What Adult Children are Good For

So I went in for my second post-op visit, all AGOG at how well I can see. Dr. Miller told me that the lenses in my eyeballs are the same lenses used in the Hubble Telescope so then I said, "No wonder I can see Mars from my house."

I know. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I was so proud of myself for making this little joke that I relived the moment by telling it some more. Here. There. Here again. There again. It's like I was my own highlight film. Yay, me!

Anyhoo, when my dad called last night I did my "I can see Mars" shtick, to which Geoffrey, who was taking a bath in the next room, shouted, "DID YOU TELL YOUR DAD THAT'S THE TWENTIETH TIME YOU'VE TOLD THAT JOKE TODAY?"

Okay. Please refer to today's title. I assume you know the answer now.

How to Depress Yourself

. . . in case you need lessons.

Ken broke out the home movies over the weekend, and here's the thing I noticed most this time around: how badly I've dressed over the years. Of course we always think that about ourselves--look at the hair! look at those shoes!--but at least most of you can take comfort in the fact that everyone else looked the same way and that even though it was the 80's, you were actually pretty cute.

The same cannot be said about me. The unvarnished truth is that at best I was indifferently dressed. At worst, I was aggressively appalling. Part of it, I realized, is that I've always felt HUGE--like a Winnebago in an parking lot full of Mini Coopers. And my response to that was to dress myself in tents--big flow-y flappy shirts and jumpers--apparently in the hopes of camouflaging myself. Also, apparently I was color blind.

But looking back I realize I was never as big as I thought I was. And even if I had been, fitted (nay, even STRETCHY) clothes, would have looked so, so mUCH better than the camping gear I called clothing.

Watching the last 15 minutes of the first SEX AND THE CITY movie on TV yesterday while recovering from eye surgery didn't help. Why didn't I get that gene that made me want to wear expensive shoes and birds on my head, she laments. My mom had it in spades. Did she hog the shoe gene and not leave any of it for me?

A goal for 2012

I don't know why but I've already been making some goals for the New Year. One of my main goals? To stop overfeeding my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

When Holmes came to live with us, there's no denying he was already a little stout. But now he looks like a footstool. A footstool that also sheds.

I am solely to blame for this because when he starts begging, I always cave and go FINE! YOU CAN SHARE MY KFC MASH POTATO BOWL WITH ME. JUST PLEASE PLEAE PLEASE STOP GIVING ME THE BUG EYES.

I have to be strong like Jake and AnnMarie who are very firm with their Cav. That's because Jake and AnnMarie are grownups. And also, apparently, because they don't like to share mash potato bowls.

Happy Thanksgiving

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.

Wherein I pitch a possible movie idea

I told Dylan and Julie they should make a Christmas card that looks like the movie poster EAT! PRAY! LOVE! STARRING JULIA ROBERTS! Only their poster should say EAT! SLEEP! POOP! STARRING ELOISE CANNON!

Really, that's all newborns do. And yet when you're taking care of one, there isn't time for anything else.

Stranger in a strange land

Over at Good Letters Sara Zarr recently posted a terrific essay about how SCARY nature seemed to her, a city girl, when she first moved to Utah. Although I've historically been a little more outdoorsy than Miss Sara (or "outsidesy" as Alec calls me), I've experienced a taste of what she felt while I've been here in Greenville.

It's . . . different here. The air is thicker, the light hazier, the smells stronger and more exotic. Overhead large birds--are they crows? Because if they are crows they're freakin' HUGE crows--circle and wheel. Meanwhile all the grasses shimmer with movement and unexpected life. What's in there, I wonder. Snakes? Roaches? Things we don't have in Salt Lake? I find myself treading carefully.

But, it must be said, with wonder.

When carrying an umbrella will get you in trouble

When people think you're carrying an assault weapon instead . . .

Lockdown lifted. Police news conference underway. Gunman actually guilty of carrying an umbrella.

YOU CANNOT MAKE THIS STUFF UP.

(BTW it's good to see ECU has a good emergency response system in place. Props to ECU.)