Exchanging Teeth

Evidence of what we love

For the last few months, I kept 3 little acorns in our living room. They’d get knocked around a bit, and I’d always collect them and place them back. Eventually, their little acorn “hats” wouldn’t stay on anymore, so I let them go, trusting that nature would provide me more if I so desired.

I have 4 pressed leaves from Autumn. All different shapes and colors - each more perfect than the last. I tuck them into different pages in my new journal so that I’ll find them like a surprise from my former self.

I have the fortune from a Chinese takeout cookie that says “Love is on the way.” I received it with my meal a few weeks before Michael and I reunited nearly a decade ago.

I have an ugly orange and white striped cardigan I wore tirelessly when I was 22. It’s now tied into big knots and used as a tug toy for my two furry babies.

These collections, these relics, are all evidence of what I love and what loves me.

I have these little things, and more, all over, but by far the weirdest is Jeffrey’s teeth.

At his last dental cleaning, he had to have two of his teeth pulled. One broke as they worked to get it out. Before the procedure, I asked the vet tech if I could have his teeth if any needed to be pulled.

After a silent pause that definitely said “I think you’re weird but I won’t say it” she more graciously said “sure, we can do that.”

They did forget to keep the teeth for me, and when I picked him up that day, I asked for my strange little dental souvenirs.

“Oh, shoot! You told me you wanted them, hold on, I can still save them from the trash!”

Then I offered a silent pause that definitely said “I cannot believe you’d betray me and my son Jeffrey by throwing his teeth, his TEETH away!!” but instead, I said “no problem, I’ll wait.”

She salvaged my gift, three little pieces of teeth. One full tooth, and two little pieces of teeth that used to make up one little tooth.

I keep them in my yoga/reiki/I come in here to re-center space. Jeffrey sometimes comes in and starts sniffing around and I say gleefully “Oh, are you coming to visit your teefies?!!?” and he wags and wiggles as if to say “yes, you crazy lady, let me see my own damn teeth.”

I hold one between my pointer finger and my thumb very tightly and hold it out to him, and he sniffs it first, and then tries to eat it. And then I say “you can’t eat your own chompies, Jeff!” in sing songy voice because we both know he would if I’d let him, because he doesn’t really know what they are, just that they’re his.

Except that they’re mine now, because that’s how love works.

We give up little bits of ourselves to the people and animals and places we love.

And then maybe they see that thing of theirs in us, and say “hey that’s mine!” and we say “no, no, no, you loved that into me, so it’s actually mine now, but I’ll let you visit it in me.”

And that’s why we become so much like who and what we love, because we’re just exchanging teeth.

Love makes us porous.

Love rearranges what belongs to whom.

Love leaves pieces behind

It’s interesting how strange love makes us.

If you missed last week, I not so gently requested that you assist me in preventing a mid life crisis later this year. The responses that are rolling in are so rich, nourishing, funny, and human. I can’t wait to share more with you as I organize and compile.

There’s still time to offer up your voice, and I’d love to hear from you.