The Eyes Have It

Up until recently, I had perfect vision.

The family joke was always that my mom was near sighted, my dad far sighted and both my brother and myself have perfect vision.

I could see anything, read anything, thread a tiny embroidery needle with translucent thread...first try...at dusk.

About 8 years ago I was having trouble with the close-up stuff, so I broke down and bought the cheaters at the Dollar Store. Just the weakest ones, doncha know.

Every year or so, I'd have to upgrade to the higher power till almost 2 years ago, when I ran out of higher powers.

I went to the eye doctor for the first time since...the nurse came around and did a cursory eye check in 5th grade.

That's not exactly true- they test your eyes at the DMV.

In fact, I went into the eye doctor's office pretty smug and secure- I'd just renewed my driver's license and passed the exam with flying colors.

"Are you having trouble reading?" Why yes- yes I was.

"How about distance?" Certainly not- I have perfect vision (except for that reading thing).

"Please read the letters on the wall". Ummm....what letters?

So I got my first pair of prescription eyeglasses- bifocals.

Put 'em on, made my way to the car (cleverly overstepping all the rifts in the surface of the earth that weren't there when I went in there), turned the key in the ignition and looked up.

SWEET JEEBUS LOOKIT THE LEAVES ON THE TREES! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE, BILLIONS OF 'EM ALL SHARP AND POINTY LOOKING!

There was a definite learning curve for the ol' lady specs- the earth really wasn't shattered into tiny earthquake ravines, that was the difference betwixt the far-looking and near-looking parts of the lenses. And I've had to trade my regular chair in for a barstool to sit on at my computer desk so I can look down through the reading part of the lenses instead of craning my neck backwards and glaring down my beak like an offended duck.

And I got used to not being able to even go to the bathroom at night without my glasses on.

But all in all, I was cool with it.

Until...

...a few months ago I started having dizzy spells and headaches.

The boys being the boys, they wanted to cart me right in for CAT scans. Good luck with that, I say. Granted they panicked out of love and devotion and the fact that our family health history is frankly horrifyingly terrifying.

Then they decided that it was probably migraine related- that even though you don't break with a full-blown head-splitter, dizziness can in fact be the symptom of a migraine.

Then I started thinking the right lens of my glasses was always mucked up- everything looked fuzzy on that side even though my glasses were planted firmly on my face.

Hmmm...no muck. My glasses weren't fuzzy. My right eye was.

So today I went to the eye doctor who confirmed that my aging eyes are even older than they were less than 2 years ago, and my right eye is aging faster than the left one.

The boys were happy to hear there is no sign of glaucoma or cataracts or anything else icky inside my eyeballs (other than that oozy stuff that keeps 'em from pruning up like giant all-seeing raisins).

I have a new prescription. And new glasses on the way. And that should take care of the dizziness and whatnot.

Alec got his eyes tested at the same time. 20/20 all the way.

That's my boy.

Ward's going on Friday- he hasn't had an eye exam since they found the cancer recurrence in the muscle behind his right eye five years ago, so he's WAY overdue.

We need to take care of our eyes- on accounta we're all so damn cute, and on accounta not being able to look into each other's eyes, each other's souls, to see the history and joy and pain and love reflected there would be a terrible loss.

And we've had enough of those.

A Very Sad Brunch

Well, not the entire brunch.

We had bacon, which is always a winner. Not too crispy, but not all limp and fatty either.

There was pecan banana bread made with the one over ripe banana we had left and last year's pecans still in the freezer.

No. The sad part was the eggs.

Don't get me wrong- they were lovely- beautiful whites framing perky deep golden yolks- obviously from our healthy free range chickens who spend all day every day eating bugs and plants and only pecking at the scratch I toss at them out of politeness.

There were 7 eggs in the carton. 7 eggs in the pan gently fried up in real butter.

And that's the end of them.

That's the sad part.

Our chickens free range- not that "put 'em in a big cage with a wire bottom and haul them from spot to spot" bogus free ranging which is really what every single free range egg you buy at the store really is.

Our chickens never see the inside of a coop. They're out scrounging up their own grub (literally) from dawn till dusk and then fly (yes. chickens fly.) up into the trees right outside our bedroom window for the night.

Which is good because the eggs are outstandingly delicious and so orangey yellow people have called me to ask what's wrong with them- the egg yolks from the store are that 'normal' tinted mucous color and they ooze down to be almost even with the whites.

I assume out of embarrassment.

The only negative in this whole arrangement is that true free range chickens are not Human Property, they are part of the Food Chain. So there's a fair amount of...attrition by coyote and hawk.

So several times a year I either hatch out a new batch of chicks (if the hens are not setting on their own) or purchase a box of pullets from the hatchery to keep us always in between 1 and 2 dozen laying hens at all times.

And while the lives of the individual chickens is generally wildly shorter on our little farm, I can't help thinking while watching them break off into natural flocks and working their territories- with hardly a cockfight or mutilated hen on the place, things that are all too common when they're kept penned in close (but safe) quarters- that the life they have here is more satisfying and rewarding for them.

Yes. Whether or not a chicken lives a happy life is important.

We're getting ready to move in a few months (hopefully sooner) and that entails catching and moving all our critters- horse, goats, chickens, ducks, guinea hens and cats. Some will be easy to move, some will be a challenge, and the poultry will be tricky at best, maddeningly frustrating at worst. With that in mind, I've not replenished the flock and we've now got 5 roosters and 6 hens. Three of those hens are over 2 years old, so not laying reliably anymore, but considering they've probably given us over 750 eggs EACH, letting them live out their retirement years seems a fairer deal than making 'em into soup.

With the days getting shorter, even the young hens stop laying reliably, so we're down to frozen eggs from the month plus we were in Houston and poor Joe was drowning in eggs- when we came home we froze almost 20 dozen, which are great to cook and bake with, but freezing changes the consistency so for breakfast they come up lacking.

So we ate the last of the fresh eggs today till probably late spring- I'll buy more chicks as soon as we move, and they'll start laying by May or June.

I'm afraid what it boils down to is that my family is spoiled when it comes to food.

Oh, I don't buy name brand anything, and very very little processed food at all- I cook and bake from scratch not just because I enjoy it, but because that way I KNOW what we're eating because I put the ingredients in my own self and didn't just trust the picture on the front of the box.

We ate the last of the eggs talking of other things, the sunshine yellow yolks smiling up at us from between the warm banana bread and the bacon and then they were gone.

It's a long way to May, but I'm trying to look at it the same way I look at fruits and vegetables- I never buy sweet corn or tomatoes or other short-season stuff out of their natural times because the imposters shipped in during the rest of the year are so much more than a disappointment, they're a disgrace to the produce section.

That a great majority of our populace thinks eggs with the consistency of snot, corn that's more starch than sugar and tomatoes that taste like...nothing... are normal, and healthy, and...food, makes me simultaneously very sad and explains not only the acceptance but the embrace of McAnything served up in a styrofoam box.