If memory serves me correctly, it was a Jeffrey Archer novel. Actually, it could have been a Ken Follett book. No wait. It was Peter Fitzsimons. Was it? Umm … could have been Matthew Reilly? I’ve sacked my memory! Whatever the book was that I was reading, it was so good that I remember every word: not. Obviously. Nothing against the authors: everything against my memory.
Actually, I do remember the storylines for the books of the above authors: a family who own a shipping line build a cathedral whilst exploring Antarctica where they are nearly eaten by polar bears and saved by a scarecrow. Yes? Sorry, I should have said ‘spoiler alert’ or some rubbish.
So, I was reading a book. It was dark, therefore night. It would have been a paperback, as it was ten years ago and before I jumped over to reading only e-books. There would have been a little reading light attached to the book so I could read without disturbing hubby. Reading, reading, happily reading: put bookmark in position, close book, turn off light, go to sleep.
The next night: pick up book, turn on light, open book at bookmarked position, reading … trying to read … rub eyes … the print is blurry … rub eyes … the print is still blurry … what the fork? How am I supposed to go to sleep if I can’t read first? Nothing against the authors: everything about relaxing an over-active brain before attempting sleep. Plus, I have always read at bedtime or was read to. It is a well-formed routine repeated each night for over fifty years, which is more than 18,000 nights of reading, people!
So, of course, I wake hubby up to inform him of the impeding drama. Being a non-reader, he rolls over and continues to focus on perfecting his snoring. Okay … so, I pick up the book, adjust the light, bring the book closer to my eyes and squint. No, that is worse. I move the book away from my eyes. Further, a little further, just a little further and squint. Ah ha! Yes, I can make out the words! Yay! I read for a couple of minutes, put bookmark in position, close book, turn off light, go to sleep.
Next day, I have an optometrist appointment and, lucky me, am the proud owner of my ‘first’ pair of readers. Hang on a second. (Not that you can or would want to. What? Hang on a second. Huh? It is physically impossible to hang on to a second. Oh. I know what you are thinking … it is also physically impossible to hang on to a minute. It’s a saying, so I’m writing it. At your peril. Fork off. Oh, okay.) Just a cotton, picking minute! Did you say ‘first’ pair of readers? How many of these reading glasses will I need?
That night I read comfortably until I turned on my side. The nose piece on the glasses was performing amputation surgery on my nose, the arm on the glasses was stabbing into my head and dislocating my ear, the lenses had shifted and would have been positioned perfectly if my eyes were located on the bridge of my nose and over my left ear: this was not working. I was stuck reading whilst on my back, juggling the book between my hands when one hand tired.
There is a problem with a well-formed routine: it is very hard to change it. Very! Hard! So off to the optometrist the next day for a pair of glasses with soft, bendy arms, lighter lenses, a flexible nose piece and to hand over my first born child. Oh yes, this aging thing is expensive. Ka-ching, ka-ching.
My younger sister uses me as her personal crash test dummy. ‘So, in eighteen months, I’ll need glasses. Sure, I can prepare myself for that. Thanks for the heads-up Sis.’ That’s what I’m here for. Glad I could be of assistance. Where’s my crash test dummy? I want my 20/20 vision back! Wahhhhhh! So, reading by candle light and torch light throughout my early years would have had nothing to do with this, right? Blindingly obvious.
What I have learned is that no matter how hard you try, you’re arms do not grow longer as your eyesight fails. However, using my phone to read I can increase or decrease the font size as necessary, it is backlit, I can adjust the brightness, it is small and convenient, and most books are available as e-books. Whilst I miss the smell and feel of a good book (that sounds a little wrong, but fellow readers will understand immediately), I am grateful for this technology.
I’m on to my tenth – could be eleventh or twelfth – pair of readers now. Each pair a reminder of my failing eyesight. I have a pair of glasses stashed away in each room of the house so relying on an unreliable memory is not needed. I have single lenses, bi-focals, multi-focals, multi-focals with glare protection, multi-focal sunglasses, and still cannot stand the fact that I need to wear them in order to see.
I have a theory: as we age, our eyesight fails so we don’t see what is happening to our bodies. But because we’re so curious, we had to invent mirrors and glasses. And poof! Now we can see what the hell is going on with our bodies as we age whilst we pay for the optometrist and his progeny to travel the world.
When last at the optometrist, he informed me, ‘your eyes are showing very early signs of glaucoma’. Brilliant. Am learning braille. I’ll be able to read my body bumps: no guessing what they will reveal … ‘what the fork!’ (Fork! I’m fifty!)