The joys of clearer vision

Reading glasses in tortoise-shell, driving ones in black, and with their own magnetic clip-on polarised sunglasses too

I was humbled the other day when Anjelica posted a comment about her cataracts.  That’s a cross-eyed bear I have yet to encounter.  But my eyes haven’t been good for several years, so as I’ve mentioned, I took the plunge and accepted prismatic corrections.  It was a delight to get the call from the opticians yesterday that my new glasses were ready for me.

So I stopped in to pick them up, and at first, my new reading glasses made my head reel, as I’d been forewarned, but after a few moments things swam back into place.  It really feels like swimming through treacle as your brain adjusts to the different optical corrections.  It seemed to take a lot less time for my struggling optic-processing neurons to adjust to the distant vision specs. And then, after wearing those for a few hours, the transition to reading glasses with the same prismatic correction was seamless.  It’ll take some few moments, for some time, however, before things adjust up there for maximum convenience.  

But for the rest of the day, to the eventual despair of family near and far, I could not stop exclaiming over the joy of seeing clearly.  It has really felt miraculous.  The clarity!  The detail that’s there, sitting just  beyond my reach for the past however many years!  I thought the receptionist was going to have a conniption because of my warbling delight, but perhaps she’s seen the same phenomenon with other clients.  Why have I put this delight off for so many years?  I blame my overweening pride and a less than capacious pocketbook, actually, but more likely it’s just that I kept putting the inevitable off, finding too many other things to spend on.  

Anyway, I wish I could say I’ve learned my lesson, and that I shall never again procrastinate on measures to enhance my abilities.  But I’m afraid that’s a bit doubtful, that wish.  At least, when I finally acquiesce to this or that assistance, I can hope to experience similar joys over the newly re-realised capacity.   

And, perhaps, when they share in my new joys, when they get in their ‘told you so, man!’ ripostes, my long-suffering family will forgive me for waiting so long, .

5 responses to “The joys of clearer vision”

  1. I’ve added in a couple of classic ‘Americanisms’ for you today, Henry! I thought of conniption in a positive sense (the receptionist was actually struggling not to giggle out loud), and pocketbook is definitely not British according to my watchful monitor across the kitchen table.


  2. Ann Hetherington Avatar
    Ann Hetherington

    Wallet! It took me ages to work out what a pocketbook is! Larry, you numptie, life is always better when you can see!


  3. You’re absolutely right Ann, mea culpa, mea maximum culpa! But I come by it naturally enough, thanks to my Dad whose stubbornness was legendary!


    1. 20 minutes per eye over two ops and I can see better with long sight than I ever had, but I now need readers but it’s a small price


  4. Larry, You are correct in that I’ve always understood conniption fit to be negative as in our youngest threw a tantrum (or if you please a conniption fit) when she was 3 & it was time to leave Hersheypark. Very memorable carrying a 3 yr old through the park while she was throwing her body around in my arms. Conniption was a term used by older generations in my family.

    Larry, we are men. That could be the reason you procrastinated on doing what you really needed to do. i.e. go for an eye exam.. As a pastor for 20 yrs & a psychotherapist for 25 I’ve noted that most men are reluctant to go for help at the outset of a problem. We can procrastinate until the cows come home. I may have been sensitive, caring, a good listener, etc but I was nevertheless a man. I won’t go into how many times Connie has suggested that I go to the doctor & I’ve said, “Oh, let’s just give it a little time. It may clear up on its own.” Perhaps it’s different for British men.

    PS. I’ve always carried a wallet never a pocketbook. Must be generational bc I do recall my Grandfather saying that he needed to get his pocketbook before we went to the store. Could be regional as well over here.


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