Old and New

So I went to the Eye Dr. today to pick up some more contacts. My prescription was expired so I found myself 15 minutes later in a dark room having some nurse shoot puffs of air into my pupils. Next comes the Dr. who is quite perky and oddly nervous for a Dr.... but what the hay. She starts off, I mean the first thing out of her mouth is...."so, have you started wearing reading glasses yet?"

Long pause.

"Um...you mean the glasses they give you when you go see movies like Avatar?"

Nervous laughter, "No, no! You know! Reading glasses! You are of a certain age for them."

Again. I can't understand. "You mean, like, the glasses I walked in with? What do you mean my age?" as I took over the nervous role and slyly glanced down to see what gravity was doing to the girls these days.

I really couldn't believe I was sitting in a medical chair being counseled about my ancient corneas. Reading glasses? Like, my Grandmother????

Then I started in with the questions...So does everyone need reading glasses at some point? yes. What about me? yes. Do women have to get reading glasses before men? No, every one's the same. What if I eat more carrots? Or better yet, grow my own organic carrots and juice them in high quantities? Everyone has to wear reading glasses around this point in their life.

Luckily, I didn't need them today. But maybe because I kept talking and talking and she kept examining and examining she did find something funky. Turns out I have a freckle inside my left eye. Kinda cool. Okay mostly weird. Proving once again my Anglican ancestry knows no bounds. They took a bunch of pictures. Called in the head Dr's to get opinions. Telling me not to worry and yet doing everything possible to make a sane person freak. The words melanoma were throw around. And for a brief 20 minutes of my life I went into the death zone.

The first thing I always do in the death zone is imagine my funeral. Sometimes there are hundreds, thousands of people in attendance. Crying. Singing songs I've written. People I've known all my life and those I've just met squeezing themselves into some church I don't belong too because I brought them a sour cream pound cake when their baby was born and they've never forgotten my thoughtfulness...

Or, the Mary Tyler Moore Party funeral. Where nobody shows up but a few people because everyone else figures hundreds of others "were much closer to her" and nobody would notice if they went to the movies instead.

But then the shenanigans turned to my kids. My kids. My little tiny just starting out in life kids. What the hell? They already had to deal with a Mom wearing reading glasses to the school play and now she dies on them??

Both my Grand Mother's are still alive. Both are 93. Ninety three. These woman are the strongest, funniest, shrewdest and most colorful women I have ever known. Momo (my Mom's Mom) taught me how to walk like a lady (with my toes pointing out..?) and dance the Sottish in her blue bedroom one day and shoot a rabit bobcat comin' down the hill the next. Emmadean (my Dad's Mom) could cook a meal for 40 by the age of 4 and hasn't stopped since. Now they are alone. Both sitting in very old houses, filled with possessions of loved ones that have died, nearly all their friend's gone and too tired, blind, forgetful and sad to do much but just pass the days.

The Dr's made up their mind that I was fine. Just fine. We'll just monitor things. And schlooop! I'm back from the death zone. Thinking about how long I have to exchange something at Target before picking my son up.

Here I am in the middle. Not young like my kids. Not old like my Grandmothers. Just middling. So much behind me. So much to go. So much to see.

Better get the glasses.