Darling Granddaughter with her Daddy

"I Can't See Clearly Now"

Some time ago I wrote about one of my favorite songs, "I Can See Clearly Now." It was my "fight song" that saw me through some of the tough days in graduate school, and whenever it came on the radio, everyone in my car pool knew they had to be quiet so I could sing along:

. . . gone are the dark clouds that had me down,

It's gonna be a bright, bright, sunshiny day.

I saw the eye doctor recently, and he confirmed what I knew: I can't see clearly now. It's been less than a year since my last exam, and I'm "off" by two rows on the vision chart. That's a lot of change over a short period of time, he tells me. I know the small print has gotten much smaller.

Then he told me that cataracts have begun to grow in both eyes. He'll monitor them and when they're "ripe" enough they can be dealt with surgically. I imagine that will be a few years from now. I know it's a miraculous and highly successful procedure. I just didn't know I had them.

My grandfather had cataracts, and I recall the ordeal of his surgery when I was a child. He had to lie flat for many days, with sandbags on either side of his head to prevent movement. He had limitations after that, I believe--no lifting or heavy exertion. But the happiness of improved vision was worth it all for him.

I also have "redundant eyelids." Excuse me. I'm a writer, and I'm very careful not to be redundant. But it seems that, in visual terms, my eyelids are beginning to droop downward over my eyes and will gradually limit my upper field of vision. There is a simple surgery for that, too, when the time comes.

There was good news: the retinas and optic nerves are intact and healthy, and there's no sign of glaucoma. I can still legally drive without my glasses. It's just the reading - and reading is one of my passions - that's suffered the most.

So for now I'll use the prescription drops for dry eyes and wait for my new bifocals to come back from the lab.

Hey, bifocals were good enough for Ben Franklin. I'm fine with bifocals.

"Do you think you can put new lenses in these frames I have now?" I asked the doctor, and then I said, "now, where did I put them?"

"Uh, you're wearing them," he said.

I walked out of his office feeling like a little old lady.

"Now, where did I park the car?" I wondered.

Okay, I made up that part. It would been a good ending for the story, though.

Describing myself in the 3rd person

(with Chevy, age 16, cocker mix; Molly, deceased, cocker/beagle cross; and Lita, age 8, border collie/Sheltie mix)

I accepted a challenge at another blog to describe myself in the third person, in 100 words or less. Here, in 99 words, is what I wrote:

Her big sister claims Janet was "born wise." She loves classics of all kinds: music, books, drama, furniture, and her husband. She has gracefully executed several memorable practical jokes, has written her own obituary, and is a wuss about her pets. Sometimes, understanding Far Side cartoons can be a challenge. Her favorite Shakespeare quote:

Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

(I should post that verse above my computer!)

Look, Ma!

Though the needs prompting my retention as a blog editor were not to extend beyond the scope of a simple, "look ma" video post, I find this to be a unique opportunity to plant a "naughty word" (or two), embarrass "the hell" out of my mother, and write a brief "mother's day" note (which is necessarily belated on account of an infeasible schedule).

Janet K. Jensen is a thief. She quietly embezzled family funds to support my technology habit; for the rest of her life, she must reconcile that, in part, she enabled my furious pursuit of a masters in electrical engineering from Berkeley. Many circuit boards have melted as a direct result of her actions.

As I writer, I encourage her to be more indulgent, even edgier, though it may not agree with social norms. I have little doubt that she will find success, as long as she continues to take the necessary risks.

As a mother, I encourage her to send more oatmeal cookies by mail.

As a person, I encourage her to laugh as often as possible, even if she is the only one laughing, because every once in a while, she'll get ya. You should ask her about how she met my father at Woodstock. (She will exaggerate, however, on the duration for which I was confused.)

Oh, yeah, the "look ma" moment that prompted this whole discussion:



I once poked at Miles that he should join me for my next endeavor, to which he replied that Janet would be a more likely candidate. I could only agree, though only from a standpoint of probability, and not expectation. Of course, Janet is flattered by those who read her blog, and I suspect that, especially in light of Geroge H. Bush's willingness to plunge into the air on several occasions, Janet may be swayed by the masses. She will need a little nudging from her devoted readers. I suggest a friendly e-mail encouraging her to take to the blue skies.

I love you Mom, and happy Mother's Day!

- Jeff

I'm Woodstock!

Just took the Peanuts Quiz at Facebook and I'm Woodstock! Ya gotta love Woodstock!

The test result says: You are Woodstock. You are a loyal to friend to beagles. You don't say much but you love to fly as high as your little wings will take you.