The eyes have it.

I love the eyes of babies and small children.  They’re bright and clear and focused.  Their blues are bluer and their browns are browner than an older person’s.

I’m having surgery on one of my fading blue eyes this Friday.  I considered putting a photo of my eye(s) in this post but I kept remembering some of the adjectives writers use to describe eyes of the ancients and decided it wasn’t a good idea.  Bleary, filmy, cloudy, searching, cobwebby, murky are a few that come to mind.  I regret to report that any one of those words, or all of them, could be used to describe my eyes these days.

I was 53 when the ophthalmologist diagnosed my Fuchs corneal dystrophy.  He told me at the time that I would eventually need surgery to restore/improve vision.  Recently, my eye care specialist and I decided it was time.

For about a century the gold standard treatment for this condition has been corneal transplant.  In recent years doctors have learned to do a modified version of the transplant (DSEK).  A complete corneal transplant requires about a year for full recovery.  DSEK requires only 6 to 8 weeks.  My timing is good.  A two month recovery sounds way better than twelve.

I am fortunate to have family and friends to help out the first few days of my adventure.  My sweet daughter will take me to the surgical hospital and stay with me the first day.  (This is an outpatient procedure.)  She’s going to hang out with me while I lie flat on my back for the first 24 hours.  I have a friend/neighbor who insists she’s bringing food. There are other friends who have sworn to spring me and take me to lunch when I feel up to it but still can’t drive.  I might learn to like being pampered.  It’s been a long time.

Bring on the eye shield.  I’ll pretend to be a pirate.  Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.

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It’s snowing in the South.

I slept in this morning.  When I went to bed last night the snow had stopped but was predicted to restart at about 3:00 a.m.  It didn’t happen.  The wistful little girl in me felt a wave of disappointment.

At ten o’clock this morning I was having a second cup of coffee when the world was suddenly quiet and I knew the snow was back.  All was right with the world. What is it about snow that calms all my beasts?

Even though I know this one is supposed to be a doozy and I will probably consider the snow itself to be a beast if it stays around long, for today I am serene and relaxed and happy.  And I love the snow.

It snowed for a long time yesterday but the accumulation was not significant because the ground temperature was warm.  That is not the case today.  Within a half hour of starting up again the street in front of my house was well covered. It’s supposed to continue for hours.

I’m on the line of the front that is expected to get freezing rain on top of snow.  I won’t likely enjoy that.  That’s when the greatest risk of losing power exists.  I’m a fickle snow adorer.  I want my snow with all my modern conveniences at hand.

My photos look as if they are black and white.  I like the look.  But I didn’t photo shop. The day is that gray. If you look closely you can see some hardy children trying to sled in their yard.

I won’t enumerate all the difficulties of being without power.  You know what they are.  I am fortunate to have gas logs.  That means I can stay warm. And Lulu the cat helps with that.  She’s also good company.  Well, most of the time.

Now I think I will bake some oatmeal muffins so I can have breakfast if the power goes down.

How’s the weather where you are?

The Wedding.

I must have mentioned that my oldest granddaughter planned to wed.  Our family has thought of little else these past weeks.  Saturday, January 25, was the big day.  

If ever there was a fairy-tale wedding, this was it.  Sometimes the stars align, details fall in place, and life feels just right.  When it happens to one as dear as a grandchild, Gramma rejoices and asks no questions. I felt lucky to be along for the ride.

The bride glowed and the groom beamed.  The minister gave a lovely homily on the importance of familial support, a charge, if you will, to both families, and to friends present, to support and encourage the couple.  I think that’s important and necessary so I was happy that he included it in the service.

The reception, I think, was the most fun one I’ve ever attended.  One granddaughter  entered the ballroom at The State Club, looked at the flowers and cake, turned an ear to the music and commented, “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life!”  Then she went to the dance floor and started to cut a rug with her brother.  She literally danced the night away–with Uncle D and Cousin A and Sister H and whoever else was willing to take to the floor.  Yep.  It was seven-year-old S, my youngest grandchild. Here she is with her big brother.

On Monday, two days after the wedding when I went out to walk with my buddies, they told me I still had that wedding glow about me.  I guess that’s what happens when a grandma sees her grandchild perfectly happy.

I’ve had great fun telling friends about the festivities.  The photo booth was a big hit.  The best I can tell photographers with funny props and instant pictures are all the rage these days.  Afterward one can go online and order more copies to share if one chooses to do so. Need I say I’m not likely to want more of me but I might want some of family and friends. Here, my grandson, his dad and I ham it up for the camera. Because I used to teach Spanish, I had to don the sombrero. Or so they said. I was happy that it matched my wedding ensemble.  Question: What do a Spanish teacher, a 12-year-old rabbi and a goofy dunce have in common? Answer: We’re family having fun.

Sit down now.  I’ve saved the best for last. Okay, I admit it’s probably not the best part but it just could be the funniest. The band spokesman announced that all the “single ladies” should come on the floor to vie for the bridal bouquet. You know the story. The one who catches the bouquet is the next one to marry. This was a spontaneous act. Really. My ear heard “single ladies” and the usually silent imp on my shoulder kicked the stuffing out of common sense and decorum. I stood, said “That’s me!” and entered the fray with a broad grin on my face.

I think the bride couldn’t stand to miss an opportunity such as this. She threw it right to me.

I’ve had lots of questions relevant to my “catch.”  Questions about dating, marrying again, etc. The answer is NO.

My favorite comment, though, came from my new grandson-in-law. He said, “Every once in a while a moment comes along that you know you’ll always remember. Pat kicking ass to get that bouquet is one of those moments.” Thanks, J. I do get a bit competitive sometimes. Welcome to the family. We love you.