The woman hurried along the sidewalk boots up to her knees, a down-filled coat, toque pulled down severely and thick mitts on her swinging arms. A typical Canadian winter scene, only this was on a sidewalk in Oceanside, California, in February. The locals and snowbirds there for the weather were not impressed with the 37 Fahrenheit morning temperature—that’s plus 3 Celsius to the world outside the United States—and the cold wind off the brown waves of the ocean.

The waves were brown for several reasons. The main one was that on Thursday, February 14, there was the worst winter storm in 40 years, according to a security guard at North Coast Village. I stayed in the condo, watching as palm trees bent almost double in the wind, and the waves brought in debris from places near and far. Branches, a couple of entire trees, all kinds of garbage and unidentifiable objects were hurtled onto the shore in what became an approximately 10 feet wide and 4 feet high barrier. Apparently, the main source of contamination is raw sewage dumped in the ocean near Tijuana. The mess was still being cleaned up when I left: bobcats at work and huge garbage disposal bins.

The rain came in sheets, causing all kinds of havoc including flash flooding, closed streets and accidents on the freeways. My daughter had cautioned us to avoid driving in the rain because people down there do not know how to drive in rain! About 3.5 inches of rain fell in Oceanside that day, and when the soil doesn’t absorb moisture, that is a problem. In what Californians call the mountains, 10 inches fell and some of that was snow. I only ventured down to the parking garage to make sure my rental car was not submerged; fortunately, there was just a small amount of water on the garage floor.

For me, the weather was incidental once the worst of it had passed and it continued to be cool with periodic showers over the next few days. After wearing the same red cardigan for 12 days, I did notice the fact that it hadn’t warmed up. My reason for being there was to spend time with my granddaughter—and her parents too, of course—and to help celebrate her 6th birthday.

Packing for a couple weeks in Southern California is always a crap-shoot. I have learned to take one set of clothes for very warm weather and one set of clothes for very cool weather. I learned to do that after one September when I had to buy a sundress and spend most of my time sitting under a fan when the temperature sky-rocketed. Fortunately, the condo where we stay has laundry facilities so I only need to pack one carry-on bag.

But, this past two weeks I certainly didn’t need to worry about a sundress! At the same time, Doug was home coping with bitterly cold weather and plowing and shovelling every day as the snow continued to accumulate. We split our trips to California this year so one of us was home with Hayley.

Our Calgary family joined me for eight days, and the three grandchildren had a great time at Disneyland. My favorite rides are still a couple of the originals: the teacups where my two granddaughters kept us spinning by turning the wheel as fast as they could, and the roller coaster named Thunder Mountain. 

Back in Oceanside, the kids had fun playing in the sand on the beach before the big storm, and on the playground and in what was accessible and uncontaminated of the sand after the storm. The harbour area was quickly cleaned as it is a city-owned beach. The area near the condo was the worst in terms of debris. There was still a definite brown line near the horizon beyond which was what looked like cleaner water. Needless to say, there was no swimming or wading.

My granddaughter spent February 18th, our Family Day and the U.S. Presidents’ Day, with me and had her first sleepover. On our walk to the pier, she was invited to play in the sand along the sidewalk with a couple of little girls. Their parents told me they had moved to Oceanside eighteen years ago from near Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The father explained that he worked repairing hail damage on vehicles and basically followed the hailstorm path in the spring and summer. He starts work in Louisiana and Texas and then moves on to the Midwest United States. He was curious about our hailstorms in Canada but would need a Visa to work here. When I asked, I was told that there are never hailstorms in Southern California.

Three days later, San Diego had some hail. My daughter drove in it on her commute home, and she knows hail. The fellow sitting beside me on the plane home was out for a walk after his conference sessions ended for the day and got caught in the hail. He’s from Edmonton so he knows hail. All we got in Oceanside was huge raindrops which I thought might turn into hail, but stopped short. As I drove my granddaughter home, we saw a full rainbow—the first one she remembers seeing.

“Seems it never rains in southern California … but girl, don’t they warn ya? It pours, man, it pours…”  And, yes, it did hail for a few minutes one day in February 2019.
 

I know I’m not alone when I say that a great deal of time and effort seems to go into maintenance—not of my vehicle, but of myself. The time spent just to keep myself from falling apart seems to increase with each passing day. Yes, I know that I’m fortunate that I still have to do maintenance as the alternative is not to be here to do it. I also realize that my maintenance is not life-threatening. But, I have to write about something in this Musing!
 
In April 2018, I told my dentist during a regular check-up that my four bottom teeth were loose. “Loose?” he queried, as he wiggled them. “Teeth are supposed to move somewhat.”
 
Well, this was more than somewhat. I appeared to be in competition for losing those four teeth with my oldest grandchild who was starting to lose her baby teeth.
 
It took some convincing that something needed to be done, but the dentist started to discuss alternatives with me. I was tempted to just have all my teeth removed and stop what I predict will be an ongoing saga of dental work and huge bills. Of course, the advice out in dental world is to keep your own teeth for as long as possible. So, I agreed to have teeth implants.
 
You probably don’t want all the gory details so stop reading if you’re squeamish. I went to an oral surgeon on May 30th and so the eight-month ordeal began. I had to sign off on a form that said I knew cadaver bone was being used for a better result—in short, the implants needed better bone than I had.
 
I was told that my mouth is very small—so take that all you people who think I have a great deal to say! The dental surgeon removed the four teeth, and I was told that to heal well, it was advantageous if I could go without a partial plate for at least two weeks.
 
First of all, the oral surgeon—who is well over 6 feet tall with linebacker shoulders—had large hands. Remember, I have a small mouth. In fact, a pediatric bite blocker had to be located because the adult small was too large. Having said that, the oral surgeon did a very good job and the overall bill from his work wasn’t as high as everyone had predicted.
 
Unfortunately, after any dental procedure, I am prone to canker sores. Apparently, some patients get canker sores, there isn’t any way of preventing them and they are caused by stress. Obviously, I was stressed. The canker sores were more irritating than the surgery site itself which healed well. The dental surgeon prescribed a rinse. However, a clerk at the local Shoppers Drug Mart recommended a couple of products that worked even better: a ‘grown up’ topical anesthetic similar to what I used to squirt on the kids’ gums during teething and an oral wound cleanser.
 
I went to a denturist and had more impressions. She made a partial plate so that I could at least appear in public without looking like ‘an upside-down vampire.’ There was only one catch, of course: the partial plate had to be removed to eat. Since the front teeth are used a fair amount in biting, speaking clearly and so on, it became an eight-month endurance test.
 
It was handy on Halloween though, and my family either got used to seeing the upside-down vampire eating, or they were too polite to say anything.
 
Plan on seeing the inside of a dentist’s office very frequently if you embark on such an adventure: at one point three times in one week with a bill to match. There was some excitement in that I couldn’t seem to keep the temporary crowns on, regardless of the fact that I cut up my food into bite size pieces similar to what you’d do for a one year old starting on solid food. Two temporary crowns fell out. I swallowed one that had been replaced—I’ll leave the details of that result to your imagination.
 
Finally, on January 23, 2019, the implants were literally torqued into place. So far, nothing has fallen out. The greatest result is that I can actually eat in public!
 
As per usual given my age and stage of life, there is always more maintenance, specifically the regular mammogram. My theory is that the technician makes all the difference in this experience, and I lucked out this past week with a very capable and fast technician.
 
After the mammogram, I was booked for a bone density. I was glad to relax on that table, wedge cushion under my knees. The technician explained she was having difficulty locating me in the system based on a name search. I encouraged her to try alternative spellings of Cathro. No, that didn’t work either. She asked if I’d changed my last name. Finally, she keyed in my health card number, and there I was.
 
“According to this, your last name is P H Y.”
 
So, not only do I have new front bottom teeth, but, apparently according to Alberta Health Services, I am now Lorraine Phy.