Brushing, flossing and other dental obsessions

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on June 20, 2017 12:01AM

I don’t like the dentist .

Not any particular dentist — just going to the dentist in general.

Despite what my friends might say, I have a small mouth. That, coupled with having anxiety about not being able to breathe because of asthma, makes my mouth not very user-friendly when it comes to dental work.

Seriously, there’s not very much room in there for my teeth, much less hands, mirrors, suction tubes and various instruments that I probably don’t even care to know what they are called.

It seems quite unfair that I brush my teeth several times a day (I even have a toothbrush in my desk at work) and I have all kinds of funky implements to clean and dislodge debris from between my teeth and gums. Yet, I seem to have my share of dental issues.

And, don’t even get me started on dental floss.

Too late.

I floss with regularity — more in the past five years than ever before. It hasn’t gotten to the level of a social activity, which I get the impression from my dental hygienist wouldn’t be a bad thing.

The interesting thing is, I recently came across an article in Time — “How Dental Floss Became a Thing in the First Place,” Aug. 2, 2016 — that suggests flossing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

The article talked about the history of dental floss (yeah, I know, a riveting subject). It ends with, “Today, however, the value of dental floss is not so certain.”

Another thing I’m intrigued with is the specialty areas in dentistry. Back in the day, your regular dentist was one-stop shopping. They did it all, from basic care to extractions and root canals.

Now that I think about it, maybe there is one dentist I don’t like. It seems my parents paid for a root canal when I was in high school that I never actually got. I remember getting hit in the mouth with a rock and it resulted in a slow and agonizing death of the tooth.

The fix — a root canal and cap. Evidently, the dentist decided to collect the extra cash for the root canal without actually performing the procedure. Or he did such a lousy job, the endodontic specialist I saw in the fall couldn’t tell it had ever been done.

I recently looked up the dentist’s name on the Oregon Board of Dentistry. It seems he had some issues over the years.

While I can’t be certain that dentist did me wrong decades ago, I do know I didn’t get the best set of choppers genetically. I won’t hold that against my mom and pops. Before I had braces, I could have left a pretty gnarly bite mark. They did sacrifice to give me a straight smile — something I appreciate to this day.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Fall leaves can be fun, even for adults

By 

By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my shoes

Published on October 14, 2015 6:24PM

Growing up. I often was excused from home and garden tasks.

I conveniently used the excuse of my allergies and asthma to get out of doing things I didn’t enjoy. However, as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that fall leaves can be fun.

So, before you get set to rake ’em and bag ’em, have some fun with the colorful and crisp leaves that are blowing across your lawn like a snowdrift.

A number of years ago, Suzanne Tosten and I felt bad for Terri Dorran because she didn’t have any trees in her yard. Terri was missing out on the joys that fall leaves ultimately bring.

Dressed incognito for a Halloween party as Wayne and Garth of Saturday Night Live, Suzy and I set out to enrich Terri’s life with a blessing of leaves. Oh sure, we could have gone across the street to the park and raked and gathered leaves, but that would have taken too much effort. Instead, we went to then Hermiston Mayor Frank Harkenrider’s house and removed several of his large decorative lawn leaf bags.

Back at Terri’s house we emptied the bags, creating a blizzard of leaves. It was awesome fun.

Terri’s son, Mitch, was thrilled with the colorful blanket in their front lawn.

“Look mom, look at all the leaves,” he exclaimed with the innocence of youth. “They must have blown over from the park.”

Of course, we couldn’t just steal Harkie’s leaves and call it good. So, a few nights later, we collected the leaves from Terri’s place. Then, on the way to Harkie’s house, we had another bright idea — let’s collect additional lawn leaf bags and set them up in a football formation. (Note: I’m sure the statute of limitations has passed regarding the theft of said leaves, but just in case I want to remind you about something called creative license).

Anyway, along with the three bags we had snagged from Harkie’s lawn earlier, we gathered an additional eight bags between Hermiston and Highland avenues. Back at Harkie’s place, we set up a basic T formation.

With my husband’s gimpy foot and fall in full swing with the leaves starting to fill our yard, I’m likely going to be the one raking and bagging this year. By the way, can someone tell me where Mayor Dave Drotzmann lives? (Also, for your information, many area cities provide its residents with a card or coupon to dispose of yard debris, including fall leaves, free of charge at local landfills. Contact your city hall for details).

Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life and runs every other week in the Hermiston Herald. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Inside my shoes: It’s all downhill from here

Tammy Malgesini

East Oregonian

Published on July 4, 2015 1:52PM

Less than 100 yards into the 1.7-mile Taft Tunnel, I had a severe meltdown.

The dark and damp tunnel is the first portion of the 15-mile Route of the Hiawatha, a mountain biking trail along the old Milwaukee Railroad bed in the Bitterroot Mountains of Montana and Idaho.

I could see the flashing red taillight affixed to my husband’s CamelBak approximately 15-20 feet ahead. John is a seasoned mountain biker and I had wanted this to be a fun outing we could share together. However, as I sucked on my asthma inhaler, I was seriously doubting whether I had the mettle to continue pedaling in the darkness.

I first heard about the Route of the Hiawatha from Henry Zitterkob. I told him time and injuries were beginning to take a toll on my body and impacting my ability to participate in some recreational activities.

He asked if I had heard about Hiawatha. Describing the adventure, Henry summarized with, “Even you could do it.”

I didn’t take this as a slam — Henry had been my long-time pharmacist and was aware of my various maladies over the years. 

After breaking my shoulder, forcing me to temporarily lay down my golf clubs, I started riding my bike again. My most recent experience with pedaling was riding a stationary bike after a knee replacement, so cruising around town was refreshing. 

I periodically posted on Facebook about my efforts to get in shape to ride Hiawatha. Former Hermiston resident Cathy Minnick, who now lives a short jaunt from the trail, reminded me the ride was pretty much downhill. Yeah, but if you haven’t been on a bike for awhile that’s gonna be one miserable ride.

Although it’s a gentle 1.7 percent grade, the flat areas require pedaling or you’ll tip over. Besides that, you gotta get your bum in shape to sit on a bike seat for several hours.

So, there I was — my forward progress at a standstill with a poorly lit headlamp strapped to my head.

I’m not sure how John came to the realization I was in distress, but soon he was at my side. Not wanting to put a damper on his Hiawatha experience (too late), I told him to ride ahead as I would be walking my bike through the tunnel. While I said that out loud, he evidently heard my inner voice pleading, “Don’t leave me.”

As people rode towards me in the darkened tunnel, I had two thoughts ... their lights are blinding me and I must get a brighter light.

As I plodded on, my eyes either adjusted to the darkness or my ego wouldn’t let the 75-year-old woman who just passed me show me up. I finally mounted my bike again. And before I knew it, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel ... literally.

Thanks to the encouragement of my husband, I emerged into sunlight to the soothing sight and sound of a waterfall. 

The next 13 miles, metaphorically speaking, was all downhill compared to what I’d already been through. My perseverance was treated to an exhilarating cruise, riding through nine tunnels and across seven high trestles with some of the most spectacular scenery around.

Equipped with a much brighter light, I’ve been back to the Hiawatha nearly a dozen times and look forward to my next trip.

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Contact Community Editor Tammy Malgesini at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.