Wine Not and Cataract Surgery

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Wine Not and Cataract Surgery

Those of you who have had cataract surgery know what I’m talking about; the world is brighter. I see the walls in my house as cream, not mustard. And my hair, isn’t dingy grey. I’m hoping after the second eye is corrected, I’ll have fewer wrinkles.

Rumor was the regiment of daily drops three days before surgery and up to one month after was the most annoying part.

They were right.

Although, I had to strip naked and wear a surgical gown three times too large; told to use the restroom which was locked, and consequently, had to sneak into the hall with my butt exposed.

The surgery was everything promised. After the doctor marked my forehead to indicate the left eye was to be operated on, I didn’t feel a thing.

In recovery I overhead the nurse’s discharge instructions for the patient in the next bed; no driving, DO NOT bend at the waist, and no alcohol.

However, she did not include the no alcohol in her discharge spiel to me, nor mention the difficulty one might have walking. One eye is new and improved, but patched and vision in the other eye is cloudy and compromised. A glass of wine was in my future.

After dinner I poured myself a glass of wine and watched the level rise in the glass, carefully, not to over do it. There was no rise in the glass and I thought the glass could be cracked, only to realize I had been pouring the wine on the counter.

Fortunately, it was inexpensive wine.

Fortunately, the spill didn’t travel to the floor. I would have had to bend at the waist.

Note to self; in preparation for the second eye surgery, buy straws.

. . . just saying

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Good Grief; there are 34 days left in the year!

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It Is. . .What It Is

“Today is Saturday, November 27, the 331st day of 2021. There are 34 days left in the year.” Like other newspapers, our local paper reports this information, and includes significant events from previous years, i.e.; Macy’s first Thanksgiving Day parade took place in 1924 and the release of the Beatles album “Magical Mystery Tour” in 1967.

Only 34 days left in the year! Good grief! Thirty-four days to achieve the goals I committed to 331 days ago.

Oh well, . . . it is what it is.

This expression, one of resignation, is included increasingly in conversations.

Why?

We never catch a break from mayhem.

So, I’ve been watching Lifetime Christmas Romance movies late at night and was thrilled not to see any uniformed police officers during the televised Thanksgiving Parade.

I’m thinking of sending a personal thank you note to Tom Selleck, you know the Police Commissioner of NYPD.

I know. . . I know, he’s not really the police commissioner in New York City. But you may agree, he should be.

. . . just saying

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Something to Think About

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Arthur

(This paragraph was recently published in the October 2021 Florida Writer Magazine. The prompt was an airport setting.)

Flowers lined the roads to the airport. Overhead signs with arrows attempted to direct motorists to arrival or departure ramps. Inside the airport, a sparkling glass atrium housed the Hyatt Regency Hotel.

Passengers hustled around large planters filled with Bromeliads then waited in line for a security check.

Lynette filled two plastic bins with her stuff. When called she stood, her feet shoulder-width apart, with her hands held above her head as the metal detector circled. After gathering her belongings, she found a seat to put on her shoes and notice a man watching her.

He wore a blue plaid shirt and attempted to return his foot to an athletic shoe without undoing the laces. She ignored his smile and walked to the tramway.

The doors opened.

She got on and waited for the doors to close.

They did, but not before the man in the blue plaid shirt slipped inside.

The train jerked. Lynette clung to a metal pole and dug her heels into the floor for the ride.

When the doors opened, people scurried into the Southwest terminal as though late for their flight. She lingered. So did the man in the plaid shirt.

At Hudson’s News Stand, she window shopped, then went inside to peruse the magazine section. And the man did too.

She confirmed her departure gate on a screen. So did he.

She used the lady’s room. A camera flash drew her attention as she exited and she looked up to see a young family, all wearing Mickey Mouse Ears posing for a picture under a welcome to Orlando sign. She smiled.

Lynette was early for her flight to Atlanta, where she had a short layover before her destination flight to New York City and plenty of time to stand in line at Starbucks. So, she did.

The man in the blue plaid shirt stepped in line behind her.

“Do I know you?” she asked him.

“You look like my wife,” he replied.

Lynette didn’t know how to respond but said, “I get that a lot.” Then stepped to the counter and placed her order.

She was stirring cream into her coffee when the man joined her at the desk. His cell rang.

“I found your mother,” he said. “Well, she’s not dead . . . I don’t care if I miss the flight. I’m not leaving your mother.”

He handed the cell to Lynette.

“Mom?” said the voice of a young woman.

“I’m not your mother,” said Lynette.

“Well, you certainly look like my mother.”

“You can see through the phone?”

“No. Dad sent me a picture of you by the restrooms. We thought you were dead.”

 “I’m not your dead mother.”

“But you look like my mother.”

“Just because I look like your mother doesn’t make me your mother.”

“Really? Caffe Americano with room for cream and the chocolate-dipped Madeleines.”

Lynette peered at the cookie packaged she’s stashed in her tote. Her patience was wearing thin.

“Do me a favor . . . please, Mom.”

“Don’t call me Mom.”

“Accompany Dad to his gate. Pretend you’re his wife, my mother.”

“What’s his name?

“Arthur.”

Lynette repositioned her tote bag on her shoulder, grabbed her cup of coffee, and said, “Okay, Arthur. Where are you going?”

They waited at a recharging station near gate 25.

Lynette drank her coffee, occasionally taking a bite of the chocolate-dipped Madeleine cookie.

Arthur watched.

“Lynette, it’s time to board,” Arthur said when the final call for Flight 1214 to Atlantic was announced.

“How do you know my name?” she asked.

“You’re my wife, Lynette,” said Arthur.

The End

* * * just saying

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Second Thoughts is a previous post you might enjoy.

Autumn

Autumn In New York

Autumn In New York

I missed the first day of Autumn or Fall or the Northern Equinox, whatever you call it these days.

In Florida we don’t experience the typical indicators that cooler weather is coming.

The temperature did drop, but not significantly; it feels cooler because it’s less humid.

What is significant is . . . it’s starting to get dark earlier. A reminder of the darkness that descends starting at 5 PM in the North. At 27 degrees latitude, Florida is not far from the equator. New York City’s latitude is around 40.

Their days will be shorter still.

We know that the Southern Hemisphere experiences Spring when the Northern Hemisphere experiences Autumn, but we forget. However, it was brought to light when I read a blog post featuring flowers springing to life in South Africa. It’s difficult to image we’re in opposite states of nature especially since their latitude 33, is close to ours.

We exchanged comments and she never sees yellow, orange or red colors, either.

I miss New York. We turned on a radio to hear the weather report. I preferred to study how quickly people walked from my fifth-floor walk up apartment window. If it was a rapid pace as they rushed to the subway, I knew to dress warm.

 

. . . just saying

 

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