Daily Sketches #3. The First Dentist Visit

Enthusiasts Street - the street where I lived and where my parents live now (photo source)

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Write about your first visit to a dentist – or the most memorable one. Do you remember the dentist’s face, voice, the smell of the office? Do you remember your pain, fear, or a pleasant feeling of knowing that you are taking a good care of your teeth? You don’t have to write about yourself – write about your child’s visit, or about your character’s visit.

It was a regular school day, and I was in school, as always, in my Mom’s class. She couldn’t leave her work - there were 40 children to teach how to read and write and do arithmetic. Mom loved her job and treated it responsibly – she was in her classroom one hour before the classes started every morning, and she had a few packs of thin little notebooks to check and write little notes to students every evening – 40 notebooks dedicated to learning spelling and writing, and 40 notebooks dedicated to arithmetic. 80 little notebooks to check on every single night, Monday through Saturday. Of course she couldn’t just leave all those 40 little children only to take me to a dentist. I was one of her students for the first three years of my school life. I felt miserable, but I knew I had to wait. After the school was over, she took me to a dentist lady named Natalya Vasilyevna.

“You remember Natalya Vasilyavna, don’t you? She has a son, I taught him, remember? She works in the First School where I used to work before,” said Mom.

I did remember Natalya Vasilyevna – she had a kind face and she smiled a lot.

“Will she remove my tooth?”

I worried. The tooth was very sensitive, and I did not want to suffer the pain, but the idea of removing the tooth was even worse.

“She won’t. She will just look at it,” Mom assured me.

“But what if she has to remove it?”

“Don’t worry. She will just look at it, that’s all.”

“Will it be painful?”

“No, not painful at all.”

We arrived to the office of Natalya Vasilyevna which was located inside of the First School – the very first school built in our little working town. You see, it was a common thing back in Soviet times to have a children’s dentist in schools. The dentists would do regular check-ups, perhaps once a year or so, and if there was a problem, they would treat it. It was common, but our new school which just opened that year and where Mom started teaching as soon as I had to start school, still did not have our own dentist. So she telephoned Natalya Vasilyevna from the school office and asked her to check on my tooth.

The dentist’s office seems like a blur to me now, but I remember that it did not seem especially bright. Or maybe it’s my memories that make the office dark and the lights dim. The smells were unusual, the strong smells of medicine. Natalya Vasilyevna was wearing a white doctor’s robe, and still had a very nice and kind face, the way I remembered her. She greeted us and asked me to sit in a special chair. The metal machines which seemed big and scary were surrounding me. She had a special light and a special mirror attached to a headband, and special metal sticks that she took in her hands which smelled like soap.

“Please do not remove my tooth,” I asked.

“I won’t. I will just look at it. Do not worry, it won’t hurt. Open your mouth.”

I felt reassured. The tooth bothered me all day long, and worries about removing my tooth bothered me all day long, but this lady had a kind face, a nice smile, and a very honest voice, and I relaxed. I trusted her. She will just look at my tooth. Of course she will. There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about. She promised me. With all my trust I opened my little mouth as wide I could.

Natalya Vasilyevna looked in it for a little while. Her hands were gentle, and that reassured me even more. Nothing to worry about. Not a thing.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Sudden, incredible, sharp, unbelievable pain – the biggest pain I experienced in my whole seven years of life!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

She promised! She promised me! Mom promised me!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

“That’s all, shh, shh, that is all,” Natalya Vasilyevna tried to calm my cry that was bigger than the office, bigger than the school, bigger than the whole little town, bigger than my whole universe.

Pressure, pain, and the cracking sound. Something that was a part of me cracked, and my flesh was wounded. Then I saw my own blood.

“Shhh, that is all… You are a good girl… You did such a good job… Now it’s all behind you… It was a bad tooth, it did not let your good tooth to grow right, and so we had to remove it.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

A million of tears, a ton of pain. They promised me! They promised! How can someone with such a good, kind face and such a good, honest voice, break their promise? How could they do this to me?

Even though it all happen long after medieval times, most probably in 1980 or 1981, but in a regular Soviet school’s dentist office in a small working town somewhere in the middle of Siberia, there was simply no anesthetics to make the suffering easier. Nothing to sooth your pain. Nothing other than a kind smile and an honest, reassuring voice of the dentist who knew, of course, that the troublesome tooth had to be removed before bigger problems started. Who knew, of course, that a seven year old child would never understand any explanations, and there was no other way to make her feel relaxed, than telling a lie. That was the only medicine the dentist had – the mixture of kindness and lie. None of which would work without another. It had to be both. Only in this strange mixture she could find at least some relief from the shock and from the pain.

I did not know it back then. My shock was not only physical – it was the shock of breaking the trust, my trust. They promised me that they wouldn’t remove the tooth. They promised me that they would only look at it. They promised me that it wouldn’t hurt. And they broke all the three promises, in one short violent moment.

It’s hard to point a finger on the roots of our beliefs. But maybe that’s when I realized that in life nothing matters as much as both kindness and honesty woven together – that kindness without honesty heals no more than honesty without kindness. 

Rise and Write 1-7

Daily Sketches. #1 The First Thing You See in the Morning

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Write about the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning. Is it something in your room? Is it a photograph? A cat? A person? The world outside of your window?

It's a message from my little one. A few months ago, on my birthday, she left a note for me, right on the tall dresser by my bedside. "Happy Birthday!" it says. "Check the microwave. There is a surprise (a good one!). Love, Anna and Justin." So when I opened my eyes that day, it was the very first thing I saw. It warmed my heart in an instant. It made me smile. A surprise! And not just any surprise - a good one! Who wouldn't want to wake up to a good surprise waiting for them? I knew I wanted. My day was destined to be happy before I completely woke up. I did not take the note off - it still hangs there, the bright yellow note on my bright red dresser. As bright and sunny as the walls of my bedroom. As bright and sunny as a smile of my daughter. It reminds me of that morning, when she asked Justin to wake her up earlier than usual, so she had enough time to get ready for school and make pancakes for me. So when she left for school, and Justin left for work, and I was, as usually, still sleeping, there was a little proof of their love waiting for me to wake up to. Who would take such a proof off? I didn't. 

It reminds me now of one morning in our small apartment in a far away city where we lived before, when I woke up and saw a printed in colorful inks note on the wall in front of me: "I love you... I love you... I love you..." I smiled. I went to the bathroom. "I love you... I love you... I love you...", the mirror said. I smiled. I went to the living room. "I love you... I love you... I love you...", whispered every wall, every piece of furniture, from every corner of our small apartment. "I love you... I love you... I love you..." Anywhere and everywhere I looked, I saw the proof of his love to me, the proof that everything is well with the world, because more than anything, before anything else, don't we all want to be loved, to know for sure, that we are loved, always, at any and every corner of our world, at any and every point of our day, of our life, we are loved, fully and completely, colorfully, happily loved? I did not take those colorful notes off our little apartment walls for many months, maybe a year, maybe longer. Who knows when I decide to take off the "good surprise" note from my dresser. I love to wake up and know that there is a surprise waiting for me. And not just a surprise. A good one!

Rise and Write 1-7

Rise and Write Link-Up: Daily Writing Sketches 1-7

Dear fellow writers, here are the very first seven prompts (ideas of sketches) that I offer you to write this week. The link-up will be open for 7 days, and you can either write all 7 sketches at once and link them all together, or write one daily, or 2-3 at once, then take a break... do whatever works for you! I like the idea of writing both fiction and non-fiction - feel free to write either about yourself, or about your fictional characters. Don't think too much - they are supposed to be impromptu! You may link as many posts as you want - one with all prompts or seven (one prompt per post).
Happy writing!



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Write about the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning. Is it something in your room? Is it a photograph? A cat? A person? The world outside of your window?

2

Write about the first bouquet of flowers you received (or gave to someone). What flowers they were? Do you remember their smell? Were they from a garden, field, market? You may also write about the flowers you did not receive (or gave) – of a disappointment. A friend of mine said to me once that it was her idea that when she gets married, she would wake up on her birthday, and there would be flowers on her pillow. She never told her husband that dream of hers, but was really surprised to wake up to no flowers on her pillow, and was deeply disappointed. You don’t have to write a true story – invent a character if you like.

3

Write about your first visit to a dentist – or the most memorable one. Do you remember the dentist’s face, voice, the smell of the office? Do you remember your pain, fear, or a pleasant feeling of knowing that you are taking a good care of your teeth? You don’t have to write about yourself – write about your child’s visit, or about your character’s visit.

4

Write about a tree (or another plant) that you see from your window. What kind of tree it is? How tall it is? Does it bear fruit or berries? Is it a home to birds or small animals? If not, could it be a home to mythical creatures? What would you think of it as a child?

5

Write about an act of kindness that made you look differently at what kindness is and maybe look differently at life. What was the situation? Maybe it was in your childhood, or maybe it happened last week. Maybe you were the person who was being kind, when someone needed it the most, and maybe did not expect it. If nothing comes to mind, invent!

6

Write about your favorite dish as a child. Do you still remember the taste of it? The smell? The texture? Who was cooking it? What ingredients they used? Did they say anything while cooking? Where it was? How old were you?

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Write about your morning ritual. You wake up… then what usually happens? Write about how your body feels, what you think about, what you like to do, to eat or drink the first thing in the morning. It does not have to be about you. Write about your character if you prefer – what is their morning routine?

Rise and Write: Daily Writing Sketches

I find myself more in the writing mood lately, than in the creating outfits mood. Good! After all, I started this journey about two years ago with this particular goal, or better say, dream in mind - start living the life I've been dreaming of for many years, a writing life. In many ways, I've done it. Now, looking back at these two years, I can definitely say that I've done it. I started with reading books about writing (I might make a post about them in the future) - encouraging books, kind books, books that became not only my mentors, but also my friends. I've been writing stories (mostly in my native language). And I also started writing in English - a language that I do not know very well, as I am basically self-taught in it, and it was a huge leap of trust to just dive in and start writing my first blog in English. I remember when Justin mentioned the possibility for me to write a blog in English, I thought he went mad. Me? Writing in English? Never! And yet, now, almost two years later, I write in English practically every day, still with errors, of course, but getting stronger with every post - and most importantly writing with true joy and freedom, and that's exactly what it's all about... about liberating your soul from fears. And as another leap of trust, I started writing fiction, short stories in English, and even initiated a link-up that is going very well. At first, I worried a little about the idea of limiting myself with an "opening phrase" for each story. But in the end, I find that it actually helps and I have no problem at all to start writing, to feel inspired, to work with the particular phrase, let it tell me a story - the story that would probably not happen, if not for that phrase.

So all of my almost two years of experience of becoming a writer (in English - because I've already been a writer in my native language, writing since a very early age, and published since the age of 12) lead me to a new idea. One of the things I've done in the past, in one of my Russian blogs, was daily writing sketches (or exercises, if you will). Initially, I wanted to do them every day for a year, but in the end, I've accomplished a little over a month of such daily sketches (34, I believe). Some of them became short stories or flash fiction, others became essays, while still other remained simply that - sketches. The idea behind them was to get in the habit of writing daily, and I still consider that project a success, even though I did not complete the whole year of writing them. But they did their job - after a long period of not writing regularly, they brought me back to my true love of writing... After that, I found a book by Barbara Abercrombie called Kicking In the Wall - A Year of Writing Exercises, Prompts and Quotes to Help You Break Through Your Blocks and Reach Your Writing Goals. Again, I've completed over a month's worth of prompts, and it helped me to keep my pencil sharp. I love the main idea - keep your exercises 5 minutes short! If you happen to want to write more, then go ahead and do it, and if not - then that's it. Do not stop and edit yourself, write for the whole 5 minutes - that's Barbara's approach. Some of your 5-minute exercises will lead you to creating essays, stories or even novels - who knows where they'll take you. And others, well, they will be just that - exercises.

So I've decided to combine these two ideas, my old idea of daily sketches, and Barbara's idea of 5-minute prompts, and start a new link-up here, on the blog that I started last year for this particular reason, to get into a writing life. The rules are simple. Every morning, I will offer a theme (prompt), most probably random, borrowed from the outside world, from my dream, from a dictionary or a random book on my bookshelf, and post it here on this blog. If you, like me, want to get into writing habits and feel that such exercises help you, by all means, create a post in your blog, write for 5-10 minutes whatever comes to mind (you can edit it after all, but not during those few minutes of writing a sketch) - and link it to my post. I also will write and post my sketch on the same day. So we can share, encourage and hopefully help each other. I call it Rise and Write - meaning, get up, have your first cup of coffee, and somewhere between that cup of coffee and brushing your teeth, sit down to write. Just for 5 or 10 minutes. I think we all can manage it, can't we? And if you don't find my prompt inspiring (it happens!), then come up with your own, or change mine to the form that inspires you - and write. Only 5-10 minutes, no more. Don't worry about it being perfect, finished or polished. They are sketches! They are not meant to be finished or polished - they are meant to be improvisations, free form, imperfect! We'll take it a short block at a time, not the whole year (seems like forever when you  think that you'll be doing it for 365 days in a row). We'll start on August 1st. Deal? :)

PS And Justin and I paid for participating in the Writer's conference today - two full days of classes in October!

Солнечное сплетение

Вера Васильевна работала в школе учительницей – вела литературу у ребят в средних классах. Она была покладиста, добра к окружающим, отзывчива к чужим бедам, умела порадоваться за других и всегда была первая в общественно-полезных обязанностях, которые с облегчением скинули на ее плечи сослуживицы без тени сомнения – конечно, что же еще делать Вере Васильевне, как не заниматься общественно-полезным трудом в свободное от работы в школе время? Семьи у нее не было, жила она одна и стремительно старела, особенно, как казалось им, в последние пару лет. Вера Васильевна была незлобива по натуре, и хотя коллеги по работе никогда не озвучивали мысли в ее адрес вслух, она читала их как по ладони. Вот вы бы обозлились, если бы на вас, мой читатель, свалили общественно-полезный труд, считая, что ни на что большее вы все равно дано уже не годитесь? Наверное, кто-то бы и обозлился. А кто-то бы и нет. Вера Васильевна нет. Свободное время у нее все равно оставалось – оно у всех, в общем-то, остается после всех дел, общественно полезных или не очень. В эти драгоценные часы она читала. Когда-то давным-давно, в советские еще времена, ей досталась по великому счастью, можно сказать, что в наследство от нежно относящейся к ней такой же одинокой соседки, полное собрание Библиотеки всемирной литературы. Вы помните, наверное, томики ее можно было достать, после того как сдашь энное количество макулатуры, ну или, что называется, по блату. У Веры Васильевны и ее соседки Нины Андреевны никогда не было столько макулатуры, чтобы собрать мировую литературу – но ей хватало, чтобы приобрести томики советских писателей. Блата у нее не было – какой там блат в самой обычной советской школе, что вы – да вы и сами все понимаете. А у Нины Андреевны блат был – была она уже давненько на пенсии, но в свое время служила секретарем у зампредседателя местного поселкома. А это, и вы, наверное, тоже понимаете, большое место – нет, не секретарское, конечно, а зампредседателя. И зампердседателя была на редкость раполагающая, можно даже сказать, душевная женщина, и привязалась к Нине Андрееевне, которую иначе как Ниночка не называла, как к родной сестре. Поэтому можно сказать, что блат был, а можно, что связи были, а можно, что просто очень повезло Нине Андреевне, а можно, что она попала под крылышко к хорошему человеку – как вам больше нравится, так и считайте. 

Мелочи жизни. Утро

Я открываю двери - впускаю утро в дом. Уличный воздух приятно охлаждает разогретое под теплым одеялом тело. Я вдыхаю запах свежести, вслушиваюсь в пение птиц. А они словно перекидываются друг с другом фразами. Эта чирикнула разок, а та заливается. Я их не вижу, но голоса наполняют маленький домик так же стремительно, как солнечный свет и прохладный бриз. Часто это то, что я делаю первым делом по утрам - вместе с чашечкой первого утреннего кофе, самой вкусной чашкой кофе за весь день - иногда я пропускаю все последующие, вкуснее того утреннего все равно уж не будет. Частенько ловлю себя на мысли поздним вечером, что хочу, чтобы уже настало утро - чтобы глотнуть этот первый глоток кофе. И еще чтобы ворвался в дом вот это утренний бриз с запахом свежести, солнечным светом и голосами птиц. Но иногда всего этого достаточно - запаха, света и пения, и я пропускаю первую чашку кофе. Вместо кофе выпиваю стакан воды - она по утрам такая же вкусная и желанная, как первый глоток кофе. Все тихо и спокойно вокруг. Только шум автомобилей иногда нарушает утренний покой. Я прислушиваюсь - вот прошла одна, за ней другая. Еще пара мчится весело по извилистой приморской дороге. Дорога эта мне знакома вдоль и поперек - от нее всегда веселеет на сердце. Даже в серый дождливый денек она хороша - а уж в такое утро!.. Машины едут одна за другой, и каждая по делам, каждая по неотложным. Кто на работу, у кого визит к доктору или дела в банке. Дела у всех, все спешат. Я прислушиваюсь, пока автомобильный шум совсем не стихнет где-то за невидимым мне поворотом - и снова тишина. Тихий океан по ошибке назвали Тихим. Но наше море очень тихо - так тихо, что кто-то и не считает его настоящим морем. Так, залив. Если дать волю фантазии, то может потянет на фьорд, хотя той драматичности, что у норвежских фьордов, в его красоте нет. И все же оно прекрасно. И я не знаю много мест, которые были бы так же красивы и настолько же немноголюдны, как наши места здесь, у моря. Мо-ре. Мо-е. Мое море. Тихое. Нештормливое. Непугающее. Доброе море. Мое.

Additional Charcoal Portrait from Oregon

I completely forgot that there was another drawing - I used both sides of the paper and just overlooked it. Mom asked whether she could take these drawings with her, so Justin scanned them - so we now have copies. The good thing about scanning is that you can actually see the texture and color of the paper.