After decades of glasses and contact lenses, I got the news that I had cataracts.

Naturally I was horrified, imagining life as a blind old lady, stumbling around and crying out in a weak little bird squawk.

Instead, I learned that I could have the cataracts removed and replaced by tiny lenses that would improve my vision to nearly 20-20! Jesus Christ! Why don’t people go around praying for cataracts?!? Without contact lenses, my vision was 20-700, meaning I couldn’t see my own feet, let alone anything else.

I’m not brave about surgery, not at all. The word is fraught with dread and unpleasant flashbacks to past injuries. But the idea of seeing clearly was like discovering I could fly. I was eager to do it. Until the actual week of the first surgery. Then I freaked out.

Want to hear about the surgery? Probably not, right? So skip this part. You go to the surgery place and they put you in a room until your boredom creates a kind of stupor. Then, they stick a needle in your arm for an IV. They put your hair in a cap and ask a bunch of questions. The nurses are all perky and happy to talk about nail polish and tattoos. So then you relax. Then they wheel you into the operating room and start the opiates.

You tell the anesthesiologist that you’re not stoned enough. He says, “Well, this is as stoned as you’re gonna get,” in a bossy tone. But he holds your hand.

Then, they transfer you to another table and fit a thing over your eye that keeps it open.

You know what, I’ll stop there, in case you’re thinking of having eye surgery. I don’t want you to worry about how disturbing it is.

But when it’s all over, it’s fantastic! They tell you how great it went and you go home with a bunch of eye drops, and in a few weeks, you go back to do the other eye.

Seeing is so incredible, I can’t really describe it. When I leave the house, it’s like I’m taking my eyes out to see the world. The detail! The colors! I had no idea how bright my own face is. It’s magical.

When I wake up, I can see the clock! I can see all the ships in the harbor across the street, instead of just a big harbory blob.

I plan to take my eyes to LACMA. I also plan to wear a ton of eye make-up.

I should point out that this procedure isn’t cheap. It’s so costly, in fact, that I’ve decided I have to keep living for at lest two years, to offset the expense, sort of. Otherwise, my family will go, “After spending all that money?!?”

So if you were worrying about me, relax. Until 2019, anyway.

Max was in preschool when he met Justine and her brother Lindsay. They became close friends and spent most of their time at our house or their apartment, where they lived with their dad, a single father.

Justine was an unusual little girl, with long blond bangs that hung over her eyes and a dreamy smile. She would often burst out laughing when I least expected it. She was less sensitive than her brother, but both of them screamed their heads off during long epic games of monopoly with Max, who likewise played with ferocious determination. Justine was a good mediator when Max and Lindsay had a spat.

When they moved back to Cleveland, their dad’s hometown, we lost touch for the most part.   A few years ago, Justine came to visit me with her beautiful little daughter, who I longed to steal. Justine now played professional softball but somehow she was the same sweet dreamy girl I remembered.

Recently, after a mutual friend put us in touch via facebook. Justine sent me a message –

It is so good to reconnect with you. I miss max. I liked just knowing that one day we could see each other again. I remember being in 2nd grade and you telling us that we should get married one day. You would serve us a grilled cheese and then we would eat a flintstones vitamin. Being friends with max was some of my best childhood years.

Naturally I cried and cried. I saw that Justine had a website, and that was how I discovered that she recently made history by being the first woman to pitch batting practice to a Major League team. Not only that but she is also the first woman to coach a men’s professional baseball team.

I’m so proud of her achievements! I am also reminded that children come into the world with characteristics that can make them resilient or fragile, shy or outgoing, placid or temperamental.   They will take their own path in the end, regardless of what you do or don’t do. It’s a mystery and a miracle.

I loved so many of Max’s friends and I’m grateful that he brought them into my life. Justine holds a special place in my heart. Those were some of my happiest years, too.

Justine and Max –

Illustrated by Tatyana T.   (Click on image for full size)

Illustrated by Tatyana T.   (Click on image for full size)

Illustrated by Tatyana T.   (Click on image for full size)

Here is the first page, illustrated by the brilliant artist Tatyana T, text by Sister Wolf. We are scrambling to have the book ready by December 25,   our Lord’s birthday. xoxo

(click on the picture for full size)

I have been craving a pair of sequin leggings ever since I saw some on the glorious Queen Michelle. But every pair I’ve seen online were either much too expensive or too shoddy looking. Then I saw these, on sale at Express for $59, minus another twenty per cent.

I started to order them, and even got to the penultimate step, where you review your order before clicking the click that completes the purchase. And here it came to me like a religious epiphany: I have nowhere to wear those sequin leggings, and I wouldn’t wear them even if I did!

The cold reality of that truth was impossible to refute. It would be a complete waste of money. I removed the leggings from my cart and left the website. It was the first time I’ve backed out of an online purchase. It was a fucking miracle.

If you knew me better, you’d know how many unworn shoes I have, not to mention the dresses and skirts I will never wear, because I’m just not comfortable in dresses and skirts. The fact that I’ll never wear them has not stopped me from my appointed rounds, however. My craving was all that mattered. As Vogue magazine used to put it years ago, things were there “to own and collect.” Shoes, sweaters, jackets, whatever.

The impulse to Own and Collect has cost me a fucking fortune. Some of it, I don’t regret. But there comes a point where you know you have six leather jackets…maybe you don’t, but I do. At least I wear most of them, unlike the $650 cashmere dress that I bought because it was marked down to $99.

Knowing that I can live without owning those sequin leggings is a revolutionary idea for me. It’s also a little sad, because it means I’m acknowledging that I’m just too old for some fashions. Nobody wants to see a 55 year old women in leggings. I certainly don’t.

Today, I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a black wool motorcycle jacket when I took my sons out for lunch. I looked pretty good, I think. I checked out the senior menu, but it was all crap. I ordered regular food, and I didn’t think about age again until I smashed my head getting into the car.

I hope I can continue to not shop, It’s a very empowering feeling. It means I’m in control of something, for a change. And it means more sequins left for the rest of you!