The Other Side

by Nancy Green

All week long I've tried to think about what I could write, what could I do in a different way, and then I suddenly realized that the decision had been made for me last Monday during lunch.

I was having lunch with a friend of mine and she had ordered in hot sausage and pepper sandwiches. I had just taken a bite of this delicious sandwich when all of a sudden I knew I was chewing more than hot sausage. The tooth that holds my partial plate, on the left lower side, had broken off at my gum and there I was, unable to finish chewing and knowing this was probably the end of my partial, as I only now had one real tooth left in my mouth, the one holding my partial on the right lower side, and this tooth had been loose for quite a while.

I was able to get an appointment with my dentist at 8:30 the next morning, and he said that he would have to make me a lower plate as there was no way he could fix my broken tooth. He made an impression and on October 17th, I have to go back and he will pull my one real tooth, the part of my broken tooth that is still in my gum, and then will put the new plate right in. He said until then, eat soft food very carefully, and hopefully my partial will pretty much stay in place.

I have always chewed my food on my left side and now I have been forced to eat, very gingerly, on my other side. Everything feels so strange in my mouth, but survival is a very strong instinct in my life. I have found the joy of good soup with soggy crackers, the ecstasy of a good, hot baked potato with melted butter and salt and pepper. I can still eat my oatmeal each morning and my wonderful dish of ice cream each night. I think this coming week I will even try overcooked spaghetti and sauce and maybe some pudding.

Probably, by the time I get my new plate I will be very used to eating this new way and then I'll have to learn all over again how to eat on "the other side."

The Meanest Lady Ever!

A Commentary by Roberta Lacey

Most of all the folks I knew who were from Ireland were warm, loving and cheerful people, regardless of their many woes they endured in the "old sod." However, our one neighbor, Mrs. McGinty, was of a different mind-set. Thankfully, she lived several houses up the street from our family in Bayside, N.Y.

Perhaps her upbringing was cruel and uncaring. She came to the U.S. in the early 1900's, I was told. I don't know where she met her husband. He spoke with an Irish brogue they say, though I never heard him speak. Upon passing him in the street, he walked with head down, my "good morning" greeting either unheard or ignored. Mr. McGinty looked neat and clean, dressed in coveralls; his white canvas gloves would lead one to believe he was a laboror on his way to catch a ride to work. Rumors flew by that the poor man had been relegated to the basement of his home; only to come upstairs for toilet and meals. His wife's razor sharp tongue could cut straight to one's jugular. This was noted by the neighbor who lived directly next to the McGinty family.

Mrs. McGinty seemed jealous of neighborhood girls who were either engaged or actually planning their weddings. (yes. McGinty made it her business to converse with neighbors to get the latest "news.") Unlike her family members, she kept her ears open and her quest for gossip fervid. Most often she couldn't resist slipping in a hurtful remark or two mentioning that "so and so" was probably pregnant and that was why the girl had to get married. Of course, that nasty announcement proved to be totally untrue as everything else she said was unfounded. Another of her venomous barbs was that large weddings were only to get larger amounts of wedding gifts; never mentioning that the couple in question had big families and happily, many friends. Most neighbors, upon seeing McGinty at a distance, would make haste to avoid the poisonous spew from her tongue.

The McGinty daughters were about twenty-five and twenty-seven, respectively. Apparently they never dated, Yet their mother proudly announced that Margaret and Katherine were invited to a Sunday afternoon tea party...and "boys" will be there! I'm sure the young women wished their mother would "stiffle" it, since they must have realized how ridiculous it sounded.

The McGinty's one son was about thirty years old. He worked and always seemed happy enough. Luckily, Sean met and married a fine girl; hopefully for all the right reasons other than to get out of that house and away from the "witch's cove" as soon as he could.

As far as I know, the girls never married. I hope they did not inherit their mother's meanness. God help Sean's bride. Needless to say, the newlyweds soon moved far away from the mother-in-law from hell.