A Routine Morning

It should come as a surprise to no one who knows me that I have a pretty regular routine every morning.

The alarm goes off at 4:50. I rise, hit snooze, and then generally wake up fully before the full ten minute grace period has elapsed. I sit on the edge of the bed, in the dark bedroom, and feel the night stand for my glasses. My wife has normally not come to bed before midnight, so I try to do as much in the dark, or with minimal light, as possible.

I head out into the family room/kitchen in order to heat up some tea. On the way this morning, I stopped to read a note that my wife had left. I also sat briefly at the kitchen table, where my laptop summoned me, to see if any interesting email messages had arrived over night, and to see if the Rays had managed a win (remarkably, they had).

Oddly, I could not see the screen very well. My eyes were watering, it seemed, and this was making my vision a bit blurred. Or so I thought. I started the tea and headed out to the driveway to get the newspaper.

When the tea was done – tea I had made yesterday and simply needed to warm – I sat on the couch to have my quiet time. No need for glasses there. I’m quite nearsighted, thank you.

It wasn’t until I put my glasses on after my quiet time (so that I could prepare my Raisin Bran and Piece of Toast breakfast) that I noticed the reason my sight was still blurry. The left lens of my glasses was missing. At least, I noted, the screw was still there.

I was able to manage breakfast without my glasses. (A man must have his priorities!) After that, the search began. And as this process advanced, I realized the irony of one who cannot see trying to find by sight the very object designed to help him see. There is a spiritual application to this somewhere, but I was not prepared to develop it.

My first step was to feel on and around my nightstand (my fancy name for the TV tray set up next to my side of the bed which holds books and glasses). This accomplished nothing. So, I thought perhaps when I sat at my computer the lens had fallen out. I looked and felt around the kitchen table. Nothing.

With a flash of brilliance, I headed into the bedroom with a flashlight, hoping that I would catch a glint of light reflected from the lens if only I could shine the light in the right direction. I searched the whole bedroom to no avail. So, I took my shower and dressed.

The next step was to retrace my steps from when I got up to when I first noticed blurry vision. But I was beginning to worry, and to be glad that I was looking for a full size lens and not a contact lens.

I thought of the note that I read from my wife. To read it, I probably would have removed my glasses. The note was on a counter. Below the counter was a laundry basket with some clothes in it. I shined the light down, and there, on top of the clothes, was a reflection. My lens.

Now began another search. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my wife’s purse she keeps a glasses repair kit. I’ll never make fun of what a woman carries in her purse again. I found it.

I picked up the glasses to begin the repair, and heard the tiniest ‘plop’ which was, of course, the crumb-sized screw falling out and hitting the floor and bouncing, I assumed, underneath the kitchen table, joining other crumb-sized things, like the crumbs from last night’s supper. I was back on my knees with the flashlight, still blind, searching for the screw. It was the third crumb next to my son’s chair.

The final stage in the saga was taking this crumb and dropping it into the hole in the frame, using an alarmingly large thumb and finger. I didn’t think they were abnormally large, until I tried this maneuver. After about the eighth try, I succeeded. I’m happy to report that I’m typing this with clear vision.

So much for routine. I wonder what the rest of the day has in store.