Day Three -
January 22
Farmington, New York is unremarkable in winter. The usual fields of snow, a slippery bridge, garden supply mega stores waiting for spring, the Finger Lakes Race Track and country homes spot the farmland in hibernation. Around one corner is a ranch style home converted to a dentist's office. Here is where the unremarkable ends.
Inside, each wall presents grand oil paintings--characters in vibrant period costumes--singers, maidens, posers--Dr. Muscarella's passion. Sitting in his waiting room, how can a patient have the usual fears about the ensuing dental work? Surely, hands that brought life to the three tenors with such splendor, can handle any problem in one's mouth with incredible finesse! Indeed, patients reading the newspaper in this waiting room hold their backs a little straighter and tip their chins a bit higher.
I wouldn't be surprised if a waiter comes around the corner serving European coffee and pastries. Instead, a basket brimming with help-yourself toothpaste samples rests on a lamp table.
After father is called to the back, Dr. Muscarella comes out to speak with me. "I took care of both of my parents for seven years and I know how seniors think about things. They don't like change. Anything new bothers them. I've told your father it is not necessary to work on his front tooth, but I understand he wants the chip repaired. It's different. It's bothering him. So, if I can do it without numbing him, I will."
He proceeds to talk to us for the next twenty minutes while artfully reconstructing the tooth. "You know, I knew your mother. She was quite a lady. Your father and I go back a long way." He tells about fresh foods he had shipped from Italy and the feast he is preparing for his family this evening. He rails against anyone who thinks they can live in this country and not learn English (of course not knowing father's parents spoke only Polish.) He puts father at ease reassuring him what a friend he considers him to be.
The truth is, with blood pressure as low as father's this morning, he should not even be at the dentist's office. But for a few moments he is able to exchange pleasantries and read the newspaper in this waiting room surrounded by wondrous works of art, and he leaves with the dignity of a restored front tooth.
At the funeral home 23 days later, Dr. Muscarella pauses half-way through the room, removes his glasses, and tucking his hat against his chest, sheds a tear for Chester. He walks to the casket and shares that wonderful Italian patter with his friend for the last time.
Farmington, New York is unremarkable in winter. The usual fields of snow, a slippery bridge, garden supply mega stores waiting for spring, the Finger Lakes Race Track and country homes spot the farmland in hibernation. Around one corner is a ranch style home converted to a dentist's office. Here is where the unremarkable ends.
Inside, each wall presents grand oil paintings--characters in vibrant period costumes--singers, maidens, posers--Dr. Muscarella's passion. Sitting in his waiting room, how can a patient have the usual fears about the ensuing dental work? Surely, hands that brought life to the three tenors with such splendor, can handle any problem in one's mouth with incredible finesse! Indeed, patients reading the newspaper in this waiting room hold their backs a little straighter and tip their chins a bit higher.
I wouldn't be surprised if a waiter comes around the corner serving European coffee and pastries. Instead, a basket brimming with help-yourself toothpaste samples rests on a lamp table.
After father is called to the back, Dr. Muscarella comes out to speak with me. "I took care of both of my parents for seven years and I know how seniors think about things. They don't like change. Anything new bothers them. I've told your father it is not necessary to work on his front tooth, but I understand he wants the chip repaired. It's different. It's bothering him. So, if I can do it without numbing him, I will."
He proceeds to talk to us for the next twenty minutes while artfully reconstructing the tooth. "You know, I knew your mother. She was quite a lady. Your father and I go back a long way." He tells about fresh foods he had shipped from Italy and the feast he is preparing for his family this evening. He rails against anyone who thinks they can live in this country and not learn English (of course not knowing father's parents spoke only Polish.) He puts father at ease reassuring him what a friend he considers him to be.
The truth is, with blood pressure as low as father's this morning, he should not even be at the dentist's office. But for a few moments he is able to exchange pleasantries and read the newspaper in this waiting room surrounded by wondrous works of art, and he leaves with the dignity of a restored front tooth.
At the funeral home 23 days later, Dr. Muscarella pauses half-way through the room, removes his glasses, and tucking his hat against his chest, sheds a tear for Chester. He walks to the casket and shares that wonderful Italian patter with his friend for the last time.
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