Was it just a week ago that I was complaining about how hot it is? It’s still hot, but my brain has caught up with my body and reminded me that summer is oh so fleeting. The mornings are getting cooler – I wore a cardigan yesterday and was not overly warm. The afternoons are still in the 80’s but they are breezy, as if the warm air is scurrying around and packing up, ready to move south to make room for the chilly dryness that is winter on Delmarva. Part of me is already mourning sandals and flowing skirts, sundresses and tank tops. Another part of me is eager for afternoons in front of the fire, hand-knit hats and scarves, the smell of autumn that poofs up when I walk on crunchy leaves.
Now that I am in no way involved in back to school, well beyond avoiding stores like Kohl’s from mid-August till early September, I am looking forward to this wonderful transition month. There’s something fascinating to me about wearing a warm sweater in the morning and running around in short sleeves in the afternoon. September exists, I think, to remind us that change is not really a bad thing.
This September is shaping up to be bigger than many (any?) that have come before. It starts with my oldest step-daughter’s wedding and ends with my first ever Century bike ride. I don’t know yet what will happen in between but I am ready for whatever change September chooses to bring.
Have I mentioned the problems I’ve been having with my eyes? Oh, I remember now. There was that rant about The Man, in the guise of the insurance company, sticking it to me. Well, it turns out that the new glasses are so amazing that it just might have been worth it, the whole getting it stuck to me or however that works. The frames are the best compromise I’ve ever worn between my desire to be flashy (Wayne used a great word to describe me that we can’t pull out of our heads right now, flashy is a poor substitute but it’s the best I can do) and my abnormally small nose. My nose loves those little nose pad things that you get on wire framed glasses, but my showiness longs for fat, plastic frames. The new frames are a gorgeous dark red color, not quite maroon, with red tortoise shell arms, that sit in the right place on my nose.
And then the lenses – WOW. They are the size of a normally nearsighted person, and believe me my nearsightedness didn’t improve that much. I am pretty sure they aren’t any sort of plastic, rather they are hardened unicorn tears, or maybe fairy sweat – magical. They’re light and wonderfully clear and so thin. Is it possible to fall madly in love with a pair of lenses? If you’re me, yes it is.
But the very best part is I CAN SEE. Yes, I know, it’s amazing and awesome and wonderful. I don’t have to strain. My eyes don’t feel like they’re bulging out of my head when I switch from looking at a monitor to something over there (you can see where I’m pointing, right?). The joy that comes from seeing clearly when you haven’t been is something I don’t have the words to explain, and it’s been an awfully long time since I’ve felt it. Suddenly things are clear again. The world has detail again. Black letters on a white page are little soldiers standing at attention rather than fussy, wobbly toddlers who are still getting their legs under them. Roofs have shingles, trees have leaves (or pine needles, of course). Gravel is made up of little, distinct pieces. The very best part is switching from close to far vision. It’s effortless, perfect, no strain at all.
I am considering sending flowers to the eye doctor.
I am planning, and expecting, a wonderful weekend. I have to do some work, but I don’t have to wear a bra to do it so it’s not so bad. I am going to be creative. I’m going to move and sweat. I’m going to see my parents and get Mom and Dad hugs (and hopefully a hug from my baby brother, he has the best hugs in the world). I’m going to do some cleaning, scratch Noel’s ears, talk to Wayne. I’ll write some, read a lot, walk fabric under the presser foot, go gaga over how gorgeous this man who chose to marry me is in a suit. I’m going to call my children and remind them that their Mom loves them. And maybe, if I am feeling particularly daring and chichi, I’ll get a pedicure. I am suffering from a deep and pronounced longing for dark orange toenails to hurry the next season along.
Change is good.