The Back Story from 2016

The photo of a pair of transitions eye glasses attached to a scarlet lanyard is still posted on my Facebook page dated April 14, 2016. “Hubby makes a lanyard for my glasses today. He is not just being kind. He simply doesn’t want to look for my glasses anymore! . . .

Well, yes, he is being kind.” Those were my words.

Comments came from Facebook sympathizers and a naysayer: “Funny that I got a store bought one in my Christmas stocking.”  “Doesn’t look very practical. I predict you don’t use it much.” Another commented, ” I can absolutely relate!”

 

Through the Looking-glass

Here’s how the glasses’ story subsequently unfolded: On Friday, April 29, 2016, I went to my power-pump class at the gym. Obviously, I wore glasses to drive there and back. I’m nearsighted and pose a threat on the highway without them. Why, without glasses I might have a wreck.

That evening, we saw a scary Netflix movie, a British gothic flick “The Making of a Lady.” I must have worn my glasses then. I don’t remember squinting or sitting up close cross-legged to see the screen. I also don’t remember whether my lanyard was around my neck or somewhere else at the time.

The next morning, I planned to drive to grandson Curtis’ soccer game at 8:30 a.m. At 8:10 I grabbed my keys and my glasses. My g – g – g l a s s s e e s s s. Where are they? Too embarrassed to ask Cliff for help right away, I scoured the usual places: My computer desk, my dresser, the coffee-table, the kitchen counter. I couldn’t even find my back-up pair usually sitting snugly in the console by the driver’s seat.

Then, I go into full-out search mode. With and without Mr. Red Lanyard Maker, . .

  1. Look on every surface without a flashlight.
  2. Check every surface with a flashlight, lifting seat cushions.
  3. Walk outside and check the patio furniture, flower-bed containers.
  4. Re-visit the front porch table.
  5. Repeat steps 1 and 2 at night.  With different lighting, I hoped I’d catch a gleam of glass with my flashlight, after five hours of searching all told.
  6. I awoke with a jolt at 2:00 A. M. with the strong image that my glasses had fallen off my lanyard and into a garbage bag. Then I cull through two plastic bags of trash to no avail.
  7. I prayed ardently. After alI, I do remember the story of the Woman with the Lost Coin of the New Testament story in Luke 15, a woman who lost one of her pieces of silver, lit a candle, swept the house, found it, and called her friends together to celebrate. I was ready for celebration!

 

I did call off the hunt on Sunday, yet kept an eye out. There is always a chance for a miracle. Maybe those two shiny lenses would spontaneously appear.

 

Sunday afternoon, the highly-motivated Red Lanyard Maker drove me to LensCrafters to fix the problem. After all, Mr. RLM can’t chauffeur me around indefinitely.

At the office, I got an eye examination, another prescription, and new glasses with identical frames, all promised in a fortnight.

At the moment, my lanyard is securely hugging my neck with glasses attached. More mindful? Good Lord, I hope so.

To this day, I haven’t found my glasses. Nor have the back-up pair appeared either. How had some sprite spirited away both sets of glasses? Odd and distressing! If the originals make their appearance, I’ll be thrilled to use them as my spare. Sound familiar? Yes, you may have read this story on my blog in 2017, but there’s MORE!

 

Followup:  Six years later (2022)

For me, wearing my eyeglass lanyard is an off & on proposition. Sad to say, I get distracted and forget to don the red lanyard as part of my morning routine. However, one May morning I was wearing my glasses, an updated prescription but with similar frames. I am proud to say they were securely fastened on the tiny metal loop dangling from the lanyard. But then they disappeared. Vanished! Spirited off into the Land of Lost Lenses!

My mind is clear in the morning. Usually. But the search is on.

Once again, the search is on. A similar scenario unfolds: Check on the usual spots with the naked eye. Then retrace my steps with a flashlight, hoping desperately for a glassy gleam to reflect back to me. Ten minutes in, I reluctantly summon  my sidekick. Embarrassed again, of course. At long last, Cliff and I call off the search, and I dig out my spare, a backup pair, the ones with transition lenses but a weaker prescription. “They’ll have to do until I find my best pair.”

Then later, several days later in fact: “What’s this I see!? My husband had been rummaging around in our fridge’s freezer section to find his emergency stash of Chic-Fil-A coffee, frozen in case he runs out of fresh. To un-earth it, he has to move aside other products including a large pouch of Tilapia fish. Not believing his eyes, he notices an odd object–frosted lenses with two wine-colored arms barely visible.

Cliff brings them into the bedroom and presents them to me on an antique saucer. “This looks like something you have been looking for!” He had pulled out the my super-cold glasses, frozen at zero degrees Fahrenheit. Yes, frozen, But intact.

“Unbelievable! I exclaim, snapping a photo of my spectacles, alien in such an environment. Pulling out my visual friend by its arm (aka temple}, I gently lay it down on the granite countertop to warm up to room temperature.

“How did this happen?” the first question out of my mouth.

Apparently, the arm on one side of my glasses, slid out of the round, metal loop of my lanyard as I stooped to open the freezer door. And it nestled, perhaps with the smallest of sounds, under the pouch of fish. My visual “buddies” had lain there, slowly freezing, as I dashed around the house, looking, in a feverish frenzy.

I think of cliches, some with variation: “Hidden in [not-so-plain] sight.” or  “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

 But what if the prevention—and the cure—cancel out each other? Then what?

 


 

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