Day: August 22, 2019

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But They Still Work: PART ONE

I have become like Mom in so many ways, the latest of which is what I shall call The Wearin’ o’ the Broken Glasses. I love this broken pair of glasses. The frames might be missing an arm, but the lenses aren’t completely scratched up. I can still see through them, mostly. Purple and gray Tie o’ the Day laughs at me every time I do something like Mom or Dad– something which I previously laughed at and said out loud to myself, “That’s ridiculous! I will never do that.” Famous last words.

I recall wounded and repaired reading glasses strewn all through my childhood house. From these glasses and the various home repairs that extended their usefulness, I learned a rudimentary lesson or two about engineering and mechanics.

The most common source of reading eyeglass disability seems to be the loss of the sliver-width screw for the hinge connecting the frame and the arms. My parents’ repairs for this problem were practical. Safety pins, paper clips, nails, toothpicks, and bobby pins– these were all used to fill in for the lost invisible screws. I have used some of those items to accomplish the same task myself, but I’ve also used twist ties, duct tape, thread, and Super Glue.

It takes a lot of vital creativity to be too lazy to go to the grocery store to buy a new pair of reading glasses for 12 bucks.

TO BE CONTINUED IN NEXT POST

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Seems Crazy, I Know

Camo Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my faves. Its size is referred to by Beau Ties Ltd. of Vermont as “butterfly jumbo.” Here, I am waiting in line at DICK’S Pharmacy. Of course, as a fashion maven, I know my cactus-print shirt needs to be ironed, especially down the front. Suzanne is as picky about ironing as Mom and Peggy always were. That’s one of the Top 10 reasons they’ve always liked her. Those three gals were born Wrinkle Whisperers. All Suzanne will see when she looks at this photo is the bigly wrinkle by the buttons. I didn’t iron my shirt, but on purpose. Why?

Okay, so I’m in a minor snit at Suzanne today. Knowing how she feels about pressed shirts and ironing, I know this wrinkle biz will get under her skin mightily. It will bug her. This is how I’m being passive-aggressive in a way that is tiny, but irritating enough to get her attention. She’ll know exactly what I’m up to when she sees this photo’s shirt wrinkles, then she’ll think about what she could have done which might possibly be upsetting me. She’s smart, so she’ll figure it out and fix the wrong. I will then notice she fixed the problem, and I’ll say, “Hey, will you please iron a couple of shirts for me?” That will signal to her that she’s forgiven, and all’s right with us. The whole routine saves us a squabble over some crumb of an issue that amounts to nothing, without either of us ever having to bring up the topic.

Weird? Yes. It’s a kind of shorthand that let’s us both save face. If you’ve been attached to someone for a long period of time, you know darn well you do similar dances with each other about certain things. The dance’s strange footwork is part of what helps you stay with your person long-term. You have to choreograph your own “happy family” groove. Sometimes you both have to just shut up and dance a jig no one else in the galaxy could possibly understand.