The last time I remember seeing stars so bright they burned your eyes was the night we drove home across the Mojave Desert after a disastrous bowl game against Texas A & M. It was a glum little trip, saved only by the vision of a low-slung pearly-pink moon roosting over a nest of brilliant stars (good extended metaphor there, Ann). It was a stunning sight.
That's what I've missed the most, I think. Not being able to see the stars first thing in the morning when I walk with Kathy. And I wondered if after I had the Dread Cataract Surgery, the stars would reappear.
This morning was the first morning I've been out since having my left eye done and guess what. They were there. This is a cause for celebration, people. I HAVE SEEN THE STARS AGAIN and now I can die happy. Although hopefully not soon.
I have the other eye done on Monday. Dr. Miller says Tuesday will be the best day of my life, and I am almost inclined to believe him now. Meanwhile, it's hard to do much reading or writing with just one good eye, so I'm taking off the rest of the week. I'll reappear on Tuesday or so. Until then, be well and well-fed.