Old And Eyes

Twenty-seven years ago tonight I was single and in Times Square with a girlfriend, drinking a beer in a paper bag that we got at Howard Johnson. And I could see the enormous crowd and the insanely bright and colorful lights of the famous locale. A Bucket List moment long before we thought of putting our life goals into a bucket. (A bucket. Really?)

Tonight I am married more than 20 years and in my living room with my husband, drinking coffee in a Christmas mug to stay awake. And I can't see the broadcast very well and what I can see is black and white.

New Year's Eve 1989.

New Year's Eve 2015.

That's a lot of life between the two.

But the most important year is about to introduce itself. I sure hope I make a good first impression. I want us to he friends. Good friends. Best friends.

"That's Just My Silly Little Blog, Detective"

Me, speaking to my husband today around noon:

"I've got nothing for my blog. I can't keep writing about you being home all week and how bad it is and how you are driving me crazy. The authorities could use it against me."

And just like that, a blog is born.

Hear No Husband, See No Husband

My husband gave me super nice wireless headphones for Christmas. We were sitting together on the sofa, trying out their different options. I put the headphones on and enabled the noise canceling feature. I asked him to speak and I couldn't hear him. I said, "Well, I can hardly see you and now I can't hear you. It's like you aren't even here! It's the gift that keeps on giving!"

We have been together for 25 years. Those without that kind of tenure should not throw rice at our marriage. For those of you who do have those kind of years under your bridal gown, run, don't walk, for these headphones.

Yeah It Will

Day after Christmas shopping is a tradition. I do enjoy it, but my pick-up tine was made earlier this year: 6 a.m.  After many trips to the tequila punchbowl last night.

Five cups of coffee, seven stores and one diner for breakfast in four hours.

Amid the empty shelves, enough rolls of wrapping paper to gift wrap the planet, percent off signs that required us to do math in our weakened conditions, toys that you couldn't look in the eye if you've ever seen Toy Story, and people shopping more cutthroat than before Christmas, a wooden sign at a Hallmark store. It read:

Be humble or life will make you so.

What A Bright Time, It's The Right Time

Annual Christmas Eve breakfast with my oldest and dearest friend.  A tradition.
And the right time to be a kid again.
Rudolf Pancakes.

(Mimosas not shown in order to maintain childhood charade.)

I Interrupt This Holiday . . .

. . . for the comedian named Technology:

Intention: To alert my husband it was very foggy this morning.
Technology: Be careful. It's fudgy out.

Intention: To let a friend who wanted to call me know I was at breakfast with another friend.
Technology: With Debbie at breasts. 

Technology: Thank you. Don't forget to tip your blogger. My name is Tecnology and I'm here . . . well . . . forever. 

Move Over Spinning

I'm sweaty and sore.

Who knew wrapping gifts is an aerobic activity?

Inbox Full, Under The Tree Empty

Shopping online for gifts is a convenience, but to me, it is much more than that. It's a way to reclaim some of my independence. Since jumping in my car, list in tow, is no longer an option, I can open the iPad and start browsing, price comparing and ordering. I have enough vision to see things on the tablet, as long as I am able to enlarge, and by enlarge I mean ENLARGE. I still can't see most colors and there are a few other visual glitches, but it has really been . . well, a gift. My husband and I spend all our weekends running around doing routine errands that I used to be able to accomplish during the week when I could drive. Shopping online for Christmas presents removes the extra burden of holiday stops.

I ordered all my gifts in plenty of time so that delivery would be much before The Big Day. And yet it's the 21st and I am still waiting for many packages to arrive even though they shipped weeks ago. That would be enough to jingle my sleigh bells (not in a good way) but then the excessive, I would dare to say constant, incoming emails from these online stores exalting last-minute deals and "There's still time! Delivery guaranteed before Christmas!" are just too much! I keep expecting the emails to be status updates of my orders saying QUIT YOUR COMPLAINING, IT'S ON THE PORCH but instead the shops want more of my business.

I guess I have to look at it this way. Instead of sitting in traffic, then driving countless times around a parking lot to find a spot, crowds, sold out, long lines, fa la la la la, you become obsessive about tracking your shipments and practically scaring the fudge out of your poor mailman when you hear a noise out in front of your house.

In either case, it's the most wonderful time of the year. That little fact was sarcastically delivered not only in good time, but before Thanksgiving, when the madness began.

Do you know what absolutely must arrive on time? It's the hottest, most sought-after item on all my girlfriends' lists: December 26th. 

I Can Imagine. And I Will.

I recently read the book Blind, written by Rachel Dewoskin. It's a fictional account of 15-year-old Emma, who is blinded in a fireworks accident. Towards the end of her story, Emma talks about not liking when people say "I can't imagine". She questions, why can't they imagine?

I've given a lot of thought to this and she's right. To get a sense of vision loss, you can close your eyes or put on a blindfold and do some things around the house. (Be careful, of course!) One of my friends has done things in her kitchen while keeping her eyes closed. Another friend told me that every time she gets in her car to run an errand, she thinks about me not being able to drive and what that would be like. They have both imagined, and that means more to me than anything anyone has done for me since my optic nerves became damaged.

When we are children we excel at using our imaginations. We play for hours with a truck, a doll, even the large box that the washing machine was delivered in. It was easy and natural to us. But as adults we focus on what is real and, ironically, what we can see.

Well it's time for this 50-year-old to be a kid again and flex my imagination muscles. I will really think about what someone is experiencing when they are going through a hard time. I will put myself in their shoes. I encourage you to do the same. No toys are necessary, but if it helps you can go to the attic, find your Barbie, blindfold her and let her walk around her Malibu dream house. Just don't let her drive her convertible or her camper. Or, she and Ken can get a divorce. Whatever you are trying to duplicate that people you care about are dealing with.

I am always looking for the lesson that my vision loss is trying to teach me. The big lesson, I suspect, is that there are a lot of smaller, but still significant lessons to be learned. And this is one. I can imagine what others are going through and if they are important to me, isn't that the very least and yet the very most I can do?

Used To

I went Christmas shopping yesterday with my friend. We had such a great time. In between breakfast at a local diner and appetizers and cocktails at a favorite bar in late afternoon, I realized a few things.

Before my vision loss, I used to love browsing in gift shops, book stores. I used to love spotting an item on a shelf or another kind of display, taking it down to get a closer look.  I used to love finding something special that someone I love would love, buying it and saving it for their birthday or Christmas.

Also, I have to get used to putting my hand on a friend's shoulder to help guide me and keep me from falling when the sidewalk gets bumpy and a downhill is steep.

Used to. Two little words, two big meanings.

Christmasitis

My friends all have expressed that this year, they just can't seem to get into the holiday spirit. I am in the same sleigh. It's more than the stress and overwhelming feeling that usually accompanies the days leading up to December 25th.

I realized the severity of my condition when my husband asked me if I had made a call to check on a backordered gift we are waiting for. Him having to follow-up with me. This is unheard of.

Self-diagnosis via NorthPoleMD shows treatment as:
Overdose on candy canes, egg nog (mimosa substitution permitted), cocoa, Snickerdoodles and Christmas songs. Build yourself a gingerbread house and move into it until you are back to bossing him around. 

Elf's Comp

Today while wrapping some gifts my husband has to take into work tomorrow, I cut a good chunk of my left hand thumb fingernail off with regular scissors. It was just the nail and no skin, thankfully, and the first scissor mishap I've had since the loss of my sight.

There is nail irony here because since my vision left the building, the care of my fingernails and toenails has been an issue. Other than on my wedding day, I have never had a manicure and always clipped my fingernails myself and kept them unpolished. Once I couldn't see what I was doing, I would trim them by feel. Now that I have my CC TV, I can turn up the magnification and clip them that way. As for my toenails, I had never had a pedicure before I couldn't see my toes. Now I wouldn't dream of doing them myself even if I were able.

As for my wrapping? Nailed it. 

The Gift Of The Christmas Cactus

We mindlessly water you once a week, an almost nuisance item on our weekend to do lists. While other flowers flaunt their endless array of striking hues during the dog days of summer, you lay dormant, patiently waiting. Then, just as the weather and our surroundings change to gray and cold and, quite frankly, ugly, you turn on your charm and bloom, quietly coming into your own. You watch as we are caught off guard, surprised by the deliberate purple splash of color on our kitchen window sill, amongst the red and green of the season.

NOT A Reindeer Game

 I have a great holiday game for you:

1. Wait until night. 
2. Turn off the lights.
3. Close your eyes until you have the minimum amount of sight without them being completely shut. 
4. Now decorate your tree!!!
5. EXTRA POINTS FOR PUTTING THE HOOK ON THE ORNAMENT!

It's the holiday version of Pin The Tail On The Donkey, only with precious family heirlooms and priceless mementos of places you have visited and macaroni and popsicle handmade-by-your-children ornaments. I don't have a name for this sure-to-catch-on holiday fun yet but am prancing around: Trimming In The Dark, Where Are You Christmas Tree? or You're Getting Warmer Than Cocoa (for team play). I'm leaning towards Merry Luck With That. 

Guaranteed hours of frustration, anger and this season's most colorful language.

You're welcome, America.

Sledding Into The Spirit Of The Season

This season is touted as the best part of each year, but in reality, it is extremely stressful. Of course we all know what this holiday is truly about but no one in my inner circle is immune and every one of us is on high alert and in survival mode. 

My mom-in-law made this for me, using my husband's childhood sled. She surprised me with it last week. I can't even explain how happy it has made me. Maybe it's nostalgia - the thought of my husband as a little boy, zooming down a hill, cheeks red, laughing, no Seahawks logo on his jacket or hat because the team hadn't joined the NFL yet. Maybe it's because in this craziest of seasons, it required nothing of me. I didn't have to do anything but squeal with glee like a little girl and hug her and thank her. 

Don't get me wrong. My friends and family are very generous and being on the Nice List, I know Santa will visit in a few weeks. But these days leading up to his arrival, it's like trying to stuff 50 lbs. of garland into a 5 lb. bag*. This sled is a reminder to me that even though the To Do List is long, doing things that make the people I love feel like this sled makes me is at the top of that list. And not just in December, but whenever I can. 

* My BFF uses this expression a lot, mostly on weekends, when two days is not enough for what needs to be done. Feel free to replace the word "garland" as you see fit for any holiday or occasion. 

If The Pants Fit, I Can't Quit

I hate working out. Hate it. I have no endorphins and the only high I get from exercise is the high amount of expletives I say to myself as a mantra, in tine to my pedaling or the music.

But I do it. Six to seven times a week, alternating between riding the bike for an hour and workout videos which I watch up close on a portable DVD player. I never weigh myself because it would totally discourage me. My daily uniform these days consists of yoga pants and jeans which have fit me for years. At least I'm not gaining weight but the jeans don't fall down if I don't wear a belt so the number on the scale can't be decreasing.

I tell myself I workout for my heart and try not to focus on the weight. But doing something you despise six or seven hours each week would definitely be less painful if I could shrink even a little.

Saturday night we went to a dinner party and I wore dress pants that I used to wear to work three years ago. I don't know the last time I had them on and was convinced they wouldn't fit. Even with the regular exercise, the fact is I don't walk nearly as much as I used to, since I am home most days. Think about how many steps you take in the course of an ordinary day: to your car, to your desk, to lunch, etc. My saving grace is our home has lots of stairs and no bathroom on the main floor.

So Saturday night, as I pulled my dress pants from the closet, I told myself, in a moment of physical disgust, that if the pants didn't fit I was going to stop the daily workouts. Why bother? My heart may be healthier but who sees my heart???

Wouldn't you know it, the damn pants fit! And I didn't even have to lay on the bed to fasten them. Insert high level of expletives here.

O.J. was acquitted. When it comes to working out, I got life.

Divine Auto-Vention

While working on a blog post today I misspelled Christmas and autocorrect changed it to Christ mad.

I don't care what your religious beliefs, that ain't good.

I've Got 99 Problems

But A Conure Ain't One

Paging Dr. M

After a fun but busy day out shopping, I am tired. Every step I take is stressful because of my poor vision and throw into the mix a brick walkway, hills, crowds and shopping bags, and I am ready for bed. My back hurts and my feet are talking to me and they are NOT in the Christmas spirit. 
Therefore, I am eating M&M'S like they are Advil. And you know what? I feel the healing power of milk chocolate coated in a hard candy shell. My feet are still barking at me but now so is my tummy. And it's saying YUM!

Wrecking The Halls

With the amount of snowmen, Santas and wise men strewn about, having been released from their plastic bin hibernation, I can assure you, this ain't decking. But as is true with a lot of things in life, it's gotta get ugly before it gets pretty.

I'm No Longer Middle Aged But Still Can't See

I heard a news item this morning about a current diabetes medication that could enable humans to live to 120 years of age. Clinical trials will begin in the U.S. next winter.

In keeping with this blog's only promise, prepare yourself for total honesty. Here it comes.

My first thought was: Where are the drugs to fix optic nerves??? I don't wanna live to 120 if I can't see properly.

From somewhere deep in my psyche, my next immediate thought: After cancer and all the other terrible diseases, of course. See, Mom, you did raise me right. And since cancer took you from me there is no greater enemy. Not even visual impairment.

Taking away the emotion, I'm left to wonder why we are working to extend life expectancy when there are so many people who pass away before they have had the chance to live a long life?

I don't follow politics the way I should nor do I know the protocol and prioritization of medical research. What I do know is people we all love die way before their time. Let's get everybody to their 80s before we worry about 120.

And if by some freak laboratory mix-up we cure optic neuropathy along the way, I will see you not hearing me complain.

Spa Rum Mug

It says a lot that I've been out all day and when I got home I got on the exercise bike instead of decorating for Christmas.

And what it says rhymes with Spa Rum Mug.