Marti Miller Willoughby
contributing writer
Transitional
Lenses
Wearing glasses is nothing new for me. I’ve been pushing them up the bridge of my nose with a perturbed forefinger for many years now. That perturbed finger also insisted that I attempt contact lenses
(that, and a somewhat insistent and sad self-image). I’ve now worn contact lenses for an additional
many years.
Also, I’ve lived through the 40 year old stage of needing reading glasses over contacts in order to
see just about anything in print. The fine dance of shopping and checking price tags and juggling
reading glasses between nose and purse was only offset by the wonderfully fashionable choices
available in said reading spectacles.
At 50, I reluctantly transitioned to wearing one contact for distance and one for close-ups. After
my brain adjusted and was able to let me again walk somewhat steadily, I must confess that I do
not see clearly at any distance – near or far or in between. If you see a faded green Hyundai tooling
around Marion or Horry counties, please keep your distance – as my depth perception cannot be
trusted much either. I can, however, see quite clearly in the close-up bathroom mirror without aid
of any lenses to hunt down and pluck out the man-growth on my chin. Most of the time. Please
don’t check the accuracy of this statement while standing next to me in the sunlight. I have been
known to miss a few.
All of this lensing about was endured in order to stave off the inevitable bifocals. At 55, the
dreaded day arrived. “Ms. Miller, I think you’re going to need bifocals now.” I am convinced that
there was just a hint of a smirk hidden under that 30-something optician’s attempt at a sympathetic expression. No matter. I knew the day was coming anyway. What I did not know was how
very difficult it would be to traverse stairs while wearing them. The same punky optician assured
me that the transitional lenses would be a practical and attractive choice for someone of “my age
and occupation”. I still don’t know if that was a compliment or an awkward youth-filled faux pas.
Either way, it stung.
Not only would I now have “invisible” bifocals, I would also have a third option in the lenses. Oh
joy! They call it computer screen focus or something like that. And the stairs then became an insurmountable obstacle for about a month. I was okay at home, where I could “feel” my way down
each level (of lenses and stairs), but in public it was an entirely different matter. I also had a bit
of trouble locating that “computer focus” area while attempting to write coherently. I remember
doing quite a bit of nodding up and down…and muttering rather unkind words under my breath
while writing the most ridiculous messes and developing some bodacious headaches.
But of course, as time passed, so did my triple blurred vision. I became rather adept at stairs.
Unfortunately the unkind words still slip out here and there and I still can’t make out even familiar
faces from an embarrassingly close range. I find myself waving frantically at complete strangers
and completely missing friends and acquaintances. Just like the old green jalopy warning – if you
should stumble across me in public and I know you well but give you no indication of relationship, blame the transitional lenses or the cock-eyed optimist (how appropriate?) contacts. Case in
point: Becky Wallace at Food Lion. If you see someone waving at you insistently and you have no
idea who it is – just wave back. By the time I get close to you, my red-faced embarrassment will be
worth the wait. I promise.
116
September 2014
Transitional lenses have been conquered, but I’m almost ready to give up the near/far contact
lenses and go back to the reading glasses dance. At least I’ll be able to see something? And while
we’re on the subject of transitions – visual and otherwise – I thought I’d give you a quick overview
of the newlywed.
One would think then that the transition from widow to wed would be a walk in the park, or
perhaps more appropriately, roll in the hay. But noooo! Not only is the transition from one back to
two being traversed (it’s frightfully wonderful, by the way – much like a roller coaster ride of bumps
and swerves and gravitational pulls), we are also traveling from city to country and attempting to
squeeze my lonely years of cluttered collecting into a smaller streamlined space. This is not unlike
trying to choose which one of eight adorable kittens to bring home, and not nearly as much fun.
Of course, change is inevitable. While we breathe, we continue to morph – eyesight, or lack
thereof, being only one example. I am just having a bit of difficulty making all the morphs manageable. Did I mention that we are also transitioning from work life to semi-retirement and that
one nearly 30 ye "