Last night’s conversation

Tim went with Victoria to a nifty movie at the Bijou. We all knew I should not see Pan’s Labyrinth on a big screen. Later, even Tim admitted he covered his eyes a time or two. And, anyway, I had a session to attend of the discussion class Brian Julian’s been teaching this month. (Brian is Erin’s brother.) As Tim and I caught up on things before bed, I tried explaining to him what I learned in class. This gives a good example of life with my husband:

Me: Tonight we talked about Descartes’s famous statement, “I think, therefore I am.” Thomas Reid [the philosopher we’ve been reading from] recognized the idea of “first principles.” Reid reasoned that Descartes tried to prove he existed (a first principle) from another first principle, that he could think. It didn’t work, because some concepts (Reid’s first principles) can’t be proven. They just are. Descartes didn’t realize this.

Tim: I see. He put Des Cartes before dey horse.

Me: Uhhhhhhhh. Goodnight.

Tim: Hm, mm. 'Night.

Vision

Despite a few more “floaters” in my natural viewfinder, I still have healthy eyes. So said my optometrist.

I’ve gone to his office long enough that the staff recognizes my condition.
“We won’t make you take out your contacts yet,” the senior office assistant said, smiling, when I arrived. “Don’t want to have you trip and fall in the waiting room.”

A newer assistant, looking incredulous, said, “Deanna’s more nearsighted than I am?”

“Oh, yes. Look at her chart.”

The newer assistant whistled.

Later, with contacts removed just prior to my turn in the doctor’s chair, I noted how prominent my nose is in such situations. It was the only thing vaguely in focus. Colored blobs and sounds made up the room around me. No visual details. Pretending to make facial contact with passers-by, I sat, grateful that circumstances allow me most of the time to see. I also get to be seen by others without my quarter-inch-thick lenses.

My optometrist tells me things may change. Myopic curvatures such as mine put great strain on the back of the eye. Inner flashing lights or a black, descending curtain may trouble me in days to come. Oh, joy. Another prospect of aging I rarely choose to think about.

A friend of mine, Tiffany, is completely blind; a young woman who does very well, thank you. Tiffany’s knowledge of getting around in a sighted world comforts me. She’s never had it easy, but she doesn’t sit home moping. I’ll be sure to tap her sources if I ever need a talking computer, watch or cell phone.

For today, I’ll list a few things I appreciate seeing as long as I can:
· Written words
· A rainbow and its faint twin
· Distant, snow-frosted mountains
· My hubby’s face relaxed in sleep
· Pastel-clouded dawns
· My children, tall and strong

Self-discipline and whimsy

I doubt I’ve ever been accused of procrastinating. It’s not that I don’t. I simply tend to build procrastination into my project’s schedule, so I still usually finish on time.

This might sound ideal to you die-hard Johnny-come-last-minutes. How many times you’ve promised yourself, I’m going to do better. I’ll turn in the next paper early and relax; I’ll spend my tax refund in March; I’ll avoid anxious prayers riding fumes to the gas station.

Ah, but promptness as I know it isn’t all flower arranging with Adrian Monk. There’s plenty of madness in my methods. I avoid putting things off, because to imagine losing control speeds my heart rate, starts my hands trembling, brings back that aggravating eye-twitch.

Just last Monday, someone asked me to fix and deliver a meal to a family one week earlier than I’d promised, leaving me only three days to plan. Three days. And I had regular life in the meantime. Right away I called a friend, who helped me stop hyperventilating by offering to do the salad.

The day of the meal delivery went pretty well. I still had to spend my two hours writing (even though I don’t have a current deadline), then vacuum the house, work on the food and go to the chiropractor. I missed cleaning the sink and dusting my room, but, hey, I can flex in a crisis.

Point is, someone like me needs people who take life in more carefree episodes. On occasion I’ve organized important papers a friend somehow left strewn across her carpet. I’ve kept white-knuckled silence while another friend drove us somewhere, not overly minding details like stop signs.

Folks less deadline-oriented than myself have, in turn, dragged me from library stacks and into fresh spring air before finals. They offered spur-of-the-moment movie dates and ocean getaways. Their kids let mine see homes where spontaneity happened.

I guess I see balance here somewhere. You, whimsical, blithe spirit who tends to procrastinate, can breathe new life into that somewhat stiff friend who may help you find your lost keys. Both of you may stretch, a little, and learn from each other.

Until the next time quick meals and taxes are due.