I Can See

 

♫♪I can see clearly now, the blur is gone♪♫

Thanks to my beautiful friend Joanie for that letter blog title, by the way.

You may infer from that first statement that I’ve had cataract surgery, and you would be right.

I was nervous and dreaded it EVERY. SINGLE. STEP of the way. I even told Mike I was sorry I’d started the whole process. Three different eyedrops, four times a day was a pain. But my true dread didn’t start until the morning of.

My check-in time at the eye surgery center was six-thirty.

“In the morning‽” I exclaimed when she called and told me.

She laughed. “Yes. In the morning.”

It’s only about an hour twenty-minute drive, according to our GPS. But that means we need to leave two hours early, according to my husband. “I don’t want to drive that far when it’s dark out, especially with all the deer. Let’s go down this afternoon, get a room, and spend the night,” Mike suggested.

I don’t know why I’ve been taking so many cloud pictures lately, but here’s another one.

This guy sure does like stickers! 

          Crossing the bridge. I don’t know the area well enough to know if it’s Wilkes-Barre or Scranton.

“Do you want us to take care of the dogs for you?” that beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor of mine asked.

“Nah, I think they’ll be okay. They can go out when they need to and there’s plenty of food in the dish for ‘em,” I told Miss Rosie.

Our motel was only about four minutes from the surgery center. After we checked in and settled in, I got to thinking about the pups. We’ve never left them alone overnight before and they’d probably think we abandoned them. I know Miss Rosie would’ve taken Bondi for me, like she did before, but with Raini we couldn’t do that and leave Raini alone in the house.

“Won’t they take Raini, too?” you ask.

That would be too much to ask of anyone plus Raini won’t leave Tux alone. He gets aggravated and growls at her and no one wants a misplaced nip to go wrong.

I guess Mike was thinking about the dogs, too. “Maybe the Kipps’ll check the dogs for us and feed the cats in the morning?”

It’s crazy how we sometimes think in sync. “I was just thinking that, too!”

And ultimately the cats were the reason I called and asked for the favor. I know they would’ve been okay — except Sugar wouldn’t have any food left for the morning and we wouldn’t be home until the afternoon. And checking on the dogs wasn’t a bad idea either.

I called Miss Rosie and she said they’d be happy to check the pups and feed the cats the next morning.

There was that worry off my mind.

Mike laid on the bed and scrolled through the TV stations. I have a book I’m reading. You’re gonna laugh when I tell you what it is. It’s The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klume. It’s a young adult novel — An enchanting story, masterfully told, The House in the Cerulean Sea is about the profound experience of discovering an unlikely family in an unexpected place—and realizing that family is yours.

I don’t always read all the tags and so was surprised when I see the story drifting into LGBT territory. Despite that, I’m enjoying the writing style and imagination of the author. 

Even in this book I’ve learned something. Maybe I knew it before and had forgotten, maybe I never knew it at all. Aspen trees. They were talking about Aspens. Did you know that a group of Aspen are called a Stand. Every tree in a Stand is a genetic replicate of the others or a “clone.” A Stand of Aspen trees is connected by their roots under the soil, and is the largest single organism, by area, on Earth. You can cut down the trees and new trees will grow up from the roots. There’s one clone that’s said to be almost eighty thousand years old.

I was reading while Mike was watching TV and I did something that night that I rarely do, but as it turns out, it was fortunate that I did.

“What’s that, Peg?” you ask.

I drank a whole bottle of water that evening. Of course, I paid for it. I think I was up twice in the night to go pee, at least once for sure! And that’s why I usually stop drinking by six — six-thirty at the latest.

The next morning, I’m up and looking forward to a shower. That’s when I see this cheap-ass motel only gives you two bars of soap by way of toiletries.

“It figures!” I told Mike. “The one time I don’t pack shampoo and a hair dryer and they don’t provide them!”

Oh, well. It’s not the end of the world. My hair wouldn’t be at its best but I’d showered the morning before so I didn’t stink too bad. A wash rag and new application of deodorant was the best I could do.

Sitting in the waiting room, waiting for my name to be called, was when the apprehension set in. I didn’t have long to wait and was third in line for surgery. They took me upstairs, took pictures of my eyes, took me to another area where I was handed off to another gal who numbed my eye and made marks where the doctor would cut.

“We have to mark it while you’re sitting up,” Kayla explained. “The doctor will see you when you’re laying down and your eye changes shape.”

Then it was off to another gal who took my history in between putting eyedrops in my eye and more eyedrops and more eyedrops! Then she draped a paper gown over my clothes, paper booties over my dirty, nasty sneakers, a hairnet, and a new face mask. Then I was taken back to another area where three chairs were lined up.

“It looks like an assembly line,” I said.

There was one guy in the operating room, one in the first chair, an empty chair, and they put me in the third one. I think they were leaving the middle seat empty because of COVID and they had it blocked off with a cart of supplies. Here Norma, a retired RN with forty-five years under her belt, took good care of me.

“If you’re retired, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“It’s only one day a week and I missed doing what I was doing,” she said.

Norma put the IV line in and didn’t even hurt me.

“You’re nice and hydrated,” she told me. “You can tell right here how well a person takes care of themselves.” She left and came back with a blanket in her hands. “You look a little cold,” she said as she spread a yummy warm blanket out over me. I didn’t know that I was cold until I was covered with all that warmness.

I closed my eyes and thought how easy it was for them to move us around. Herd us like cattle. In one door, a long line of us going from one station to the next, and out the other door. I listened as one of the other gals got Edward from his chair into a surgical chair. I chatted with him while we were in the waiting room together. He had his Air Force Veteran’s hat on. I thought of Mr. B. He always wore his whenever we went out and he glowed when anyone thanked him for his service to our country.

“Thank you for your service,” I told Edward.

He smiled and ducked his head. “You’re welcome.”

“What did you do in the service?” I asked.

“I was in communications,” he said.

Norma came back and interrupted my musings.

“This is called —" I don’t remember its name. “I’m going to tape your eye shut and I don’t want you to even try and open it. Then I’m going to put this on you. It helps to soften the cataract,” she said. After it was in place she left and came back with a syringe. Sitting down beside me she explained, “This is just saline I’m giving you now,” and she took my arm, “You are cool.” With the port in the back of my hand, I was afraid to cover it up. Norma left and came back with a second warm blanket, covering my hand and arm this time.

“Thank you so much,” I said.

“You’re welcome. In a few minutes I’m going to move you to that chair over there. You’ll stay in that one for the surgery.”

She left and I closed my eyes, listening to the goings on around me. Another gal was brought in and took Edward’s seat.

Norma came back. “Okay, let’s get this off you then we’ll get you moved over. You’re next.”

Once I was in the surgical chair and seated the way she wanted me with a pillow under my knees, she left and came back with two fresh, warm blankets and covered me.

When it was time, Norma gave me a warning. “I’m going to release the brake on the chair and it’s going to thump, so be prepared for it.”

It must’ve been some big ol’ hunkin’ brake because when it released it did make a clunking sound and jolted me. Then they made the chair come up flat and took me in the surgery room. They were mean to me in there! When they put the sedative in my vein it felt like molten lava!

“OWWWW!” I cried loudly. It hurt and I was gonna let ‘em know it hurt!

“That means it’s good stuff,” Dr. Bucci said.

And that’s all I know until I woke up. Oh, wait. That’s kinda a lie. Everything’s a little fuzzy up to the point where Mike was walking me out to the car.

“You were in recovery and the gal was giving you instructions when I got there,” Mike told me. “When I saw you with your glasses on, you look just like your mother.”

I grinned. Our mother was not perfect but she loved us with her whole heart and did the best she could. She got us raised, educated, productive members of society, and none of us ended up in jail!

On the way home, I took pictures for you.

Then I thought you might like to see what my mother looks like. I turned the camera and took several pictures before I got myself framed.

I do look like my mother! I thought. I’ve got the same wrinkles around my mouth from pursing my lips when I concentrate, and more importantly — I’ve got a red spot on my nose, just like she did! She didn’t have the scar under her nose or bottom lip like I do from where I fell out of the highchair when I was little, but I’d say I’m definitely my mother’s daughter.

My vision was much improved that day and I was already using it as my dominant eye.

I showed you last week the song board I was working on for Miss Rosie. A couple of days before my eye surgery I sat down to paint the elements. Then I decided to do a double check. I called Miss Rosie. “Is it okay that I have the one leaf hanging down in front of the words or would you rather I didn’t?” I asked.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she told me.

I spent the next couple of hours trying to reconfigure it. The stems were dry so I couldn’t reshape them. I broke ‘em apart. I can always make new stems if I want to. I rearranged the flowers and used pieces of stem here and there but nothing was striking my fancy. I never was happy with the stems ‘floating’ and had thoughts of making a vase. Now was a good time to do that. I made a vase and introduced something new. I have a tin of these little colored things with prongs on 'em. I’m not sure what they’re meant to be used for but I picked out four and pushed them into the fresh clay. 

Then I went to work painting everything. It’s definitely a lot easier painting when I don’t have to worry about getting it on the background. I trust if any issues arise from this method, my peeps will let me know.

I didn’t like my vase — at first.

My philosophy is becoming world renowned.

Okay! Okay! That might be overstating it!

“To say the least!” you say.

But I gave this advice to my Miss Rosie when she asked me about a piece she was painting and I gave it to my cute little redheaded sister Diane when she asked me about a painting she was working on. She laughed. It’s hard to give people advice on works of art. Your vision might not be my vision.

It really tickled me when, the next morning in our morning love note, Diane iterated my advice.

“Peg gave me her advice for my painting, which I think works for everything! ‘If you don't like it, add more color!’”.

And since it’s my advice, and good advice, too, I might add, I followed it. I added more color to the vase. Then I accidently added color I hadn’t intended to add. My green tangoed with the black that was on my palette and I didn’t see it until I put it on the vase — and I liked it! It was one of those happy accidents.

Everything was painted, dried, and coated with a fixative. All I had left to do now was arrange them, glue ‘em on, and give it to Miss Rosie.

I tried several different patterns. “I wonder which one she’ll like best,” Me asked Myself.

“Why not let her design it?” Myself replied.

Why not indeed!

I took my glue and the board down to Miss Rosie. I set it on the table and swept all the elements off. “Help me with this,” I said. “Then you can say you helped.”

“I liked it the way you had it when you brought it in,” Miss Rosie said with a frown in her voice.

“I’m sure Peg has a picture of it,” Lamar said, and he was so right.

I put things back the way I had them, then I let her have a go at it. After a minute or two she really got into it, moving the flowers around.

“I like this,” she announced.

I glued everything down and took a picture.

That afternoon I took my new eye and my girls out to see what I could see.

I chased this guy the whole way around the stem of a milkweed plant before I could get his portrait.

At the edge of our little pond, the droplets on the edges of the flotsam sparkled like diamonds.

I don’t know what Bondi was looking at.

“Little pond?” you query.

There’s a place in the swale Mike dug that seemed to hold water for a long time.

“You should make a little pond there,” I told Mike. “It holds water better than the big pond.”

When Mike got his backhoe, he dug a little pond. It’s only about ten feet long, four feet wide, and three feet deep — and lots of frogs live there.

The next day I had my day-after checkup. This time I took more road pictures.

I’ve always been so intent on getting a picture of all the tools hanging here I didn’t even realize there was an old car behind them.

The best I can get without stopping.

My checkup was good. Despite having forgotten not to bend over and not to rub my eye, both of which I did, the lens is right where it’s supposed to be and is healing nicely.

My eyesight went from 20/200, legally blind, to 20/40 overnight. I can see!

“How about colors?” everyone asks.

I guess most people notice the colors are brighter but I’ve not noticed that. I wonder if my mind didn’t see them the way they’re supposed to be despite my eye not seeing them. At any rate, the colors don’t seem any brighter to me.

I will tell you something that I do find extremely weird though.

“What’s that, Peg?” you wanna know.

I know you’re gonna think I’m off my rocker, gone around the bend, taken leave of my senses, but gosh honest, I feel shorter! The ground is closer, the sink is higher, and so is the microwave stand. When I sit in front of my computer, I feel like a little girl!

Then I realized the hydraulics on my chair sank.

I pulled the lever under the seat and brought it back up where it belongs and I feel somewhat normal again.

I spent last night reading all the stuff on the TV screen that I could never read before.

I have to tell you something else, too.

“What now?” you say.

I’m more excited about being able to see than I thought I would be.

Having a cataract removed and finishing Miss Rosie’s song board weren’t the only things that happened this week.

Sometimes, when we go to get the mail and it isn’t here, we’ll take a ride down our country dirt roads. Colors are starting to appear. 

The Joe Pye had at least four of these beauties feeding. You may remember that this is the Great Spangled Fritillary.

No cropping required on this closeup! He landed right in front of me!

I thought of my mother. “I was always a little sad to see Queen of the Prairie blooming,” she told me once.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that meant summer was almost over and school would be starting soon.”

I’ve yet to see any Queen of the Prairie. Joe Pye is also called Queen of the Meadow but Queen of the Prairie is an entirely different plant, and Momma knew the difference between the two.

Getting back to our mountain home, we see the township came and took down the branch that had broken during a storm and was hanging above the road.

John, our mail carrier, still hadn’t made it as far as our place yet so we went on down the road to the Kipps’ house.

On the other side of the bridge, I spot a cluster of purple berries.

“Elderberry!” I told Mike. He stopped so I could take pictures.

We lost our Elderberry bush in a storm a couple of years ago. Not that I ever got any berries from it, but the birds did and I was hoping it would come back. It hasn’t.

Going past the mess that was the Kipps’ mailbox and post, I said, “You could fix that for them.” My handsome mountain man can fix just about anything!

Mike embraced the idea, wiggled the post from the ground and brought it home along with the dented mailbox and newspaper box. He took the post apart, took out all the old fasteners (I don’t know if it was nailed or screwed together) and put it back together stronger than ever. He pounded the dents from the mailbox so it would open and close and tightened all the nuts and bolts on the newspaper box.

When the Kipps came home from their vacation, we took the boxes and posts down to them.

“Miss Rosie!” I exclaimed and hugged her tight. Then we sat around on the porch while they regaled us with stories of their time at the ocean with their girls.

The next morning, bright and early, earlier than Lamar would’ve started on his own, we went down to plant the newly repaired post. This time in a new spot. Farther from the bridge.

There’s nothing more handsome than a couple of hardworking men with tools in their hands — unless it would be a man in uniform. Those guys are pretty handsome, too! 

The very next morning another semi-truck hit the guide rail! If Mike and Lamar hadn’t’ve moved it, it would’ve gotten run over again!

>>>*<<<

On a walkabout with the girls, I spot a patch of pink fluff in a dead patch of grass. It looks like little bits of insulation to me and wondered how it got out here, near the pond, for Mike to mow over.

          The more I looked, the more patches of it I found.

I picked a bunch. 

          “They look like little flowers,” Lamar said when I asked him about them.

          So, what did I do? I Google searched it. It didn’t take long to figure out this is a lawn disease called — what else? — Pink Patch. It’s often seen in conjunction with another fungus called Red Thread and I do think I see some red threads there.

          The web site says it’s present in nearly all lawns, nearly all the time. You may have had this before and just never noticed it.

Blue Vervain is blooming. It’s also called Verbena. It’s known to help fight the symptoms of depression. It may also be helpful in promoting sound sleep. Vervain may aid in reducing inflammation and pain, alleviating stomach disorders like diarrhea, and protecting you against parasitic infection. It has also been studied for its antitumor and brain-boosting effects.

I don’t know if I happened to look out the kitchen door or if something drew me there, but I look out and see Blackie with a headlock on Bondi. They stayed like this for quite a while, long enough for me to get my camera. Unfortunately, Raini was also curious about what was going on, went out the pet door, and interrupted the lovefest. I’m going to guess that Blackie was grooming Bondi.

Speaking of Raini, I give her junk mail to chew up. She looks forward to Mike bringing the mail in and will jump excitedly at it. “Yep! You got mail!” I tell her and give her a piece. She happily trots off and settles in to open it — and let me tell you! She does a fine job of getting it open too!

“Why do you let her make such a mess‽” Mike complains.

“Because if I give her stuff to chew then maybe she’ll leave everything else alone,” I justify. “Besides, I’ll clean it up.”

“It’ll just teach her to chew up what she wants to chew up,” is his take on it.

“It’ll teach her she can chew up what I give her to chew up and nothing else.”

She brought my shoe up to bed last night. She doesn’t chew them, she just carries them around.

But speaking of Raini and nighttime…

Raini woke me with a bark one night this week. She got off the bed, barked once more, and was quiet. I figured one of the cats came in the side pet door, but why Raini didn’t continue to bark was a mystery that was soon solved by the crunch of bones. Blackie must’ve brought a mouse in. Whether dead or alive, I have no idea, but the facts remain that Raini got it and Raini ate it.

There is nothing quite like the sound of crunching mouse bones.

That night I dreamed. I dreamed I was putting food down for the cats and when I looked up, there was the prettiest long-haired gray kitty you ever did see, sitting on top of the microwave.

“Mike!” I dream yelled. “There’s a cat in here and it’s not ours!”

I started walking around the house and there were these strange critters in every corner I looked! More cats — that weren’t ours. More kittens — also not ours. A possum, a coon, a critter I didn’t know what it was. A hairless, long snouted, big-eared pink thing. But I remember thinking I’d have to Google it to find out what it was. Then, in the last room I went into there was a bobcat! Can you imagine! I wasn’t afraid of any of the animals and none of them attacked me.

I guess having a doorway to the outside open all night, invites all kinds of strange critters into your dreams.

The next morning, when I was getting out of bed, I see someone didn’t clean herself very good after her midnight snack of mouse frittata, and there was blood on my sheets.

Sigh.

Another night this week, just after we’d gone to bed, Bondi starts barking from the kitchen. “BARK! Bark! Bark-bark-bark!” over and over again!

Translated. “MOM! C’mere! C’mere-c’mere-c’mere!”

I finally get up and see that between barks, she’s snuffling really hard at the space behind the microwave cabinet. “Did you find a mouse?” I asked.

“BARK!” I think that meant yes.

I grabbed a flashlight, shone it in the crack, and there sat a fat little mouse.

“What a good girl you are!” I praised Bondi. She wagged from her head to the tip of her tail.

I pulled the trash can out and Bondi immediately rushed in to see if she could get the mouse from that side. She couldn’t. He was sitting in the middle, halfway from either end of the cabinet. When I was sure Bondi was in place, I took the flyswatter and gave the mouse a little poke. Bondi backed out with her prize in her jaws. She shook him to break his neck and when she dropped it to see if it was still alive, Raini rushed in and stole it.

That’s twice this week that Raini’s had mouse. She seems to digest them well enough. I’ve not had to clean anything up anyway.

 And on that happy note, at least a happy note for Raini, we’ll call this one done!

Done!