Oops, I Did It Again...Almost

I don't usually have terrible luck with eye glasses, not like some people. For example, my adult son has had to have his spectacles replaced a few times in the past couple of years. I'm not certain under which circumstances friends have "accidentally" stepped on his face, however, that was apparently the most recent reason for the demise of his glasses. 

Oh, I have had the odd screw loose...on my glasses that is. Occasionally lenses pop out. I've even had my frame crack for no apparent reason (again, I am speaking of glasses). Fortunately, it took place in under a year and there was a warranty. I've written about glasses before and told the sad tale of my favourite blue pair in, "Another Pair Bites the Dust!" 12/28/10.

Today, I ventured off to Walmart as I frequently do when I am devoid of alternate entertainment. I stepped out of my vehicle when I heard it, "clunk".

No problem. My glasses frequently tumble off the front of my shirt where I hook them when they're not in use. Then I looked down. I didn't dare breathe. I didn't even want to move as I had already nudged them once with my giant sneakered foot. It was still pouring rain as it has been all week in the aftermath of what's been labelled as  ***"Frankenstorm". I had parked beside a rushing storm sewer and my glasses, well, my glasses had barely escaped a terrible grate. I snatched them up and heaved a relieved sigh as I deposited them into my jacket pocket.

The following photos are a re-enactment after the fact. When I returned to the car, I decided that this had potential for a blog. I wasn't brave enough, however, to tempt fate a second time by laying the glasses in the same central and dangly location in which they originally landed.

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Even though these are my backup specs, I am glad that they were spared from drowning, or worse, sewer rats. The idea of rats wearing my glasses does conjure up amusing images, memories of the pied piper and three blind mice.

    But then, that's how my brain works.



***Frankenstorm a.k.a. hurricane Sandy. I assume it got this moniker because of the occurance and resulting devastation around Halloween.

Another Pair Bites the Dust!

Today, as I went to purchase my children's very practical but necessary Christmas gifts, new glasses, I realized how lucky I have been not to have been saddled with this "gear" early on in my life.

I don't have good success in a few areas of my life and one of these parts is eyewear, glasses of any ilk. I am currently sporting a pair which appears determined to rip the last few strands of my ever thinning hair from my head, each time I try to remove them.

I didn't grow up wearing eyeglasses. I acquired reading lenses later in life when my enviable vision began to decline. I first noticed the challenge of sight in my mid forties while attempting to view a name and number in a book meant for use by those of an age where they aren't actually able to read the telephone directory. It was at about the same time that I realized why my jacket sleeves were always too long. It was these short arms! If someone could have only held the book a bit further away....

During the last few years, I have come to terms with wearing glasses for reading. I even had one favourite pair...plastic with thick blue frames. They were lightweight, comfortable and distinctive. Although I have acquired some new pairs over the years, none could quite take the place of my old standbys. They were usually found in one of several convenient locations. On top of my head...great for keeping hair out of face, hooked into the front of my shirt or sweater...easy access and held very securely in this particular spot close to my heart, or in my pocket...sometimes a challenge. Bulky hard glasses cases, with all the opening, closing, snapping, storage, into and out of purse activity just don't seem to work well for me. Besides that, I would need to have my glasses on in order to find them in a bag and I would always have to be sure to carry a purse, another one of my challenges.

My most recent glasses adventure occurred prior to a vacation while we were staying at an aiport hotel. In the morning, we packed up our belongings ready for the airport van. Since there was plenty of time to linger, we selected a fine dining establishment across 4 lanes of traffic. We would be able to sit, chat, read the paper and spend as much time as desired in this particular eaterie, McDonald's. Coats on, we went darting through the obstacle course of cars, trucks and airport limos. Actually, I exaggerate slightly since it was Sunday morning and traffic was unusually light. Once finished our meal, we returned to the hotel along with the unread portion of the newspaper and the crossword. There was still plenty of remaining time before our flight so I grabbed a pen and....my glasses?

I searched in all the usual places...head, bosom, pockets but found no glasses. Hmmm.....must have left them at the restaurant. So I put my coat back on, and off I went retracing my path. I was half way across the road when I spotted something....."NOOOOooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!" It couldn't be. Or could it? As I crouched down I saw evidence of a terrible hit and run disaster. I had to move quickly as truck traffic had definitely increased since our first trek across the road. I searched and searched but all I could retrieve was this. I picked them up and stared. I looked for the rest of the glasses as if I could somehow magically re-attach the appendages even if I could locate them. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.
As cars honked, I determined that staying in the middle of the road was a futile if not dangerous sport, so I picked up the remains of my now deceased favourite pair of readers. The day had begun on a sad note. I had lost another close friend. I photographed the dismembered arm of my glasses and gingerly packed it in the side of my suitcase as I determined that the only appropriate thing to do would be to take it along on the trip and give it a burial at sea.

I accomplished that, in the Caribbean someplace near the lovely island of Puerto Rico, then returned to my lounge chair on the ship, prescription sunglasses and book ready to read, relax and ponder.

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

I have been wearing several items of clothing for far too long...specifically, a men's large gray t-shirt and a men's large gray hoodie. I'm not sure where they originated. It feels as though I've always had them. They have been the comfort food of clothing. Where other pieces of my wardrobe have come and gone, these two have become staples.

The hoodie keeps me snuggly and warm during the winter days and nights. It is fleece lined, cozy and yet is thin enough to allow a coat to be tossed over it. I leave it on underneath my parka for a more formal appearance as is expected when going out in public, grocery shopping, for walks and the like. It gives me the perfect "Walmart shopper" look. The t-shirt is a world traveller. It has accompanied me on many excursions and has passed for a workout top, a nightie, a bathing suit cover and well, just a basic muumuu to hide the body. It has in line skated, rock climbed, kayaked and slept on the high seas.

I don't know what it is about the colour gray. Gray is distinguished. Gray is warm. Gray is intelligent and mature. Gray is sporty. Gray is in fact the most popular car colour. Oh, I know that there are people who actually believe that their car is "cinerescent silver", "argentine ash" or "shadowy shellfish". But if they're being honest, it's just another shade of gray. Gray is a descriptive colour. On the other hand, I don't suppose that saying "Every cloud has a gray lining" would sound quite as pretentious or poetic as "Every cloud has a silver lining."

When the zipper on my favourite gray hoodie broke, I decided it was time for a change. I went shopping and came back with not one, but three new hoodies. I had blue, black and brown. Made sense to me. Those colours should match almost everything in my closet. I could alternate and all would last for quite a few years. I picked up my old gray hoodie, turned it over a few times and decided I just wasn't ready to part with it. Three new hoodies now sit idle in my closet.

Last year, I went on a cruise to Alaska where I found the ultimate bargain. It was a gray t-shirt with "Hoonah" emblazened across the chest. I made a decision. For only $2 I would replace the old gray shirt with this brand new version. Besides, this one was a better fit since I am in fact only a medium man. I got home, took out my tattered tee, then put it back in its drawer. Finally, after six more months of wear, I made a bold decision. Upon removing my favourite t-shirt from the washer and noting that it had not one but many holes, oil type stains and runs, I walked ever so slowly toward the rag bin. I looked at the shirt, thought about what it represented and enjoyed the flood of recollections it brought me. Then I knew what I had to do. With a tear in my eye, I got some scissors, made a snip and shredded it before changing my mind. I then gingerly deposited the remains of my old friend into the container with the rest of the ragged memories.

So here I sit, in my nubbed gray fleece hoodie with the broken zipper, pondering its future and thinking about the phrase from Andrew Gide, "The colour of truth is gray". The truth is, I am not ready to part with another comforting friend in the same year.