{Years ago now, with my mum and my cousin. My talent for roller skating apparent.}
I have a crown of modern day making and it could not make me happier. A river of gold reinforces it and it matches its companions perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that it is not possible to detect which is porcelain veneer and which is actual tooth. It is of course my front tooth and the crown I speak of is a crown for a tooth not a crown for the head of a ruler or pageant winner. It is not a crown pulled from Christmas cracker and made of coloured paper; it is made of far sterner stuff. It is circular like that of a monarch’s headdress but it is not ornamental; with it, I shall be able to chomp and chew and grin my loonish best. It encircles a tooth broken and held together by large pin and today, several hours after final procedure I am enamoured of it. Made from dental impression two weeks ago now, it is living up to its name; it is an emblem of victory. Having broken my front tooth clean in half in my final Primary School years, I have now covered any reference to daredevil past. One roller skating stunt involving self, a ramp and a concrete wall at the finish line, now effectively put to rest.
In my late primary school years, I performed for own amusement and small audience a stunt on roller skates ill considered namely in regard to conclusion. It involved a fine start and rollicking middle but the end found me headed at top speed in direction of a concrete barrier. Down I concrete ramp I rolled, speed mounting until it dawned upon me in singular horrific moment, though not fully, that the red toe stop on my white boots was not going to serve as significant brake. Momentum gathering, the theory of relativity came into play and I had no way of stopping self from hitting wall. My knee bore the brunt and then to great misfortune I bit the wall, splintering my tooth in half. My dear friend K, who my mum to this day thanks for her foresight, collected the tiny pieces from the wall much as you would shells on the beach. My tongue explored the damage inside its domain, and it recoiled at the pain of the exposed nerve endings encountered, though little else I recall. There was the saltiness of blood. There was blood, my blood, on the wall. Someone’s lounge room as we waited, the horrible realisation dawning and the irresistible urge for tongue to feel the nerve endings once more, but all this was years ago now and today all reminders of this event of childhood foolishness are tucked snug inside their crown.
{A parcel of recently made white penguins especially for Craft Victoria's White Christmas.}
+ Thelma's white stuffies recently made.
+ Snail mail arrives from Camilla.
+ The past (January 2009), as viewed through Sandra's camera lens.
+ Thanks for the mention, Amy.
