Today I am fifty-eight years old! The only time in my lifetime I’ll be the same age as my birth year, 1958. (well, not the one thousand, nine hundred, bit) Which I think is a remarkably wonderful and curious thing.
Yesterday I underwent the next step in my tooth implant adventure which I posted about in May with the ‘oh-so-very-understated-title of ‘I had a hole drilled in my skull the other day’. This time it was only a small, relatively speaking, procedure, to screw in the pin that will secure the thingy that the new tooth will be built around. But still there was the local anesthetic, and the blood, and the stitching, and the sore jaw to endure. All of which means that today I’m celebrating my birth day with analgesics and a hot water bottle plastered to the side of my face.
Mrs Widds, who is doing her bi-monthly retreat, (full, and dark, of the Moon) left a beautiful hand made card on my desk for me to find this morning.
As Fifty-Eighth Birth Days go, this one’s not too bad.