Eye Update: I may have been the first person you know who had “light adjustable” lenses implanted as part of my cataract surgery, but I won’t be the last. The process is much more complex than your everyday cataract surgery, but I am seeing better now than I have in decades, so I am very satisfied with the outcome. I don’t need glasses for distance viewing but will need readers to see my phone or use the computer, which is fine. I’m getting progressive lenses, so I can see both distance and close-up, but with a minimal or no prescription for distance. Will I be able to drive at night again? Time will tell. Meanwhile, my eyes are still sensitive to the light and I have avoided the sun all summer, but at least I can open the refrigerator now without shielding them. Colors look vibrant, images are sharp, and I have a whole new view of the world. Would conventional cataract surgery have resulted in the same success? I’ll never know. I’m just happy to hum “I can see clearly now. I can see all obstacles in my way.” I am available for consultations on these special lenses.
“The Golden Girls” makes much more sense to me now.
I would like to thank the inventor of spaghetti and give a special shout-out to whomever decided that twirling it on a fork was a good idea.
Every time I check the box that says, “I accept cookies,” I expect to get actual cookies. I can dream, can’t I?
I wonder if the people in England say that we Americans drive on the “wrong side” of the road.
I ask Alexa to play “ocean sounds” so often that sometimes I think I can feel waves lapping at my toes in bed.
I think that “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” should be an adult song since most of us have pain in those places anyway. The second verse: “And eyes and ears and mouth and nose” is right up there, too.
As I went into ShopRite the other day, a man was walking out with a small cart that held two things: A bag of potato chips and a container of sour cream. My hero! I don’t think I’ll ever have that light a load, and besides, the guilt of buying just chips would consume me.
I am entirely fed up with cooking (pun intended). I don’t really cook much these days. I’m like a contestant on “Chopped.” I cobble something together that kind of makes sense from whatever is around the house. So cold shrimp, an ear of corn and a tomato salad – all summer fare – made sense for dinner last night. And tonight is an instant replay.
It seems that any time I make an online purchase (other than through Amazon or QVC), I’m not only inundated with thank you messages for making the order, confirmations of my order and updates on its shipping, I’m also inundated with catalogs from the companies from which I ordered. I get the “early holiday preview” catalog, the “holiday catalog,” the mid-summer catalog,” etc. I guess the only way to stop receiving these catalogs is to never again order from that particular company. Or die. I prefer the former.
I love a good nap! But I can’t go to bed and take a nap. I can’t schedule a nap. I can’t count on a nap. If and when it happens, it happens. But when I do feel one coming on, I have to act fast – just not so fast that I wake myself up. There is only a short “window” in which I will drift off. Once that passes, so does my chance for a snooze. Unless I am in the movies, where I have to fight to stay awake.
If tossing and turning were an Olympic event, I would have taken home the Gold Medal last night.
Confession: I get Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato mixed up. I also have trouble with Courtney Cox and Demi Moore, even though I know Courtney was in “Friends” and Demi was married to Bruce Willis. And I will never know which Khardashian is which because I don’t even try.
Why are scissors considered plural? I assume it is because they have two sides, but, put together, they form one thing.
I never thought there would come a day when I would be seeing commercials about Medicare supplemental health care plans pitched by Joe Namath and Jimmy “JJ” Walker. But here we are. Dy-No-Mite!
My sister and I are fans of “American Ninja Warrior.” The competitors bill themselves under such names as “The Boss Ninja,” “The Cowboy Ninja” and “The Eskimo Ninja.” We decided that if we ever competed, I would be “The Lazy Ninja” and she, because of her issues with vertigo, would be “The Dizzy Ninja.” I would also be “The Oldest Ninja.”
Whenever there is a forecast for bad weather – a big snowstorm, possible hurricane winds or a heat advisory, say – I get an alert from my Alexa. I think she is trying to replace my mother, who felt that was her job. Once I was leaving her house and she told me to “bundle up” (does anyone still use that expression?) because it “looks cold out there.” It LOOKS cold? I mean, if it is snowing, I can understand that take, but just by looking out the window my mother could tell it was cold. She was always right, by the way.
Speaking of Mom, once when I was leaving her house – in normal weather – she said, “Don’t forget to take your shoes.” Huh? I replied, “You mean the ones I have to put on my feet to leave?” Did she really think I was going to leave the house barefoot? Moms! They worry about everything. I put on the shoes.
Last Thursday felt more like Friday. What the hell does that mean? What does Friday feel like?
I had to stop the car the other day so a bunch (gaggle?) of geese could cross the road. It was like watching a group of teenagers. They strolled/ambled/moseyed across the road, ignoring the danger of approaching cars (which had stopped) and taking their good old time. One seemed to limp, the kind of limp Festus had on “Gunsmoke” (raise your hand if you are old enough to remember that classic TV Western). There’s always something to see in this world if you just take time to look. Like I had a choice!
So, the last president, who fought tooth-and-nail to hang on to his position and never showed any interest in an orderly transition to the new president, apparently left town with a bunch of classified documents that were boxed up and kept in an unlocked room at his Florida estate. I figured he got out of town with some of the White House china and flatware but hanging on to nuclear secrets is much more serious. When I left J&J, I took my original letter opener and the stapler I had for 34 years, which had been replaced by a different variety. I would have left the company’s strategic plans in New Brunswick if I had access to them. I will never understand that man.
In fact, why wasn’t this national nightmare over in 2016 when we first heard the words, “Grab them by the pussy?” How can any self-respecting woman support anything about this smarmy, disgusting man, who just buried his first wife in a grave at his New Jersey golf club to save taxes? Yes, it’s true. She must be spinning the grave The Donald dug for her.
Sports: One day I am crying while watching the Yankees Old Timers Day ceremony. The next day I am saddened by the death of basketball legend and social icon Bill Russell. And now I am furious that Deshaun Watson received just a six-game suspension and no fine for allegedly sexually abusing/harassing more than two dozen women whom he hired for massages and then demanded more “services.” Six games? No financial consequences for the man who signed a five-year contract that guarantees him $230 million? We really don’t have any respect for women in this country, do we?
