Specs

I picked up my “progressive lens” glasses today. At my optometry appointment last week the optometrist, who was roughly 14, told me that 45 is the “magic age” in Severna Park--meaning that even though “progressive lens” really means bifocals, at least I have lots of company.

Jeff said, “You look straight out of the 50’s,” and I said, “Well...that’s good. I always wanted to look like Mary Sue Higginshaw, the ‘smart girl’ in your junior high math class.” Although, to be fair, I’m Mary Sue with a little mileage on her. Although, to be really fair, Mary Sue managed to have that middle-aged air even at twelve, so maybe I’m not that far off.

My observations about the specs so far: They’re trying to cram way too many corrections into a couple little lenses. In particular, the part that's supposed to fix my astigmatisms tends to make everything I look at go from square to rhombus with a slight turn of the head. It’s a trip. The techician lady said “your eyes have to learn all over again. Fine. I hope my eyes are smarter than the rest of my head, if not as smart as Mary Sue.
I wonder though...would I have been just as well off with homemade pipe cleaner glasses?

Bryn Mawr College. July. Those are the magic parameters. So to speak. Yes...for one week in July, Tannen’s Magic (some outfit in NY...no connection to Biff as far as I know) holds its magic camp for 11 to 20 year olds on the campus of beautiful Bryn Mawr, and Gabe is actually interested. Not that I really thought he wouldn’t be now that he’s in the mode of ambushing random people to show them card tricks. Every conversation this week, on the ride home from carpool has been about how easy David (one of the other riders) is to hypnotize. Apparently several kids at school are too. I’m waiting for the call: “Would you please ask Gabe to stop hypnotizing everyone during social studies?”

But this means 2 good things: 1)Gabe doesn’t watch anime all day that week, and 2)Jeff and I can go somewhere. I’m thinking about Maine. Maybe Acadia. Maybe a quick trip to Nova Scotia. It’s a small segment from the middle of our 2 week honeymoon in 1984. I may skip L.L.Bean this go-round. And I will insist the snobby lady at the Asticou Inn in Northeast Harbor acknowledge my presence instead of addressing the pair of us as “Mr. Clement.” “Please show Mr. Clement his room. Please take Mr. Clement’s bag.” I’m not sure where I got the invisibility cloak that day. Maybe this time, if I wear my Mary Sue Higginshaw glasses, she’ll pay attention to me.