Morning Thanks--Glasses

Sometimes it's just nice to believe that life is what we were told it was in Sunday School.

So we're in Oklahoma a couple weeks ago to see that darling granddaughter, who's now officially one-year old and a real charmer (we're easily charmed). Her parents live there too--I mean, she's not the only reason we went. Purd'near though. You know.

I've got my glasses along, several pairs, in fact. I've got my Sunday-go-to-meetin' glasses, the ones I wear in public, the ones that cost me an arm-and-a-leg. They're bifocals. I wear them when I need them; but, try as I might, they're just about worthless for looking at a screen. So I've got reading glasses along, too, which I wear far more often. One morning when we're on our way out, I slip on the bifocals and tell myself I really ought to wear them more often--after all, they cost me a fortune and you can pick up a decent pair of reading glasses for ten bucks or less. Besides, somehow the world looks all kiddy-whompas. 

I stagger around a bit because I can't help thinking there's something's out of whack. I finagle 'em around on my face, thinking they're sitting up on my nose crooked or something. Nope. Somehow I feel pie-eyed. Weird. So I take 'em off again--I really don't have to wear 'em. I'll be 71 in a day or two. I don't need to feel any more dizzy than I am.

Our Oklahoma sojourn ends, we pack things up and come home. Next Sunday morning, I get ready for church, reach for my bi-focals and just like that, once again, I'm walking sideways. I go out to the car, wait for my wife, and reach for the little slip of fabric we use to clean glasses. Maybe they're sinfully dirty. I pull off the bifocals, and--voila!--I see why I can't see straight. One lens is plain gone. Nothing there. 

Now I've got two problems: my fancy glasses are worthless--that's one; and the other is, I can't help but think the missing lens is down in Oklahoma. There was a time when my wife would raise an eyebrow at her husband's abject goofiness, but she's no spring chicken herself, and I could list a few dopey things she's done too. We're old. We sympathize far better than we once did.

Besides, she left a chunk of her laptop re-charger in a socket of the AirB and B where we stayed. We write a note to the owners and let them know to look in a living room socket--north side--for plug-in, and, oh yes, if you find a lens that'd be great because we can't figure where the heck it fell out.

Lost cause, I figure. So I call the optometrist where I bought the big-ticket pair, tell the assistant the left-side lens of my glasses is lost somewhere between here and Oklahoma, and tell her I'm going to have to have a new one. She can't quote me a price, but I'm seeing the numbers spin like they do on a slot. "We'll have it by the end of the week I'm sure," she tells me. "We'll let you know."

By now, we've been back home for two weeks. "End of next week" who should text us but the Oklahoma home owner, who finally got around to cleaning up. "We've got your plug-in," she texts, "and we found that lens too." 

I should be thrilled. Instead I'm thinking I'm about to have an extra left-side lens for those overpriced glasses, so I call the young lady at the optometrist's office and tell her what happened. "Oh," she says, "we really can't be responsible for that." 

Doesn't surprise me. It's not her fault, and it won't be the first time being a clutz costs me good money. I'm wondering if I can peddle a perfectly good left-side lens on-line. Cheap.

I warned you. This saga has a Sunday School end. Here it comes.

Yesterday, that young lady at the office calls. "You know that lens," she says. "The company messed up the order, so they told us they've got to do it again." And then she delivers the good news. "Since you have the original, I just told them to scratch the order," she says. "No charge."

I don't want to sound like I'm normally into "American carnage." The truth is, good things like that happen occasionally in my life. I'm no bad-luck duck. 

Still, when they do, they're worth crowing about, because somewhere in the missing lens story the old Calvinist in me can't help but hear something of an echo of Romans 8:28. 

And that's my morning thanks.