Looking out my Backdoor: EPs and MPs

While waiting for my daughter to get okayed for an operation at the hospital in Billings, I dumped a puzzle onto my table. Jigsaw puzzles are a good distraction.

I had loaned this particular puzzle depicting an antique car show in front of a typical diner to snowbird friends to work last winter. Intact. One thousand pieces in the box. It is a particularly challenging puzzle, fun, so I borrowed it back.

When I finished the car puzzle, on the day of Dee Dee’s surgery, I had two MPs and one EP. Go figure. I’ll return the puzzle to my friends’ house, note attached. When they finish the other puzzle, a mountain lake scene; they will be able to shuffle pieces to the appropriate boxes.

EPs and MPs seldom work that way. Generally there is either a gap or extra parts and how on God’s green acre did that happen!

The good news is that my daughter came through surgery without a hitch. The operation went smoothly, no surprises, no glitches. She now has Missing Parts and that is a good thing. Prior to surgery, she had an Extra Part. Nobody would choose to hang onto a cancerous tumor. The really good news is that she caught it early and arranged for the surgery immediately.

By now you have figured out our Family Speak for missing parts and extra parts. Most of us have history of putting together children’s tricycles the night before Christmas, remember, trying to decipher directions written in China. Then going out in the tool shed to scramble for an extra washer or the right sized nut, or, contrariwise, holding three extra pieces in our hands and wondering where they were supposed to go. Oh, well, hey, the trike works. So no worry.

My first EP experience happened one winter day when I crawled under my broken down washing machine and fixed it. Ended up with a long strange part and a couple other small leftovers. This was back when a washing machine had legs and wringers on top. I’ve always been fairly mechanically inclined. I plugged in the machine and it worked. Threw the EPs into my tool box and washed a mountain of laundry.

If only our bodies were so easily fixed! My daughter now faces the painful process of recuperation. I would like to be with her but I’d be one more person for her to worry over, more a hindrance rather than help. I’d be her EP.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].