Last night we went to a high school play—St. George’s was doing Fiddler on the Roof and our good friend Terry is wardrobe mistress (and creator) for most of the school’s annual plays. She showed us her lairs at intermission, and we tiptoed about the attic above the backstage: she’s the regular Phantom of St. George’s. All the props, the costumes—she’s a brilliant costumer: pity she’s never gotten into the con circuit!—

But my eyes went on me: I’ve been swearing I need to get my prescription adjusted: it’s been 2 years; and last night I began seeing the red lights separate from the white, and then increasing separate images, until at intermission I had to get out into the hall and put on my reading glasses and force my eyes into something like focus, because everything had gone blurry and my balance had gone iffy. Don’t be alarmed. It’s that a muscle defect doesn’t let my eyes work together in a normal way: usually I’m ok and can cope very well with a monofit contact which helps coordinate focus; but I think what happened was that eyestrain started to ‘unglue’ the images, and one eye was ‘helping’ out by picking out what was different from the other, ie, the red component of the lights. I was getting what in real life would have been a 3 foot separation in the images on-stage, and one was the red lights. By the next subdivision I was starting to pick up the blue lights, which meant the brain was processing like crazy trying to pick out info and make it make sense. By the wedding scene I had far more actors than I liked, so we ended up going home after the wardrobe tour. Jane and I don’t go out much—like not in months, she absolutely loves the theater, and here I screwed up her evening.

Well, I’ve lived with this problem lifelong: I recall the very first time it came to me that my world was odd: I was five, we were living in the house by the railroad track, and I was aware that things were ‘stacking up’. I came running into the house saying, “Mama, the cars are stacked on top of each other,” and she said that it was a car carrier. But when I said no, I knew what that was, she and I both went out onto the porch and I told her what I was seeing—which was the first time I grappled with the concept of seeing the universe in a different way.

So—old problem. And I have to admit I need a prescription for far vision: that hits me in the vanity—I’ve always had very good far vision. And one for near vision. Because I have a torque, or shift, between the progression of numbers for my far focus and my near, it means that even gradated bifocals won’t work, because it’s physically impossible to grind glass to do what I need. I have to have a separate prescription for each special distance at which I need to operate. Which means it’s a good thing I’m not male: someday I’ll run out of pockets to carry the glasses. Right now I wear one pair and will have to keep the others in my purse…I refuse to drape both on the necklace clip I use: vanity, vanity. One pair is bad enough.

Well, but I have generally good vision, just this ‘separating images’ problem, and am blind as a bat close up, so reading glasses are a must. So it’s off to the optometrist for me. I’ve tried several in town, and honestly, the one who serves the local Walmart is a real gem.