Making the Bionic Grin

So this is what is grinworthy on this dark and rainy day:

I think a little pink is in order, and it goes so well with gray, don't you think?

I do believe I shall try to have a pink day. Pink clothes, pink salmon for brunch and perhaps a blush wine for later on. Let me know how you'll be pink today!

Get Funky

So, I've been in a bit of a funk.

The Jewish New Year just passed and normally I find this to be an inspiring holiday. We truly get the sense of a fresh start. We wear new clothes and eat apples dipped in honey so that our mouths taste only sweetness, so that sweetness will feed the cells in our bodies and permeate our being. For this coming year, we will share sweetness with all we meet and allow it to infuse all that we do. This is a ritual that I prize at this time of year, when school is starting, and the energy of change, the energy of becoming is palpably present. You can see it as the leaves color and hue, how they blaze into beauty, and find their moment of fullest potential. I love the autumn for this very reason.

But this year, I did not feel that energy. I felt still. And this is not necessarily a bad thing, because stillness is not the same as stagnation. But stillness in NYC is a difficult state. If we indeed need to "go with the flow" being still gums up the works. Stillness stops traffic on the street. It ignores the rules of the land.

And yet, as uncomfortable as I am being still, I know I cannot be any other way right now. This is not a quick process that I am engaged in. Teeth are not text messages or microwave dinners. They adhere to the natural law, which takes its time.

Time, it seems, is reserved for those of a meditative nature. I am reminded of the term, maha-kalpa, a Sanskrit work indicating a very particular unit of time. If every hundred years a mountain is brushed with a silk scarf, the time it takes for the mountain to be eroded by the scarf is known as a maha-kalpa. (The Buddha could not speak of it in exact years, so this was the explanation he gave.) I've thought of this so often ever since I learned the phrase in college many years ago. And, as you might imagine, I've been thinking about this unit of time, since the braces went on.

I was reading Just Over My Shoulder, a dear friend's blog today, and this is what she wrote:

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?

-Tao te Ching

I've been battling against the stillness all week, feeling defeated by it, and saddened by it. And yet, this passage from the Tao te Ching was so useful, like silverware, or a ballpoint pen. It turned my thinking on a dime, and as impatient and melancholy as I am with this process, I do know that I have to wait until the right action arises, and it cannot be forced or cajoled into being. It simply needs to sit, cross it's legs, rub its Buddha belly and take its time

Overzealous

So, I got a little overzealous.

Since the braces were tightened on Friday, I was actually able to CHEW with confidence for the first time in 5 weeks. I went out to lunch with my friend Cory. I ate a rather conservative fried rice, and even chomped a bit on salad. No issues! I took the spring rolls that came with our order in a takeout container, presumably to eat for dinner tonight.

Except that I got a little peckish at around 3pm and I tore the spring rolls into pieces and ate them. Apparently they were just too much for the braces, and I popped a bracket off. Even within just a few minutes I could feel the difference in pressure and I knew I had to get it fixed. I called the orthodontist's office, and the receptionist said I could come on down, but that my usual doctor was not there. That was fine with me. I figured it needed to be attended to right away.

I get to the office, the doctor on duty asks what the problem is and I tell him. He removes the bracket and simply bends the wire back where the bracket once was and tells me to go on my merry way. He said that it's "not their policy" to replace brackets when they break off, but that they will do it when I have other brackets that need to be put on.

I was appalled.

Are you kidding me? I'm paying this office thousands of dollars, and they won't fix what's broken? I stood my ground. I told him that this didn't make sense when I was here in his office right now when I could have it fixed now. It didn't make sense that I should go with lopsided brackets when proper tension is so important. And then I played my trump card: that as AN ADULT with teeth that move slower than children (and a mind that isn't easily trifled with) fixing a broken bracket has the potential to make it move even faster, and that was reason alone to get it attended to now.

Seeing that he was not going to win this battle, he fixed the bracket. It's tighter than it was before, but you know what, I'm happier. I like it tight. It lets me know that it's working and if I just shaved off a month more of braces time, then score one for the Bionic Grin.

I had been worried that I wouldn't know when to advocate for myself since so much of this process is beyond my control, and I have to let myself trust that I am in good hands. But this was just proof that I'll know when things aren't right, and my mouth works just fine when I need to set things straight! (No braces necessary for the words!)

Is it wrong to love my orthodontist?

I have to admit that I was full of dread, thinking about today—my very first tightening appointment. And whenever I get truly nervous about something I take pen to paper and write down all the questions I have so that my fears can be eased. “Is it terrible that I only have one point of contact in my mouth with which to chew? Is it a problem that I’m still gumming at my food after 5 weeks? Am I grinding my teeth at night?” I think of that song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado: “I Have A Little List” in which Ko-Ko, The Lord High Executioner of Titipu, rolls out this enormous scroll for his “little list.” I had a rather fashionable little notebook, but it did take up 3 pages, so Ko-Ko and I are nothing if not thorough.

Despite all of my qualms, my sweet orthodontist approaches me with a smile, patience and good answers to my questions. He is reassuring and supportive and makes me understand that he does indeed have a plan, and that I am quite literally safe in his hands. The only time I saw him stop smiling was when I told him that though I’m concerned, it’s not because anything was hurting. “Good,’ he said seriously. “It should never hurt.”

This is my kind of doctor.

The teeth are tighter, but in a solid way, not an uncomfortable way. Where this sensation made me feel unhappy over the past week, now it makes me feel secure. Funny to think that I have my own personal shepherd for my teeth—one who is making sure that my molars and incisors do not wander off into directions that might harm them. He said that the teeth want to be where they were before, and the change is strange and uncomfortable to them. But they’re moving, and they’ll find their way. And you know what? I utterly believe him. I almost skipped out of his office because I literally felt…well, loved. I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of experience with a doctor before, but maybe that’s why our healthcare system is in such disarray. We should feel loved by those who are trying to heal us. We should feel nurturing energy, not the beaten-down ennui of bureaucracy. I feel like I’ve been given a gift today to experience a doctor who believes in the Hippacratic Oath. I find it fascinating that this is part of the modern translation of the Oath used in many medical schools today:

I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.

Sing it loud and sing it proud, my medical brothers and sisters!

"I'm a model, you know what I mean..."

Maybe it was all of my fashion week postings that made it happen, but I got invited to an actual fashion show at Bryant Park at the last minute by one of my friends. On Friday, I went to the Twinkle By Wenlan show, and it was delightful. Lovely clothes, and a nice low-key crowd. (Alex McCord from The Real Housewives of NYC was there, but if my friend hadn't pointed her out, I wouldn't have known who she was. I don't watch the show!) I was rather amazed by how chill it was--I had expected that there would be fashionistas with 'tude, judging my obviously un-couture duds, but I felt every bit as fashionable in my H&M outfit as the other ladies in the runway's front row. I took some photos, and I love this one:

I love seeing all the photographers in the background. I was struck by just how many people are employed by one 10 minute long fashion show. There were at least 20 models, the photographers, the editors, the security, the stylists, the makeup artists, the hair stylists, the publicists. All for a 10 minute long show!

Here are a few more shots that I liked:

Check out the model in the viewfinder!

Maybe the universe is telling me that despite the feelings expressed in the last few posts, I am pretty sassy in my city. Can I say that braces are on the forefront of fashion? (Oh, what the heck? Tin grins are in!)

Fashion's Night Out

I've got to hand it to the fashion industry. Instead of whining about the fact that people are no longer plunking down $1000 for a pair of fur lined gloves in our sluggish economic times, they concocted Fashion's Night Out--which was tonight--where shops all over NYC (and in 12 countries around the world) stayed open until 11pm to fete customers and entice them to spend a little--if not a lot. Honestly, it was the brainchild of a marketing wizard. Everywhere my friend Francoise and I went tonight, we were offered wine, champagne, free makeovers and, best of all, genuine smiles from excited shopkeepers.

Though I did not partake of the champagne, I did indulge in a makeover at the Union Square Sephora. Fresh was doing a promotion, and as I was getting prettified, one of the founders of the company came over to say hello. He was lovely and had the most perfect skin I'd ever seen. I wasn't sure if he was just doing good business when he told me that I have fabulous skin, but something about him seemed very sincere so I graciously accepted the compliment.

I have been wallowing in feelings of unattractiveness due to the braces for the past few days--an indulgent fact I'm not proud of. But having a makeup artist that close to my face, daintily applying masks and creams and shadow and liner and gloss restored something. And the smile on my face was as genuine as the NYC shopkeepers'.

As we left the store, I looked up to see the Tribute in Light already in place. Every year on September 11th two beams of light rise into the night sky, originating from the spot where the Twin Towers used to be. I remember when they first appeared a few months after 9/11/01 and how comforted we all were to see them, to see the space honored and remembered. And though it sounds strange, it also served as a beacon, directing all the confused souls of the dead who were most certainly wandering around the city, not knowing what had happened on that day. They finally understood that they just had to go UP. There was a palpable difference in the air after those beams of light appeared. And I remember that sense of relief that was collectively felt in the city, by both the living and the dead.

I suppose this is a reminder that we all endure. The economy will bounce back. Gucci will once again sell $1000 fur lined gloves. New York is still its vibrant, energetic, pulsing self, despite the amputation of its twin limbs, and I can still smile, genuinely, even with a mouth full of metal.

Braces In the City

I'm thinking about that episode of Sex and The City where Miranda gets braces because she's a "tongue thruster" which means that when she sleeps she pushes her front teeth with her tongue, so her bite is off. She meets the girls with a mouth full of metal (which, as a lawyer, she could have afforded all kinds of clear, Invisalign lingual options, but hey, the power of the visual gag reigns supreme on the almighty TV). I loved this exchange when I saw it the first time. Little did I know how much it would hit home a few years later:

Miranda: This is what happens to tongue thrusters. I have to wear them for a year. Am I hideous?
Carrie: No. Hey... no. No, they don't look so bad.
Miranda: Really? You mean it?
Carrie: That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Charlotte: Are you in pain? I'm in pain just looking at you.
Miranda: I'm a 34-year-old with braces, and I'm on a liquid diet. Pain doesn't begin to cover it.

My 10 pound weight loss has been nice in the last few weeks. The lisping not so much. But let's just say lesson learned, Miranda. I will never eat olive tapenade on a date. (If I ever go out on a date again.)

Margaritas and Fashionistas

I'm sitting here sucking on chocolate chips, which I think is probably bad for the braces, but it's good for the soul, so who cares?

This is what made the Bionic Grin smile this Labor Day weekend:

I went to Fonda and enjoyed more than my fill of margaritas which made me forget all about my teeth. (It was a triumphant moment when I realized that I could eat the beans, which were delightful and the sauce on the enchiladas suisas made me absolutely swoon.) Apparently it's the place to be--even Nicole Miller was there trying out the vittles. Ah, Fashion week hipness! Thy name is Brooklyn? (Who knew?)

Here's the other highlight of the weekend:

I visited with two week old Zack, and his sweet mom, Ella. As you can see, Zack knows it's Fashion Week. Look at the outfit! The ennui on his face! Models can be so trying, can't they? And Anna Wintour? Whatever shall he do about her? Maybe he should just let the fashionistas fend for themselves this year, and just take a nap instead...

Let Me Entertain You...

It's my three week anniversary with the braces and for the first time, they hurt. My teeth feel like they're falling out. I am unhappy and I don't want to talk about it.

Here's what I do want to talk about:

As you know, it's a holiday weekend and I found myself on Bleecker Street in the mid-afternoon since I skipped out of work a touch early. This is what greeted me as I walked down the street:

It was a gaggle of models outside of Cynthia Rowley. I immediately thought that there was some kind of sample sale, but those have people who look like ME on line, not these earnest glamazons with legs like ladders. I passed a German photographer who was also just as taken with the scene as I was. She told me that all of the girls were waiting to audition for the runway shows next week. (How could I forget about Fashion Week?) She had a bewildered smile on her face when she told me that all the models were wearing sandals or flip flops, but once they were in view of the Rowley window, they put on their high heels--and all the same pair, apparently.

I was fascinated by the shoes:

What do you even call these things? High heeled booties? They make feet look vaguely witchy, but with those legs, I don't think anyone cares. I did feel a little bad for them. They all looked so young and uncertain...and like they had plantar fasciitis.

Looks like it was a good day for painful body parts!

Let's Get Visual!

I have just spent the last half hour trying to take a photo of the braces to share with those of you who haven't seen them yet. But quite frankly, it ain't so easy to take a clear photo of one's mouth all by oneself, and after seeing the final product, I realize that I cannot subject y'all to the way my gaping maw looks right now. Let's just wait until these teeth fix themselves a little better. For the first time, I'm actually ashamed. Good lord, why didn't anyone tell me how jacked up my teeth were?

I suppose it should make me feel better, after a realization like this, that I've taken action to remedy the dental situation, but quite frankly, it's rather disheartening.

So instead of looking at my gaping maw, look at this guy's:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IuHV7xh2L4

(Sorry, Kira, I really did try to embed the video, but to no avail!)

At least he had the Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor braces thing going on, which is totally fun, but sheesh. If this is what I have to look forward to, I'll shut my trap with the complaining right now.

But! To rescue us all from a fate worse than a depressing posting, I'll put a lovely photo that I took here instead. I like the idea of posting photos that make this Bionic Grin, well, grin, so here we go:

I took this picture when visiting the Canadian Rockies a few years ago, and it's kinda how I feel right now--a little misty, but very clear about the situation, just like the water. And if you look where the land meets its reflection on the right side, it almost looks like it forms an arrow, pointing me forward, and urging me to simply move ahead.

Onward ho!

Foodie Status Restored!

The Bionic Grin is smiling.

For so many reasons!

First of all, I am smiling because my sweet friend Kira had made things not-so-technical for me! She taught me how to properly embed images into the blog (yes, I know you were all tittering about the fact that I was all proud that I could do it two posts ago, and really, it was a complete failure. But if you look back now, you'll see the image there all nice and proper!) So get ready! More photos to come! And I might just move on to video if you can handle it!

Secondly, I am smiling because my foodie status has been restored! Dinner at Cookshop! (One of my favorite places!) I ordered fish and I could eat it! It came with okra stew and it was delicious! And it didn't feel strange or difficult in my teeth! It's nothing short of a miracle! All is right once again with the Universe!

Thirdly I'm smiling because I'm sitting here with a slice of banana cake from Billy's Bakery and loving every minute of it. (Thanks to you, Michal!) Because I can eat it! My teeth still feel chalky and strange, but I'm learning to be true to myself once again. So much for those 10 pounds I just lost...

Just mere days ago, my friend Betsy, in honor of Ted Kennedy's passing made her grandmother's Hermit Square recipe, a lovely spiced cake, much like a blondie, dressed in autumnal finery of nutmeg and cloves. This recipe is a true New England original, first noted in cookbooks in 1860. It smelled divine, the butter absolutely filling the air. I cut it into tiny pieces and tried to gum at it, but simply not being able to sink my teeth into them, made me feel so disenfranchised. It was downright unAmerican not to enjoy Betsy's cake and give Ted a proper sendoff in the best way I could outside of Hyannis Port.

But now, there is so much for this bionic self to smile about. More grin-worthy posts to come!

Pregnant Pauses

Thanks to one and all for all of your electric toothbrush suggestions. Despite my best efforts, it is still too technical for me. It might be more useful as an *ahem* "personal massager." :)

I am surrounded by pregnant women lately, or women who have just had babies, and everything is counted in weeks or months. "The baby is 3 weeks old." Or "I'm 16 weeks pregnant." I've been knitting up a storm lately for all of my fertile friends.

Well, you know what? I'm two and a half weeks along myself. And at the end of my 2 year gestation, I get twins--a row of top teeth and a row of bottom teeth. They'll be perfectly healthy with a bright and shiny future ahead of them.

And the best part is, they don't poop a diaper.

(In fact, they smell rather minty fresh. )