Sunday, 13 May 2018

Rose Tinted

Hello dear readers!

Life begins at forty. That’s what the infamous, unknown ‘they’ say anyway.

That makes me three going on four which, to anyone familiar with my levels of maturity, might sound about right (or maybe just a touch generous). It also means that I am approaching, or possibly overtaking, that phase of life known as middle age. I’m not a fan of the term myself as it seems to indicate a limit to ones lifespan and, let’s face it, that’s not a happy thought.

And of course these years in themselves bring their own wonderful challenges.

Aches And Pains
Anyone with the most passing of familiarities with this attempt to get thoughts out of my head and on to virtual paper will know of my recent struggles with my health. These of course have little to do with my steadily advancing years but there are other things, niggles, aches, and the like, which more than likely do.



You may be familiar with these or you may be lucky enough not to have encountered them as yet but theses middle aged maladies tend to come to us all sooner or later. It’s that extra stretch that’s needed to wake up those reluctant muscles in the morning, the twinge when one stretches in exactly the wrong way, the way half past ten suddenly feels more like one A.M. (and without even a single kebab to be seen). It’s also the way that odd bits of the body start to fail, just that little bit.

Now, before anyone gets too excited I’m not delving into any matters of too personal a nature here (you sick, sick puppy). No, what I am referring to is my somewhat failing… eyesight.

The Eyes Have It
Yup, the old peepers are slightly on the fade and while it is true that the diagnosis relapse of MS that drove me into hospital last July did affect my eyes, that damage, which was only in one eye, has been stabilised and is no longer that much of a factor.

No, this is age. Plain and simple. It’s been a factor for a while if I’m honest but it’s gotten noticeably worse of late, to the point that my myopic, Magoo-like squinting at pamphlets, menus, and perhaps more worryingly, road signs, has forced me to admit my weakness and visit the opticians. The result of this is the lovely pair of spectacles adorning my lovely face.



Focal Points
They are bifocals, something made necessary by my eyes not just being bad when reading but also at a distance. It means two prescriptions and thus two lots of lenses. I could have combined these in varifocals but I was advised that these take a bit more getting used to and given that I’m taking quite a long time to get used to the current bins that’s a challenge I don’t need.

There’s the standard issue issues of forgetting to put them on, forgetting to take them off, and forgetting where they are. There’s the little line on the nose that I’m fast developing. There’s the fact that they make me look like far too much of a sexy intellectual (ha!). Then there’s the issue of the lenses themselves.


On Reflection
It’s taken me an age to stop seeing the line that divides the two prescriptions. It’s taken me an age to look through the right one at the right time, and to learn to angle my head the right way to do this. It’s also taken far too long for me to realise that the speck of dust I keep seeing on the right lens, and have tried multiple times to wipe off, is actually the reflection of my eye.


Still this is a journey of discovery. Something new to assimilate. It will take time to get used to the gegs but in truth it is not the biggest or hardest challenge I’ve faced of late. I guess it’s just another sign of mortality, of that slow crumble into dust that comes to us all. That’s all it is though and that end remains (hopefully) firmly on the distant horizon. There’s still life in the old dog yet and that life, well it’s still getting lived.

See you soon!










Until next time…