I went to the dentist this week for a cleaning and check-up. And, of course, I did not have any cavities.

After complimenting me on my good dental care, the hygienist commented “You have a beautifully restored mouth,” which struck me as very funny. For just a moment, I felt like an antique.

I finally figured out the whole dental hygiene thing when I was in my twenties so my dental life since then has been fixing stuff that I screwed up as a kid. At this point, pretty much all the old, decrepit fillings have been replaced by crowns so my teeth actually do look better now than they did when I was 25.

My general appearance owes a lot to the fact that my parents were smart and kind enough to take me to an orthodontist. I can’t thank them enough for this. I was a normal-looking little kid, but at some point between second and fifth grades, things started to go very wrong.

The orthodontist was a little creepy and had a weird habit of absentmindedly rubbing my right thigh while discussing the slow and painful progress of my teeth. It took just about 7 years from first visit to the last, but it was well worth it to avoid looking like a woodchuck.

As a kid, I wondered about the predictive capabilities of groundhogs. Perhaps it says something about the shallowness of my nature that, unlike the groundhog, I assumed a bright sunny day to be a harbinger of spring, not the harsh sentence of 6 more weeks or winter.

This morning as I walked Cammy and contemplated the shadows we were casting on the headstones of Old Quechee Cemetery, I wondered again about the science of groundhog day. It is a bright, clear, cold day.

Naturally, I turned to Google as soon as I sat down at my desk. There is some science to the superstition.

We are having a quiet day, relaxing and contemplating the Christmas tree. The past few weeks have flown by, filled with work and activity so it is nice to have some “down” time.

It has been a long time since I last posted. I’ve been laid low by a cough that would not go away. When you cough for 22 days straight, you start to feel a little tired, and that’s where I was when I finally gave in and saw a doctor on Friday. Having been brought up in Christian Science, it always makes me feel a bit of a failure to seek medical help. I also have a general suspicion that western medicine has a tendency to cut what it could untie, but then again, sometimes a little codeine helps.

Last night was the big night at St. James. At the “midnight” mass, we sang most of Mozart’s Missa Brevis in F Major, and it was so much fun. We had string instrumentalists, David Gay at the organ, and four wonderful soloists. After the ordeal of singing “Morning Star” as part of a trio in the morning service, I was quite ready to be one of the alto pack again. There is something very satisfying and secure about being in a group of altos. Dave recorded it and we will probably be posting some of that music shortly.

In particular, I would like to mention that our tenor, Oliver, held up his section (being a section of one) beautifully, all the while singing his solos, conducting the rest of us and supporting the basses on some of their entrances. His voice just floats above it all. And I can’t not mention Bitsy’s beautiful soprano shining through, too. The other soloists are no less deserving of praise. They were Sue singing alto and my own sweet Dave singing bass.

Today we’re planning a quiet roast chicken dinner. We had the ultimate fabulous Christmas dinner on Saturday at Heidi’s. Bruce pulled out all the stops as usual and produced a meal to die for. I don’t know how he does it, but he certainly gives the rest of us something to aspire to.

I hope you’re having a lovely Christmas with good people, good food and good music, too.