Branson, Day One

We left the Pioneer Trails main office at 6:00 this morning, the bus  almost full.  Today was mostly a driving day.  We stopped in Belleville, Ohio for breakfast at Der Dutchman.  Our next stop was in New Haven, IN to pick up the World’s Best Tour Guide, Anna Mae, along with Cal and Shirl, two of our usual group.

Early afternoon found us in Mooresville, IN where we stopped briefly for lunch at one of the two available fast options and then it was on to Chesterville, IL for six more of our partners in crime.  As the bus rolled down the highway, we saw the familiar and very large cross that reminds all who pass of what Jesus did for us. We played catch-up with people we hadn't seen in a long time. And we settled into our seats anticipating the next few days of making new memories.  Other than napping, reading, visiting, listening to the ladies holding court and laughing hysterically at the back of the bus, it was mostly an uneventful day.  Until evening.

Never say, or even think, that you need something to happen so you have fodder for your writing.  Or at least not when you are on a trip. Better to write about the gently rolling hills moving past the bus windows, or describe the open-mouth and gentle snores of your neighbor across the aisle as they sleep   Maybe even snap a picture or two for Facebook so all their friends can enjoy it too.  But wishing for something out of the ordinary is asking for trouble.

We pulled into our hotel in St. Louis around 6:00 and everyone checked in, then headed for supper, either to the BBQ place next door or to the breakfast room off the hotel lobby where a free meal was offered.                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 I stuck a piece of gum in my mouth and gave it a few good chews. A few seconds in and I was holding a crown from one of my teeth in my hand, wrapped in the aforementioned gum, all minty fresh.  Now let me just say that my paranoia of all things dental knows no bounds.  Traumatized as a child by a psychotic and ruthless specimen more suited to the torture of war criminals than to the extraction of children’s teeth, I have suffered dread of the dentist over and above most other irrational fears, save that of spiders and small spaces. My current dentist, a man who, thankfully,- treats me like I’m two, has slowly managed to win my trust and I no longer suffer insomnia the night before my semiannual appointments.  But when I found that little crown in the palm of my hand I felt the old panic and braced myself for the terrible pain I was sure would hit my senses any moment.  I realize to the sane, well-adjusted person, this is all over the top but the reason a fear is called irrational is that it is. . . well. . .irrational.

I called my dentist who was three states away trying to enjoy his well-deserved weekend and I left a message. And then I checked with the all-knowing Google as to what one does when one’s teeth fall out on vacation.  How I ever functioned without Google I do not know.

When the word got out among my compassionate and caring traveling companions I was promptly offered all kinds of advice, from Gorilla glue to Elmer’s.  I decided to follow Google’s directions. And bless Paul, he helped by surveying the crowd to see if anyone had any of that denture adhesive along. Surely on a bus trip full of seniors, someone had to have some Polident.  And yes indeed, someone did.  And he was willing to share.

If you’ve never tried to stick a rear left tooth, covered in bright pink glue, back into your mouth in the correct position, you really should give it a go sometime. Just make sure when you do that your spouse is at your elbow dispensing valuable advice like, “You have to turn it more on your finger so the angle’s right!” and “Make sure you don’t drop it down the drain!” and a whole bunch of other similar directions.

By some miracle I finally managed to secure it in what I was pretty sure was the right spot and it only felt slightly like I had a lump under it.  I found the card players in the dining room, supper long over and cleaned up, so Paul raided the frozen meals the hotel had for sale and the macaroni and cheese was surprisingly good.  When the caring and compassionate friends I mentioned earlier described the lengths they were willing to go to help me reattach my molar, I was plenty relieved it was already done.  Flashlights and hammers were mentioned with alarming enthusiasm. 

My dentist called and reassured me I’d done the right thing but he was rather adamant that I need to remove the crown before bedtime lest I swallow it in the night.  After a satisfying game of cards, which I lost as usual, I went back to our room and tried my best to get that crazy tooth out of my mouth but to no avail.  I finally gave up, asked the Good Lord to help me not to swallow it, and collapsed in bed.