shows. This well-being extends into the teenage years.

Children find grandparents to be a major source of support during family disruptions. They are taken as role models and mentors for younger generations. Sometimes they're playmates for their grandchildren. They are important in teaching values, introducing ethnic heritage and passing on family traditions.

For grandparents, the presence of grandchildren provide tangible health and emotional benefits. Caring for little ones keep adults mentally sharp, boost social connections and stave off depression. Grandparents who babysit grandkids live longer than same age adults without child-rearing responsibilites, according to recent research. 

While becoming a grandparent bring much joy, some pitfalls may occur, especially in relations between grandparents and their adult children. Even if one has raised a dozen kids, the new parents will assume that grandparents know nothing about raising children. The rule for grandparents is not to offer guidance unless requested. Better to bite the tongue than to offer unasked-for advice.

In the excitement of becoming grandparents, some tread on the toes of the parents when it comes to rules on how to raise the child. Grandparents have to remember that the primary caretaker will always be the parents. Boundaries need to be respected.

Sometimes the birth of a grandchild can trigger old or buried emotions, relating to childhood or control issues. This can occur both with the parents and the grandparents. These will usually go away with time and goodwill on both sides.

Somewhere along the line, both have to let go of expectations. The grandparents may not have as much access to the grandchildren as they desire, and parents may not receive as much support as they want. It is best to live in the moment, to be grateful for pleasant surprises and to enjoy what fortune brings.

Mohan Ashtakala (www.mohanashtakala.com) is the author of 'The Yoga Zapper' a Fantasy and 'KarmaNation' a Literary Romance. He is published by Books We Love (www.bookswelove.com)